|My muse for Nicolay, Nick Rhodes|
Here is a little from my novel that's yet to be finished but I'll be getting back to it soon.
Agent Darien Moseley leads a double life. A musician by day and when not playing, an agent in a special organization called PROTEKT. He’s called upon to travel to Russia where he is to investigate the death of a dignitary as well as protect the son from harm.
That dignitary’s son is intrigued by the prospect of meeting an American. His boyfriend, Ivan is jealous about this and due to his behavior, Darien is suspicious about his involvement.
The two square off for Nicolay’s love while trying to catch the killer and keep him safe from harm.
Here is the Sip
Son of the fallen leader, Nikolay chose to spend the evening after viewing the body of his father alone till his man got through with his security meeting. Many of Alexander’s comrades offered to stick by and keep him company, even Borvetta who he couldn’t stand had said she’d stay and talk with him while he grieved.
Of course he declined. No way would she be any source of comfort to him at this difficult time. The only person that would make him feel better other than his father or mother would be Ivan. Nikolay concluded he much rather spend this time looking through old pictures and thinking of the good times he enjoyed as a child.
A stack of five albums sat on the coffee table in front of him along with a bottle of Scotch that he continued to sip on with Coca Cola as the chaser. The box of tissues sat next to him on the couch while he perused the photos of happier times with Mom and Dad alive.
A colorful picture of him and Dad in the gardens behind the house, playing catch while Nikolay was in his teens, another with his mom wading in the family pool as she tried to teach him how to swim. He never finished learning either since not too long after, she found out about the pregnancy of his younger brother and died shortly thereafter.
The young man wiped his face of the moisture while rubbing his already irritated nose. His head throbbed from all of the sobbing and the vision of the holes in his father’s skulled popped in and out of his mind’s eye.
“Curse you God!” He threw the book across the room, upset about not being able to enjoy more time with his dad; the only man that understood him other than Ivan, who appreciated him for his talents in photography and poetry without using his sexual orientation against him.
Everyone in the party knew of their relationship and they used this against him repeatedly saying no ruler of Russia can have a gay heir. For this, young Nikolay resented them and vowed never to be close with any of this people. He’d already informed his dad that he wouldn’t be taking his place as the leader which saddened him but he knew why. What would possess him to work along with these mongrels who thought a man loving another man was a mental disease?
At the tender age of twenty-three, Nikolay Chereskov, full of rage and hatred would be responsible for carrying on his father’s legacy in some capacity. He hoped the Americans that were on their way to the country would be able to catch the enemies that killed his “poppa.”
To lessen the pain of his loss, he fixed another drink and sipped it slowly. The burn, felt in his throat made its way to his chest, making him feel warm inside while causing him to wince. Not wanting to look at anymore photos, he got up from the sofa and made his way back over to the window to watch for Ivan’s car to pull up in the driveway. He really did think seeing the family in times of joy would soothe the pain but now Nikolay knew it only worsened it. Bottom line, he wanted his father back and since that wasn’t possible, he’d be better just recounting the memories.
“Father.” The son’s heart ached and his eyes still full of tears. The first notification of the news seemed to be a lot easier but with the body back home in Mother Russia, the grim reality came to the forefront. “You were such a great man.” The young man’s hand trembled and he steadied his glass with the other. “Whoever has done this to you, I wish them hell for the rest of their existence. It will take a lot for me not to do what is needed to avenge your death, my poppa. I hope the American’s are competent enough to find your killers. He finished his beverage and closed his eyes while he tapped his feet on the hardwood floor beneath his feet.
“Смерть вам отморозки!” (Death to you scumbags!) Quickly he turned and threw the tumbler glass into the fireplace, sending the flames to rise in the hearth.
He made a fist until his fine manicured nailed pierced his palm. Nikolay grit his teeth, suddenly feeling more anger than grief. “Argh!” He gripped his blond strands and began to pull at them, causing himself anguish. Again, he tightly lowered his lids and allowed the tears to flow from them.
“Nikolay!” Ivan called out and rushed into the study.
Only then did the man open his eyes to behold his lover. He held open his arms and cried openly. “Ivan! Oh Ivan, Моя любовь, мой герой.” (My love my hero.)
Hope you enjoyed.
Check out BL's Sip Here
Hope you enjoyed.
Check out BL's Sip Here