Chapter Text
Tim yawned, mouth opening so wide his jaw popped. It had been a long day and an even longer evening, but he’d reached the point where he could see the light at the end of the tunnel. Only a few boxes of old statements and invoices were left to sort through, ones that were labeled with tax years the IRS wouldn’t care about anymore—or at least, they’d better not. Times like these, he was glad record-retention requirements were a thing.
His fingers dancing over the calculator never stopped, the constant tap tap tap breaking the silence. Piles of receipts and invoices were strewn into semi-comprehensible stacks across the desk, each one with their own list of items he had to keep an eye out for. Pro-bono jobs like this were often messy, but he liked them. They presented more of a challenge than what he found in his day job.
He made a mental note to bring his portable scanner tomorrow night. The sooner he could digitize the files, the sooner he could start a bonfire to free up all the space in the storage room Rochelle had dragged everything from.
The new owner of this dingy Bowery bar was a friend of a friend, one that he privately suspected Ives was trying to not-so-subtly hook him up with. Fat chance of that happening, but Rochelle was a nice gal who gave him full access to whatever he wanted from the kitchen while he was here.
As far as Tim was concerned, any meal he didn’t have to cook or buy on his own was a win.
Another jaw-breaking yawn broke his concentration. Okay, he could take a hint. Time for a break and a stretch.
He rolled his neck from side to side, feeling and hearing the pop of joints that hadn’t moved in too long. With a soft sigh, he rose from the desk and removed his glasses, using the back of his tie to wipe any smudges from the lenses. He could be excused for being overly particular about his little habit—without his glasses, he might as well be blind as a bat. Not for the first time, he wondered if corrective eye surgery was the way to go.
Maybe he’d look into it after this side job was over.
Then again, pigs had a better chance of flying first.
Outside the small office, the bar was quiet. The few regulars he’d met earlier had left for the night, which spoke volumes as to how late it was. Only one guy was left, chatting quietly with Rochelle as he nursed his beer.
Tim leaned against the far end of the bar, opting to stand rather than sit. From this angle, he had a good view of most of the place. Rochelle had spoken a bit about some plans to brighten it up and bring it into the 21 st century. She was excited about the opportunity, assuming the money was there to do it.
He wasn’t sure about that yet.
The new owner offered him a sunny smile as she turned his way. “Hey, Tim! Time for a break?” Rochelle asked, her accent redolent of Gotham’s East End.
“I’m in desperate need of some caffeine,” he answered. “Can barely keep my eyes open anymore.”
“You’ve been here for four hours already. And I know you worked all day too. Go home and go to bed. Those boxes are still gonna be there tomorrow.”
The man seated at the bar chuckled from behind Rochelle. “I think you’ve just been told, nerd-boy.”
Tim snorted. “You’re not the one with the appointment at the bank on Monday.” He cast a meaningful look at Rochelle, who frowned at the reminder, but stood her ground.
“Ives wasn’t kidding when he said you were a workaholic. Seriously, Tim. Go home. Or do I need to get some blankets so you can sleep under the desk?”
That garnered another chuckle from the mostly unseen man. “A pretty boy like him slummin’ it around here? I might pay good money to see that.”
“No one asked you,” Tim retorted, leaning back so he could glare. Then he did a double-take because wow. How on earth did this guy not ping on his radar when he walked out here? Ruggedly handsome, dark blue eyes, and shoulders that went on for miles—sign him the hell up. Even the white streak of hair falling over his forehead was sinfully attractive.
But as tempting as it was to try and flirt, the fact that he had missed picking up on tall, dark, and handsome meant he wasn’t getting any tonight. He was a fan of knowing just who he fell into bed with and remembering it the next day—even if it sucked because that way, he knew to avoid them in the future.
He doubted a night with this guy would fall into that category.
The man just smirked and raised his beer to his mouth, almost like he knew the direction Tim’s thoughts had gone. Lips sealed over the rim of the glass and Tim had to choke back a whine.
Oh, that shouldn’t be as much of a turn on as it was. Cocky and an asshole. Great. Just great.
Tall, Dark, and Handsome shot a glance at Rochelle. “Mouthy little number cruncher, isn’t he?”
“Knock it off, Jason,” the bar owner warned. “I kinda need him right now. Don’t scare him away.”
Jason. Tim made a mental note of the man’s name.
“Things really that bad, Roche?” he asked.
She nodded. “Yeah. They are.”
Tim caught a look from the man that was far from scaring him. There was a weight to his gaze, assessing and judging. He’d been on the receiving end of it more than once in his life, mostly by people who weren’t quite sure what to do with him. His head for numbers combined with his tendency to back-talk didn’t usually bode well for his prospects.
Jason lowered his beer and rose from the barstool. He was tall and solidly built, but if Tim were to guess, his muscle came from hard labor rather than the gym. “I gotta hit the can,” he said, rolling heavy shoulders his t-shirt did nothing to hide. “Top me off, yeah?”
“Sure,” Rochelle answered as he strolled away.
Tim’s mouth watered as he caught sight of Jason’s ass, framed oh-so-perfectly in his jeans. But it was the man’s thighs that he wanted to be trapped between, pinned to the nearest horizontal surface while he was fucked so hard he wouldn’t be able to walk straight the next day.
A short laugh brought him out of his daze. “You got it bad,” Rochelle teased as Jason disappeared down the short hall at the back of the bar where the bathrooms were.
“I do,” Tim agreed, rubbing his eyes over the rim of his glasses. Wow, he hadn’t been prepared for that. “You have any idea which way he swings?”
“Not a clue.”
“Then I have a chance.” Tim straightened and grinned. “Unless he’s already taken. I don’t poach.”
Not knowingly, at least.
“I’ll keep my ears open,” Rochelle said with a wink. “It’s the least I can do for you.”
“You’re a saint.”
Suddenly, the front door opened, swinging wide and slamming into the wall, startling them both. A burly, bearded man swaggered in like he owned the place.
“Fuck,” Rochelle swore under her breath. “Not that asshole again.” She squared her shoulders as the man came to a stop on the other side of the bar from her. “What are you doing here, Jaime?”
That didn’t sound good, especially as the man’s lips curled up into what he probably thought was friendly but came across as smarmy and condescending. “Mija, I told you I’d be back for my money. Time to pay up.”
Tim frowned, thinking back to the accounts he’d been immersed in for the better part of the last few evenings. The only creditors on the books were the bank and they knew damned well that an estate process of this particular magnitude took time to sort out—or at least they did once he’d gotten involved and ripped the claims manager a new one.
So who was this guy?
“I don’t owe you shit,” Rochelle fired back, reaching under the bar for the heavy baseball bat she’d taken to keeping there for problems like this. Or so she’d told Tim when it was just the two of them the other night. “I already told you that.”
“Everyone in this part of the Bowery owes me,” Jaime answered, cracking his thick knuckles in a not-so-idle manner. “Including your uncle. Mike was neck-deep in debt to me and I want my money back.”
What? No.
“Was it in writing?” Tim spoke up before he could stop himself.
Jaime’s heavy gaze cut to him. “Who the hell are you, cabrón?”
“I’m Rochelle’s accountant,” Tim answered, adjusting his glasses in an attempt to look dignified. Lord knew the rolled-up shirt sleeves and tie never did it for him. “I’ve been through all of Mike’s papers.” Okay, that was a lie, but he was almost done. “And I know who he had outstanding debts with. I don’t remember seeing your name on anything. Or is it under something else?”
If looks could kill, he would be a dead man. The already stormy expression Jaime wore grew under the weight of the challenge tossed his way.
“Are you callin’ me a liar?”
“No. But if there’s no written record of the loan, or a transfer, or even a cleared check, then all we have is your word on the matter. You want your money back; you’ll need to provide proof. I’ll be glad to make you square when you do.”
Hell, he’d do it out of his own pocket just so Rochelle didn’t have to deal with this asshole again. Why was it whenever a woman inherited something big, creeps like this guy came crawling out of the woodwork to take a piece of it? Tim was doubly glad Ives had introduced them. It was times like this where his penchant for numbers came in handy.
Who was the nerd now?
“It was a verbal deal,” Jaime spat. “And now that Mike’s dead, I’m here to collect.”
“How about this… I’ll go over the records again. When were the payments being made to you and for how much?” If there was the slightest chance this was legit, Tim would find it. Even if the payments had come from the petty cash, the amounts would match up.
Money in, money out. That’s how things worked in his world.
“You piece of shit,” Jaime snarled. “You think you can talk to me like you own this place, huh? Pretty boy in his fancy suit, talkin’ a big game. There’s only one thing your mouth is good for.”
“If you believe for a second that I’m sucking your dick, you’ve got another think coming.”
That was the wrong thing to say.
Jaime’s eyes flashed and he lashed out, drawing something out from behind his back as he did.
Tim recognized it as the butt end of a gun before pain lanced along the side of his face, whipping his head around as his glasses went flying. Blood filled his mouth, the taste of copper on his tongue. This was just like that time in boarding school, except it hadn’t been a gun he’d gotten hit with. And, just like back then, once his glasses were gone, he couldn’t see a damned thing. His world narrowed to blurry, unidentifiable blobs.
Rochelle was shouting, Jaime was shouting, and oh look, that was his hair being tugged back so Jaime’s ugly mug came into focus. This close, Tim could make out the blotchy pores on the man’s nose.
“What’ve you gotta say for yourself now, cocksucker?” A wave of foul breath made Tim’s eyes water. “I’m gonna break you in half.”
He shouldn’t say it. He really shouldn’t. Every single one of his admittedly poor self-preservation instincts were screaming at him to keep his mouth shut.
“You kiss your wife with that mouth? Probably want to lay off the onions.”
Yep. His self-preservation instincts were shit.
Rage darkened Jaime’s face and he roared, rearing back for another strike.
Tim flinched, waiting for the blow—
It never came.
“Wow, you gotta death wish or somethin’, number cruncher?”
Jason. It was Jason.
Relief rushed through him like lightning. Why he was so happy that Jason was rescuing him, Tim had no idea. He’d never been rescued before, that was probably it. It was a nice feeling. Especially by a really hot guy he’d more than happily drop his pants for.
But then panic replaced the endorphin rush as he remembered a rather important little detail about his current situation.
“He’s got a gun!” he managed to get out before he was swung around like a sack of potatoes by his hair and slammed into the bar.
Ow.
Tim folded in half over the dark wood, breath leaving him as his guts rearranged themselves to make room for the beveled edge. His world grew dark, ears ringing—
Then his hindbrain rebooted and he gasped, air flooding his lungs.
“Tim!” Rochelle grabbed hold of his arms, steadying him. “Tim, look at me.”
Why was she paying attention to him when Jaime had a gun? That was stupid.
“You’re stupid,” Rochelle retorted. Her voice was strained, like she was barely keeping her shit together.
Blinking, Tim tried his best to focus on the bar owner. No such luck. He needed his glasses. Where were they? They’d gotten slapped off his face, that’s what.
Why did assholes never realize how important those things were?
From his right, a pained groan drew Tim’s attention, as did the deep chuckle that made his already-pained insides turn to goo.
“You okay there, number cruncher?”
Jason’s voice should not sound that good. It was bad for his sanity, what there was left of it at least.
“My name is Tim,” he answered somewhat prissily. “Not pretty boy, not number cruncher, not cocksucker. My name is Tim .”
Jason chuckled again. “Gotta earn the right to be called that around here, number cruncher. After your performance tonight, looks like you’ve got a long way to go.”
Another pained moan drifted up from the floor and Tim managed to move enough to peer around the side of the bar. Not that it did any good, all he saw was one blur standing over another blur. All things considered though, it was easy to figure out who was who.
“Did I miss something?” Tim asked as he tried to piece together the last couple of minutes.
Rochelle snickered. “Just Jason kicking some serious ass and saving yours.”
“Oh. Well in that case, me and my ass thank you.”
There was a muffled snort of laughter from behind the bar and as Tim replayed what he’d just said, he wanted to sink through the floor. His ears started to burn as blood made its way back to his head.
Well, there went any shot he’d had with Jason, slim though it had been in the first place.
But much to his surprise, Jason just laughed. “You’re something else, pretty boy. Gonna have to watch that mouth of yours around here.”
“You two need to get a room,” Rochelle commented, clearly amused.
“Not tonight,” Jason answered and wow, did that mean what Tim thought it meant? Score! “I got some business to clean up here.” His voice darkened and not in a good way. “Isn’t that right, Jaime?”
“Fuck you,” snarled the blur on the floor. “You’re not the boss around here.”
Jason’s form lowered to the floor where Tim could just barely make him out, kneeling over the downed Jaime. He wasn’t sure how that had happened or when, but he knew one thing for sure—he owed Jason big time. That wasn’t something he’d forget either.
Maybe he could do the man’s taxes for free for the rest of his life. Wasn’t like he had anything else to offer.
“You’re not from around here if you don’t know who runs these streets.” Jason’s tone deepened into a growl that sent a shiver down Tim’s spine. “And guess what? He wears a red hood.”
Oh shit. That level of confidence only came from someone who had the connections to back it up.
Tim sucked in a breath. Any and all thoughts he had about slipping Jason his number vanished. That level of confidence, the smooth takedown that had occurred right before his blurry eyes without him even realizing it…
Jason was either the Red Hood wandering around without the notorious helmet or placed so high up on the food chain that he could summon the crime lord with a single call.
The last thing Tim needed was to get involved with someone who worked for Gotham’s meanest crime lord—or was him. Sighing to himself, he mourned the lost opportunity as what few self-preservation instincts he had finally kicked into high gear. Getting into bed with the Red Hood was a really bad idea.
Still, he wouldn’t have minded climbing those beautifully thick thighs encased in what looked like really soft denim. He made a mental note to hit the gym for a swim when he was done with this job and his face wasn’t looking like it had been on the wrong end of a meat tenderizer. It had been a while since he’d gotten laid, and it was clear he was thirsty. There was almost always some meathead who was good for a quickie in the locker room.
“I think you and I need to take a little walk,” Jason continued. “Have a little chat. Comprende? ”
Jaime whimpered.
The two blurs morphed into one under the dim lights of the bar as Jason hauled Jaime to his feet. “Roche, this guy won’t give you any more problems, I promise.”
“Thanks, Jason. I appreciate the help.”
“Any time. I’ll check in on you soon.”
Tim felt more than saw as Jason’s gaze landed on him. “Keep your nose clean, number cruncher.”
“I’m pretty sure my nose is broken, thanks.”
“Nah, but you might want to get your cheek looked at. If that’s not fractured, your next beer is on me.”
As he walked away, a familiar crunch made Tim wince even more. Goddamnit, not again.
Jason paused. “Were those…?”
“My glasses.”
“You able to see without them?”
“If I could see without them, why would I need to wear them in the first place?”
“You know, I can see why you got pistol-whipped now.” Jason didn’t sound annoyed. More like amused, though that could definitely be the pain in the side of Tim’s face starting to stand up and wave.
With that parting shot, the two men left the bar.
Tim let out a slow breath. The adrenaline of the last few minutes vanished, and as he slumped against the bar, his face throbbing. “I think I need a shot. And some ice.”
A heavy bottle thudded in front of him, the label unreadable. “Way ahead of you, Tim,” Rochelle said. There was a long pause then, “I think he likes you.”
Fuck his life.