Tarot: the Fool- Paranormal M/M Romance

Chapter One

David

I stared down at the sleeping man in my bed, shaking my head in annoyance. I had never understood my penchant for sticking my nose where it didn't belong and this was just the newest, shiniest example of that. The guy needed medical attention, but when I had lifted him up from the dirty alley ground and offered to take him to the hospital, he had adamantly refused. Worse: he had struggled and fought against me, ready to bolt, until I promised him I wouldn't drag his ass to the hospital.

So now here I was, trying my best to administer medical aid to a beaten, half-starved kid, all because I couldn't keep myself to my own damn self.

At first I had thought it was just a small pile of dirty laundry someone had thrown away. Until it twitched and there was a groan just as Ricky's foot landed with a soft thunk!

Ricky and his posse of the young, the rich and the spoiled surrounded the pile, taking turns kicking at it. It was proven even further to not be a pile of clothes when each hit landed on something solid beneath the dirty clothes. 

"What the fuck?!" I yelled, advancing on the little pricks. All five looked up at me, angry that I had interrupted whatever the fuck they thought they had been doing.

Ricky was the son of the town mayor, and as such the bastard was untouchable. He could probably get away with murder, and had spent much of his youth pushing the limits of the law. I knew at least one girl in town who refused to be alone with the prick. And his little posse of dicks followed him like baby ducks.

"Back up, old man," Ricky growled, his foot planted on the now-silent form on the ground, as if staking his claim. "This ain't none of your business."

"Like fuck it isn't," I hissed, advancing until I was nose-to-nose with the kid. He was barely twenty and he was a big fucker. But I outweighed him by at least fifty pounds, and I was at least three inches taller than him. I also had a bit of Uncle Sam's training in my back pocket, so I knew I could lay the kid out in a matter of a few moves if it came down to it. But from the way his friends were backing up, and his eyes began darting back to them, I knew it wouldn't come to that. "You're in my alley, you little pricks. Get out. Now."

"Whatever. Fuck." Ricky spit, the nasty-ass loogie landing way too close to my boots for my comfort. "We were done anyways."

Within seconds, the spoiled fucks were gone and I was left with a silent pile of stinky someone.

I had been shocked to hear, rather than a groan of pain, a soft meowing. And then the form turned over and I gasped. The boy— I thought he was a boy, at least— feminine face, but short hair and a much more lithe, willowy body than I'd seen on any woman— was young, and beyond that I couldn't tell much more due to the grime, blood, and swelling bruises that covered his poor face. But the dark black eyes staring up at me showed an ancient, dark kind of sadness, despite the obvious youth in the rest of the boy.

Wrapped in the boy's arms was a tiny, once-white kitten. The animal had three working legs, one that looked like it had been put through a meat grinder, and two black, bloody holes where eyes should be. I would have gagged at the sight if the poor animal hadn't mewed pitifully again.

And that was how I got into the situation i now found myself— standing above my own bed, staring down at a strange boy who was rubbing dirt and blood and God knew what else into my sheets, trying to figure out the best way to get at the injuries I knew lay beneath his clothes.