Diablo Blanco Club 2, Under Control by Qwillia Rain Page A

by the time he‟d pulled into the cul-de-sac where Ben‟s house sat on an acre of land. Lights blazed in the other homes in the quiet section of the housing development and streetlights dispelled the shadows only as far as the front walks. After switching off his truck‟s ignition, he palmed the keys and contemplated his next move.
    He couldn‟t face Ben at the Club. Not again. As much as he loved the man, he needed to tackle this next task and deal with the fallout before he could go any further.
    The .38 now sat on the passenger seat of his truck with the safety on, as useless to him now as it had been the first morning he‟d been out of the hospital, woken from his nightmares, and confronted what he‟d done. He‟d admitted then that taking the coward‟s way out was not an option. The blued barrel and matte black grip were a sharp contrast to the tan leather.
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    And her voice seemed to whisper in his ear when he reached for it. You promised to tell him.
    “I know I did, Aimee,” Vance whispered in the quiet of his truck.
    As if she sat beside him, he could see her eyes, so solemn, but a glint of mischief winked every once in a while. You promised.
    It was ridiculous to think she‟d let him use his gun. He‟d known that long before he turned to Ben last night. Not to mention his own conscience, despite the guilt at what he‟d done, would never find adequate justification to end his own life. Whether he was in the service or not, once a marine, always a marine. And marines never quit.
    Shaking his head, he snagged the pistol off the seat and secured it back in its holster. “And I left him a letter,” he tried to reason, but a quirk of her lips had him shaking his head.
    You said you’d tell him.
    “I‟m here—”
    The cab light flashed on, momentarily blinding him as the driver‟s door was yanked open.
    “You‟ve got some explaining to do,” Ben snarled, the tight grip of his hand around Vance‟s arm barely registered in Vance‟s mind as the older man yanked him from his truck.
    The door slammed shut milliseconds after Ben thrust Vance against the extended cab. The solid thunk of a fist striking metal and the resulting vibrations against the back of his skull had Vance eyeing Ben cautiously.
    In the eight years they‟d been friends, he‟d only seen Ben lose his temper once, but his narrowed gaze and gunmetal gray, almost black, eyes had Vance evaluating the fastest and least dangerous—to him or Ben—escape route in case his lover decided hitting the truck would not be enough.
    Diablo Blanco Club: Under Control
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    “Well?” Ben demanded. His arms crossed over a bare chest. Water beaded his skin and dripped from his disheveled hair.
    Vance figured Ben had just gotten out of the shower when he arrived. A glance down confirmed it when he spotted Ben‟s naked feet and the damp fabric at the waistband of his zipped but unbuttoned jeans.
    “Well, what?”
    “What?” Ben leaned against the truck cab, one arm braced beside Vance‟s shoulder, his voice a feral growl. “Where the fuck do you get off leaving a note like this?”
    The paper Ben shook in Vance‟s face looked as if it had been crumpled up and smoothed out several times. “I didn‟t want you wondering where I was when you woke up,” Vance said.
    “And this”—Ben shook the letter at him again before pushing away from the truck—“was supposed to keep me from worrying?” Pacing agitatedly back and forth in front of him, he continued to rant. “That‟s a poor goddamned excuse, V.”
    Easing away from the truck, Vance pushed the button to set the lock and alarm before he tucked the keys in his pocket. “Why don‟t we take this inside?” he suggested, motioning toward the house.
    “Inside or out, Justiss,” Ben growled, “you better have a very good fuckin‟ reason for putting me through this.”
    Vance‟s stomach picked that moment to gurgle in displeasure at being ignored.
    “Listen, let me make