Designer Duress Book 1

By Byron Rider

Jimmy Contra is minding his own business and working his own business as a sidewalk sweeper on cheap side of the big city. He finds himself in trouble when he turns into an alley, thinking he is helping someone.

Officer Cliff Martin hears distress in an alley and encounters Jimmy being accosted by a homeless thief. They find they are quite compatible. Unfortunately, Cliff is deep in the closet to keep the peace in the police force. Jimmy, however, is not aware of this 'fact'.

Trouble comes in the form of a drug kingpin who is working on designing his own special opium and tries out his wares on unwitting citizens.

How will Jimmy and Cliff ever get together if Cliff can't leave his closet--to the extreme that he gets involved with a female police officer? Does Jimmy get free from the trappings of an evil man who addicts him to his designer narcotic?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Byron Rider
• Release date: May 8, 2016
• ISBN: 9781310693571

Byron Rider

Byron's love of books came early in his life; exposed to all the adventures of the past and present and speculative futures through the books his mother painstakingly purchased through his life. Byron loved to organize, catalog and otherwise stay involved in the acquisition and enjoyment of books. He learned about exotic places, adventure, suspense, horror and even love through the pages of paperback books. He has enjoyed reading since his older brother taught him to read at five years old. There were no books that were too boring or mundane to open and peruse. This behavior created the person who now not only loves to read, but loves to write. His biggest obstacle is not in writing the books, but in how others would view him for what he put in the books. His sense of propriety needed to be overcome to truly write what he wanted. He has overcome this obstacle, somewhat. The LGBT, specifically gay romance, has become the genre of choice for both Byron's reading and writing adventures. His life has been a road traveled under the guise of complacency and obedience. From parents who expected it, to the military that commanded it, and to corporate America who required it. There is no time in his life when he found himself; he is always that which others thought he should be. He is lost in his own time while seeking that which he is. Byron found that making waves makes conflict. He avoids conflict by conforming; he prefers invisiblity. The choices one makes are usually those that guide your future. Byron is no different. Necessity guided him toward writing. He writes to earn money to supplement his meager salary as an adjunct college professor--his expertise: Psychology. The economic status of his household dictates that he write, or find other venues to supplement the small income he acquires doing that which he does love--teaching. Today he is seeking out his own personal and unique identity as Byron Rider - Author.

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Designer Duress

Copyright 2016 Byron Rider

Published by Byron Rider at Smashwords

Smashwords Edition License Notes

Thank you for downloading this e-book. This book remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be redistributed to others for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy from their favorite authorized retailer. Thank you for your support.

Disclaimer

The locations, movies, products, and such, are mostly all real. I looked up much of these using internet search engine, Google. The active story characters, however, are not. If I accidentally managed to make any one of my characters seem like you, it was not intentional, and I hope they are the good guys.

Table of Contents

Title Page

Disclaimer

Dedication

Other Titles by Byron Rider

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Epilogue

To My Readers

About the Author

Acknowledgements

First, I would like to thank anyone who has given me a chance to share my words with them. I love to write and hope that my stories resonate in the minds of my readers.

Second, I would like to thank my relatives. Those who supported me have been invaluable. Those who chose to turn their backs on me? Without you I would never have been able to say Watch me.

Third, I would like to thank anyone and everyone else. I have learned a lot through reading the works of others, have learned through my experiences in day-to-day live. I appreciate the love you taught me and I hope I have brought it to life in the pages of my story.

Other Titles by Byron Rider

Hard Bodies

Waterlogged

Turkish Trouble

Assault on the Atlantic

Liberating Lucas

Crossing the Line

Transferred Guilt

Prologue

Jimmy sat down on the curb. He was tired from the long, hard day of cleaning the trash off the edge of the street. The big city life he had hoped for wasn’t panning out quite the way he had hoped.

He wiped a dirty arm across his forehead, smudging some rotten banana across it. When he felt the slimy sensation he groaned. Why did I leave home? he asked himself as he sat there, wallowing in his own poor choice and self-pity.

Hey, kid. Get up from there! a police officer stopped, leaving a wide, dark shadow over Jimmy’s slight, withering body.

Huh? Oh, yeah. Sorry. Jimmy said and stood up. He picked up the push broom that was the tool of his trade and flung it over his shoulder as he left the street corner.

The police officer looked at the retreating back of the slight body. He shook his head and took his hat off, running his fingers through his hair. Cliff Martin was not happy that he had just spooked the kid. He knew it was hard to make it as a poor young guy in the big, anonymous city streets.

Jimmy trudged unhappily toward his apartment. He hated it, but it was the only one he could afford on $700 a month. He ate a lot of ramen noodles and cheese with crackers. He knew that his diet was not the most substantive, but he was getting grains and proteins, and that was more than some of the others were getting. His thin frame held together quite nicely, though. He was thin but not skinny. His body held some modest muscular form and his physical work sweeping the sidewalks and streets downtown helped him to keep in some form of physical shape.

Why did I leave home? He asked himself as he kicked a stone that was on his path. Mom and Dad would’ve understood, yeah? he asked.

Hey kid. Jimmy heard someone shout from the shadows. He seemed to be inundated with shadows and talking figures this day.

What? Jimmy asked into the darkness.

Come ‘ere. The guy said. His voice was raspy, a bit gruff, but Jimmy couldn’t hear any threat in the tone. He shrugged, dropped the broom from his shoulder and dragged it behind him down the alley.

What? Who’s down there? Jimmy asked.

A man in a thick overcoat stepped out from behind a dumpster. Jimmy gasped. The man was huge in comparison to Jimmy’s slight 5’8" 140 pound frame.

How much money you got? The man asked him, stepping closer. Even at several feet away, Jimmy could smell the smoke, sweat, and stale liquor emanating from the other man’s body.

I…don’t have any money. Jimmy said. He had about $15.00 in his pocket from the day’s tips. Some of the shop owners took pity on Jimmy and saw he did a good job and they’d palm him a few extra dollars.

Don’t you be lyin’ ta me, kid. I know ya got money. Ya got a job, don’t ya? the man asked.

I…I uh, gotta go. Jimmy turned to leave the dark alley, suddenly feeling fear trickle up his spine from his tailbone to his neck. The niggling feeling of something going terribly wrong was warning the young man that he was not currently in a good place.

Not so fast, punk. The man growled. He stood on Jimmy’s broom, still dragging behind him and he tugged the handle before Jimmy could think to let it go. Before Jimmy knew it, the man’s hands were grasping his shoulders tightly.

Let me go. I told you I don’t have any money! Jimmy shouted to the man.

Shut the fuck up. Do you want the cops to hear ya? the man asked Jimmy then.

Jimmy clamped his mouth shut and closed his eyes. He was praying that someone had heard his shout. He didn’t want to die today.

P…please? Jimmy shuddered in the man’s rough grasp.

What? Now ya gonna beg? Are ya a baby? the man asked then.

Jimmy shook his head, still keeping his eyes shut. He regretted turning back toward the alley. He knew better. He knew that he was only safe in the sunlight.

Well, if ya ain’t got no money, I gotta get something off ya. The dirty man said.

Jimmy shuddered again. What do you mean? He asked.

You have a purty mouth. The man said and reached one hand up and ran a coarse thumb across Jimmy’s lips. Jimmy gasped, fear beginning to well up in his insides.

Please. Don’t. He whispered.

"Please don’t! the man mimicked. Ya ain’t got no choice, kid. You ain’t got no money, you’re here, and I have a hankering for something you have."

With that the man moved his hand from Jimmy’s face to his groin. He gripped it hard, twisting. Jimmy cried out in pain.

What’s going on down there? A man’s voice called into the alley.

Jimmy whimpered but was still too afraid to say anything. The man had Jimmy in the darkness, and he backed behind the dumpster. Not a sound. He said and pressed a sharp object into Jimmy’s upper thigh, just an inch from his groin. Jimmy nodded and kept quiet.

Who’s down there? The man’s voice called into the alley. Come out. I heard you. Does someone need help? The voice was coming closer.

The man holding Jimmy moved his hand to cup around Jimmy’s throat, the younger man’s back to the assailant’s chest. Jimmy could feel the tip of the object, he presumed was a knife, against his upper thigh. He was having trouble breathing because of the man’s other hand tight around his throat, but what terrified him the most was the erect cock that was pressing against the crack of his ass.

He knew what the man wanted to do to him and was afraid that he’d get his way if the man shouting didn’t continue forward. He kicked a foot outward, dislodging a small pebble.

Officer Martin had turned around and started back out of the alley when he heard a small sound behind him. He turned back around, drawing his gun. Who’s there? He called again and continued to walk forward.

Jimmy, trying to breathe, made a small coughing sound.

Before either of the two men knew what was happening, Officer Martin jumped past the dumpster, grabbed the hand that was holding what turned out to be a sharpened pencil away from Jimmy’s groin. He pointed the gun directly into the forehead of the man holding Jimmy.

Jimmy took a deep breath when he felt the man’s hand slack on his waist. He felt incredibly ashamed to know that the weapon he was so afraid of was nothing more than a writing implement.

You okay, kid? Cliff asked as he pulled Jimmy behind him.

Yeah. H…how did y…you know? Jimmy asked.

I heard you; was following to make sure you got home safe. Good thing I did.

Jimmy clamped his mouth shut. He felt like he wanted to vomit from the terror he felt at the hands of that homeless potential rapist. He wanted to take my money, then he said he was going to rape me when I said I didn’t have any. Jimmy said very quietly.

I ain’t said no such thing! the man objected. He was right; he’d not said it in so many words, but he did caress Jimmy’s lips and grab his groin.

"You said I have a pretty mouth, rubbed your disgusting thumb over it, and then grabbed my crotch. What else does that mean?" Jimmy asked, still choking back the fear and bile.

Jimmy. I need you to go stand over there. Cliff told the young man.

Jimmy nodded and walked out of the alley and stood in the sunlight around the corner.

Cliff turned the other man around and put cuffs on him then forced him from the alley while holstering his weapon and calling in for someone to bring a black and white to pick up the assailant.

Damn. Now I gotta go and write a report. Cliff said to the man who was being placed in the back seat of a patrol car. Thanks for nothing. He mumbled. He turned and saw that Jimmy was still standing on the corner near the alley. You got a place you gotta be? Martin asked Jimmy.

Jimmy nodded. Yeah.

You gonna get there?

Yeah. Jimmy said. He pulled himself away from the brick wall and took a step forward. Before he knew it, his world turned black and Officer Cliff Martin was catching him before he fell face-first on the concrete.



Jimmy felt something wet and cold dripping down his face. Oh, God. I’m dying. He said as he reached up his hand to feel the moisture.

You aren’t dying, kid. Cliff said as he removed the cloth from Jimmy’s face.

Jimmy looked at his fingers. Where he expected to see blood, he only saw water. Where am I? he asked, sitting up quickly and regretting it immediately as his head began to spin.

You’re at my apartment. Cliff told him.

I…uh, where? Why? Jimmy asked.

You fainted. Guess the stress was too much for ya. Cliff said and smiled as he patted Jimmy’s thigh.

Jimmy felt an odd rush of adrenaline when he felt the heat of Cliff’s hand permeate his thinning jeans. I guess. He said and laid back down, closing his eyes against the threat of passing out again.

What happened back there, Jimmy? Cliff asked.

I fainted. You were there. Jimmy said quietly.

No. What happened in the alley? Did that guy hurt you?

No. He called for me. I went in the alley. At first I didn’t think anything of it, then I felt the threat. Before I could retreat… Jimmy stopped and thought of something. My broom! he cried out and sat up again, looking around the room. I need my broom!

Your broom should be the least of your worried, kid. You could have really been hurt.

Jimmy felt his eyes begin to well up with tears. I need that broom. He said, and began to sob, uncontrollably.

Cliff was concerned that there was something really wrong with Jimmy. The fact was that Jimmy was trying to hold onto the tangible object of the broom rather than thinking about the potential threat of bodily harm.

Kid, it was just a broom. I’ll get you another one. Cliff said.

"You don’t understand. I need that broom! It is how I get paid."

I can go to the home store and get you another one. Promise. Just stop crying. Cliff said, but he pulled the smaller man into his arms and ran his fingers through Jimmy’s soft, strawberry-blond hair.

Jimmy felt himself melt into the officer’s arms. I’m sorry. I don’t usually do this. Jimmy apologized.

Nothing to apologize for, kid. I know you been through something back there. It’s okay. He’s in jail. Can’t hurt you now. Cliff said, stroking his big hand down Jimmy’s back, his other still running fingers through Jimmy’s hair.

Cliff could feel himself