HIDE: A DANGEROUS AFFAIR

THIRTEEN

The place looked like those warehouses you see in movies used by the CIA or a special unit of the government. There was nothing you could possibly look for and won't find it there. Machines, computers, ammunition, and people working tirelessly. It was divided into two parts, one where the nerds furiously punched on keypads and the other side looked like a min lab where people in lab coats examined something.

Brandon also saw a unit that held ammunition enough to take down an organization. He sucked in a breath and began walking around while trying to calm his shaking hands. If he wanted to appear fearless, the first thing he had to do was mask his emotions as well as Wilson did.

The guard that brought him in had disappeared, and it was difficult for him to find his way back to the entrance where it would be easier for Wilson to locate him. Brandon didn't understand most of the activities happening since it was literally his first time being around such an environment. He had only seen a scene like that in movies.

As he backed away from an armored tank, he mistakenly crashed into a crate that fell to the fall, shattering. The noise caused everyone to turn their attention to him, drawing their gun in an alert. They hadn't noticed his presence.

“I'm sorry,” he apologized, bending to pick up the pieces of the shattered crate.

Some of the men went back to work, while others mumbled. One of them walked up to him and kick the pieces he had picked together. The guy was huge, unfriendly looking, and had a deep scar that started from his eyebrow down his neck. He looked like someone who would squash one's neck without a second thought.

He spat close to Brandon, who was still bent. “You must be the boss's toy,” he said with a chuckle.

Brandon rose to his full height, maintaining his stand. With a deadly glare, “what about that?”

The soldier turned around as if he was inspecting his environment before directing his attention to Brandon. “Is that what makes you think that you're untouchable?”

“I think you owe me an apology for wasting my effort,” Brandon pointed at the shattered crate pieces.

“I hate fags like you. You make our boss appear weak and stupid to others. How did you even end up with him when he didn't pay attention to the most beautiful women that walked the face of the earth?”

Brandon not having it, “because I am what he wants. Now, I want to be nice to everyone. But, if you insult me one more time, I might have to tell your boss,” he threatened.

Laughing, “of course, princess. Run to the King. It doesn't frighten me. I know that he will toss you out as soon as he is tired of you. He doesn't house weaklings. Enjoy it while it lasts because when that time comes, I'll be the one to dispose of you.”

Brandon, meaning to respond heard a loud bang that made his ears ring. Immediately, he crouched, observing the source of the cacophony. His eyes saw the mountain of a man who had been talking to him seconds ago, land lifelessly on the floor with blood fishing from the little hole in his head. He had been shot.

Brandon looked forward and saw Wilson putting a gun away. He had shot the man and his emotion looked cold, deadly. “Dispose of his body,” he ordered to the same guard that had led Brandon in. No one else flinched. It was as if everyone else was expecting the kill except for Brandon who was taken by surprise. No one acted as if Wilson had just killed a man in front of them.

Wilson took steady strides and approached Brandon. He put forth his hand and helped Brandon up. “It's okay,” Wilson muttered into his ear, trying to get Brandon to relax. He was shaking like someone who had just survived a tornado. Wilson's hand ran up and down Brandon's back, trying to calm him. His eyes were still wide from shock, and he could coherently organize his thoughts.

“Gather around!” Wilson barked, still rubbing his hands up and down Brandon's back. His soldiers immediately left whatever they were doing and came to where he stood. Uniformly, they had three lines with their hands linked behind their backs and gazing at the floor. “Who else has an issue with who I am f*****g?”

The entire place went silent. No one even breathed.

“I didn't think so. Disrespecting Brandon is the same as disrespecting me. He's my boyfriend, and you all must treat him the same way you treat me. Don't spill nonsense close to him or try being condescending, or you'll end up being a carcass just like Abel. Understood!”

“Yea, boss,” they shouted in unison.

“Dowen! Step forward,” he ordered. The guy who had been following Brandon around all-day came to the front. “He's the head of my security,” Wilson introduced.

For the first time, Brandon took out time to observe the guy. He was equally, tall, muscular, and handsome. His golden hair was held back, forming a man bun. His blue eyes watched at alert without blinking. He looked more friendly than the Abel guy. “Nice to meet you, sir,” he said, nodding at Brandon, who just shook his head.

“Give me a report,” Wilson ordered.

A slim, nerdy-looking guy came from behind. “So far, we traced the bomb to a manufacturer in Australia. We are getting our men to infiltrate the company and see what they can find.”

When Wilson was sure that the guy was done, “he's the head of my tech unit, Salvatore,” he said to Brandon, who was taking note. “Any other thing?”

Dowen spoke. “You should see the remnants of the bomb. Maybe you can dissect it further.”

“Dismissed!” Wilson ordered, and his men went back to work. With Brandon, Dowen, and Salvatore, they walked to the area that looked like a lab. On a tray over a bright spotlight, we're pieces of metal sprawled out.

Wilson keenly observed what was before him and, instantly, fury overtook him. He was angry that he was being toiled with. He knew so well that those responsible for the attack were a step ahead as he was killing time, trying to figure out the source of the weapon. “Dowen, make sure I have good news by morning!” Taking Brandon's hand, he walked through the gawking men, who averted their gaze as he walked by.

When they got to the room, Wilson began to undress as Brandon sat at the edge of the bed staring into space. “Why did you kill him?” he asked.

“Kill who?” he questioned, still undressing.

“You know what I'm talking about.” Brandon slowly looked up, meeting Wilson's wry gaze.

“Because he was disrespecting you.”

Flaring up, “and the best way to have handled the situation was to kill him. Doesn't it make true what he said that I was a princess and would always run to you?”

He stopped unbuttoning his shirt and quirked a brow. “And, what's wrong with that?”

“I can fight my battles. Take care of my problems. I would prefer it if you did nothing. I didn't want you bringing to light your demons and blaming it on me.”

“Are you done?” Brandon remained silent. “You said you could handle me. Well, that's another aspect of me. You shouldn't have come. Then, I wouldn't have been in a situation to kill my man to set an example,” Wilson continued.

“Oh, now, it's my fault? My fault that the only thing that gives you happiness is bloodshed?”

“f**k it, Brandon! Enough.”

Brandon abruptly stood from the bed, walked towards the door, and turned, “I would rather be anywhere but here with you,” he informed.

“And, where do you think you're going?”

Wilson's body became static, and his retina dilated and became darker. The brightness that Brandon always saw in his eyes was gone. Only cold, empty stares met him. The same that he had seen the first day he met Wilson. Brandon knew that he had just awoken the demon in Wilson and truthfully, he might not be able to handle the consequences of his action. Should he remedy the situation or just leave?