Conman

Chapter 3: Double Deception

The quiet hum of the car engine seemed to lull Beau into a deeper stupor as they pulled into the driveway of his upscale mansion. The city's lights, once vivid against the night sky, blurred into soft halos as his eyelids grew heavy. Jax turned off the engine and glanced over at his boss, who was slumped against the seat, a distant and hazy look in his usually sharp eyes.

With a resigned sigh, Jax stepped out of the car and walked around to Beau's side, carefully opening the door. The scent of alcohol mixed with Beau's expensive cologne drifted into the cool night air as Jax slid his arm around Beau's waist, gently guiding him out of the car.

"Come on, boss. Let's get you inside," Jax murmured, his voice steady as he half-supported, half-carried Beau toward the front steps.

Beau mumbled something incoherent, his head lolling slightly as Jax helped him up the stone steps and fumbled for the key. The door clicked open with a soft creak, and the two of them stumbled into the quiet, dimly lit house.

The grand foyer welcomed them with its polished marble floors and elegant furnishings. Every detail of the home spoke of wealth and taste, from the modern art hanging on the walls to the sleek furniture that filled the space. But despite its luxury, the house felt cold—sterile, even—like it was missing the warmth of a lived-in home.

Jax began to guide Beau up the staircase, his steps careful and deliberate, but just as they reached the landing, a door creaked open on the first floor. An older man, tall and gaunt, stepped out, his sharp features highlighted by the shadows. His gray hair was neatly combed back, and his eyes, though aged, were still piercing. He regarded them with a knowing look.

"How did it go?" the old man asked, his voice low and gravelly, cutting through the silence like a knife.

Jax straightened slightly, still holding onto Beau. "Smooth as ever, Mr. Archer. No loose ends."

The old man, Archer, nodded approvingly, his eyes shifting to Beau, who managed a sloppy thumbs-up and a lazy grin. "Good," Archer muttered, his gaze softening for just a moment before he gestured dismissively. "Get him to bed. He'll need his rest."

Jax gave a curt nod and continued leading Beau up the stairs, the older man's presence lingering in the air like a shadow. As they reached the second floor, Beau leaned heavily against Jax, his usually poised and composed demeanor completely gone, replaced by the vulnerable weight of his exhaustion.

In the bedroom, Jax gently lowered Beau onto the bed, the soft mattress sinking under his weight. "You need anything, boss?" Jax asked, kneeling to untie Beau's polished leather shoes.

Beau pointed vaguely at his feet, too tired to form coherent words. Jax took the cue and removed the shoes, setting them neatly aside. As he turned to leave, Beau groaned softly and struggled to stand, his unsteady movements indicating he wasn't quite done for the night.

Jax was at his side in an instant, steadying him. "Easy there, boss. Where are you trying to go?"

Beau, his speech slurred, muttered, "Bathroom."

Without hesitation, Jax guided him to the adjoining bathroom. The spacious room gleamed with marble and chrome, its modern fixtures reflecting the soft glow of the lights. Jax carefully helped Beau out of his clothes, his movements efficient and practiced, as if he had done this many times before.

Once Beau was in the shower, Jax stood just outside the door, listening to the sound of water cascading over tile. His eyes drifted over the polished floor, his thoughts distant yet focused. He had been Beau's right-hand man for years, always by his side, always loyal. But loyalty, in this line of work, often meant crossing lines—lines that Jax had long stopped questioning.

When the water finally shut off, Jax entered the bathroom and found Beau wrapping a thick white robe around himself, steam rising from his damp skin. Beau blinked in surprise when he saw Jax still there, lingering like a shadow.

"Why are you still here?" Beau's voice was groggy but carried a faint edge of irritation. "Go home, Jax."

Jax hesitated, his eyes meeting Beau's, searching for something—perhaps permission, perhaps acknowledgment. But Beau's gaze was already distant, lost in the fog of alcohol and fatigue. With a quiet sigh, Jax nodded and stepped back. "Alright, boss. Call me if you need anything."

Beau waved him off, already heading toward the bed, his movements sluggish. As he sank into the soft sheets, he barely registered the sound of the door closing behind Jax. Within moments, he was drifting off into a deep sleep, the world around him fading away.

But in his dreams, the world was vivid and alive.

Monty was there—standing in the room, his presence as tangible as the cool sheets beneath Beau's hands. In the dream, Monty's eyes were dark and intense, filled with something unspoken. Beau could feel the heat of his breath against his skin, the weight of Monty's body pressing against his. There was no pretense, no deception—just the raw, unfiltered connection between them.

Beau's pulse quickened as Monty's hands moved over him, exploring every inch of his body with deliberate, calculated precision. The dream was so real, every sensation so vivid, that it felt like Monty was truly there, right beside him. Beau's breath hitched as pleasure coursed through him, his mind blurring the lines between reality and fantasy.

He could hear Monty's voice, low and velvety, whispering things that made his heart race and his body ache with longing. Beau reached out, desperate to hold onto this fleeting moment, to capture the feeling that Monty was somehow more than just a dream.

But the truth was far more complicated.

In reality, it wasn't Monty who was in the room.

Jax stood by the bed, watching Beau with a mixture of devotion and something far darker. His hands moved with practiced care, giving Beau what he wanted—what he needed—while he slept, oblivious to the truth. The lines between duty and desire had blurred for Jax long ago, and now, in the quiet of the night, he allowed himself this brief moment of indulgence.

As Beau sighed in his sleep, lost in the throes of his dream, Jax's heart twisted painfully in his chest. He knew this wasn't right. He knew he should stop. But he couldn't. Not when he had been so close for so long, yet always so far away.

When it was over, Jax carefully adjusted the covers over Beau's body, his hands lingering for just a moment longer than necessary. He whispered something—a promise, a confession—but Beau, lost in his dreams, didn't hear.

Jax straightened and quietly left the room, the door clicking shut behind him. As he descended the stairs, the weight of his actions pressed heavily on his shoulders. But in this world of shadows and deception, where loyalty often came at a price, Jax knew that some secrets were meant to be kept.

And tonight, this secret would stay buried—along with everything else he had sacrificed for the man who would never truly see him.