Chapter 11, Dangerous Roommate (Cult of Eros #2, Ongoing Update)

Dangerous Roommate Novel by M. Gaspary Featured Image - Free Chapters
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Here’s chapter 11 of the new book, “Dangerous Roommate.” Enjoy reading. Let me know your thoughts about this chapter in the comment section below.

Gobsmacked. That was how Stefan felt after he returned home when he found no Frank around. “Frank?” He screamed. His voice echoed. As he kept calling his name, he searched for him until he reached upstairs to his room. His eyes widened when he saw it was left empty. He cursed as he quickly turned his back, heading downstairs again. He ran to his Tesla and hopped in.

He drove around, searching every street. Ten minutes seemed like twenty, twenty like an hour. But that didn’t stop him. He went on instead until he arrived at the storage facility. Before he passed through it, he turned his head in that direction and saw Frank standing with the movers lifting cartons.

That scene was enough to make him curse and slam a hand on the steering wheel. Without a second to lose, he turned the car and pulled on the other side of the street.

A loud screech blasted everyone’s ears. He didn’t even care about parking his car properly. He didn’t have time for that shit. Because there was something more troubling than just parking the car. While his eyes glued to the man, he walked in significant strides, trying to stop the movers from taking the last carton.

“Stop it!”

The mover paused in his tracks. He bent down, releasing the carton in hand, and straightened himself, watching the man running in their direction.

Struggling to keep his calm, Stefan stood before Frank and gulped. To his surprise, Frank didn’t back down. He stared back.

“What are you doing?” Stefan asked, only to find himself embarrassed when Frank refused to speak. “What’s this?” He screamed, popping the veins on his neck. That wasn’t enough for Frank’s attention. Feeling more eager, he stood closer, blocking his path. “Why did you leave? Answer me. Why did you leave!”

Frank looked at him with disinterest for a second. He just stared. He didn’t blink or care to show any reaction. Though he looked fine, he appeared more exhausted, feeling content with his defenses.

“What’s your problem?” Stefan asked in his low voice. Tension radiated from his features—from the lean line of his mouth, his straight nose, the loose shelf of his brow.

But that wasn’t enough of a threat for Frank. “You,” he said, leaving him scoffing and shaking his head in disbelief.

“I’m the problem,” Stefan repeated, only to be dumbfounded when he saw him nod in answer. He clucked, knowing this couldn’t go on. He couldn’t just let Frank leave. No. He didn’t want him to leave.

But then his attention moved to the man approaching behind him. “Len…”

Len approached him, blocking him from standing close to Frank. “I told you to stay away.” His voice was low but commanding enough to put Stefan in stress mode.

Stefan spat. “How about a bet?” He cocked an eyebrow, anticipating his reaction.

But Len remained unbothered. “You never changed.”

“But I’m giving it a fair shot.”

“Fair? You’re funny.”

“What do you want to bet?” Stefan tilted his head, glowering at him as though it was enough to keep Len on his toes.

“If I win, you stay away from Frank.”

“I guess you wouldn’t mind if I keep him if you lose.”

Len refused to say a word. Instead, he kept staring at him, feeling more eager to win.

In the meantime, Frank stayed and watched, overly frustrated, trying to enjoy an agonizing show. He couldn’t help but roll his eyes, wondering how they ended up like this. He couldn’t imagine being in such drama with Gun. That fact made him feel unusually grateful for what he had.

When the two kept their silence, their eyes spelled out fury. If this was what brotherhood was all about, there was no shadow of a doubt they were loving.

And that same love was brought inside the cage, wearing their tight-fight sports attire. All set for the fight of their lives. While Len kept his eyes on Stefan, he noticed how determined he was, as though he was desperate to have Frank. That had kept him wondering why. “What is it you really want from him?”

“Mind your life,” Stefan replied.

Though he was there to fight for the sake of his dear maestro, he couldn’t help but let out a small breath and swallow. He could feel his feet slow as he got closer, but he was more than willing to do anything and everything. In hindsight, he was kind of worried about the outcome, given that he hadn’t fought anyone since he had left this chapter of his life. After he entered art school, he had never landed a finger on anyone, let alone invited someone for a cage fight.

It had been a while since he had felt his hands wrapped with gauze so tightly. It had been a while since he had curled his fists like this. He hadn’t realized how long it had been until he found himself standing before his brother with the same determination to win just as he did before.

But then, he saw hurt in his eyes. He saw confusion, vulnerability, and desperation. It was all over his face. Though he had never been close to him, though he had let him down again and again, though there had been times when he had hated him, deep inside his heart, he still wanted to reach out to him. Stefan, for all his weaknesses and mistakes, was still his brother. But he didn’t dare.

What was this fight for, actually? Being there had left him confused, and the longer he watched him, studying how his face looked, how his eyes fired, he thought perhaps, there was more than just winning Frank. In his mind, this wasn’t something Stefan would do. If he would ever fight for something, it must be so important that he couldn’t let it go.

As much as he wanted to ask more questions, he knew he would only end up with another one. Maybe more than he could answer. So, he’d rather keep his mouth shut, thinking it was the best decision for peace’s sake. Because, anyway, Stefan wouldn’t talk. With matters like this, he knew he would never want to lose.

And he felt that. That imposing energy was coming off him, though he stood more than a meter away from him. He studied his expressionless face, trying to pretend he was fine. But he wasn’t. Because out of all people, he chose Frank. While Stefan kept his eyes glued to him, Len didn’t back down and stared back.

Slowly, he moved his feet and extremities to prepare, looking at ease, though his heart was ahead of every other emotion that clogged his throat. But he kept moving, kept his composure intact. It was only when he finally stood directly before him, feeling his breaths escape his mouth, did he feel the oozing anguish from this man.

“Not scared?” Stefan asked, cocking a severely arched eyebrow while flashing a smug on his face.

Len scoffed and shook his head as though he couldn’t believe what he had heard. Words like scared, happy, sad, or home would never escape his mouth. That alone took him by surprise. “Why would I?” he asked as calmly as he could, though deep inside, he stalled. A familiar sense of panic welled in his throat. He brushed his hair back from his forehead, flashing a quick, small smile.

“Why do you want to fight me? You could have just let me have Frank without problems.” His voice hung there in the silence for a minute, then dropped, leaving nothing but the echoes of the net swinging and a few conversations from trainees and coaches in the background to fill the void.

“Mind your life,” Len replied in a condescending tone, wishing Stefan would understand how pissed he was, letting him know that he was on guard and more than willing to take the risk and protect him with all his might. If he had to be Frank’s knight in shining armor, he would. He couldn’t just sit there and watch him live in misery because of him. Not within his watch.

Because no one knew Stefan better than him.

Without saying a word, Stefan suddenly jumped in the air with his arm raised and fist curled. He took every strength, hoping to land a knockout punch and finish this unnecessary business. He thought he didn’t need to come here and waste his time. He would rather chase Frank wherever he was than engage in a petty fight with Len.

However, Len managed to block his attack with both arms pressed together and quickly extended one arm, pushing it forward in his direction, and then hit a part of his face.

Disappointed, Stefan swiftly turned his body and raised his leg to kick. When he failed, he tried again. Punched and jabbed again. Blocked and kicked. And then, jumped. Punched again. It became two and then three. Another one came as swiftly as his feet to arrive in Len’s abdomen, pushing him back.

After a hard slam to the net, he watched him stumbling, though he tried to crawl, leaning against the net, and get up again. That surprised him. When Len looked at him, revealing bruises splattered around his face, he saw the same eagerness in his eyes. Almost a fury. Whatever Len wanted to gain from this fight, Stefan was certain it was strong enough for this young man to continue despite the known defeat.

But that didn’t matter to him. Nothing was worth fighting for except for Frank. He needed the man. He had to have him. No matter what. That was what all this was about. What Len had in mind wasn’t a priority. He had to win. Not even a sense of brotherhood could save him from that ultimate desire, almost an obsession.

This thought remained in his head, though his body was blanketed with pain earned from Len’s hard punches. As much as he wanted to scream or show any reaction, he didn’t want him to know. He didn’t want him to think he was weak. Because he wasn’t. He was Stefan Arellano. Nobody could beat him. Not in this kind of fight he was known for. No.

Although his body was struck with more than a handful of kicks and punches, although his body screamed in pain, he wasn’t ready to give in. He wasn’t ready to accept defeat even when Len had caught him into submission. With his arms in a chokehold, Stefan could barely breathe. As the tightness around his neck had increased, he narrowed his eyes, almost shutting them, thinking about an opportunity to strike.

At this point, that’s what he was wishing for.

Just one lucky strike, and he would be done with this. Anger, hopelessness, and wanting to see Mia again brought him to his ultimatum. These, combined with his training, he tried to escape Len’s grip, rubbing his feet against the net, hoping he could get a grip and stand.

It was a struggle. But he kept going. He didn’t stop. He went on until that one brief moment when he finally got his feet in place. With his knees bent and legs to support his weight, he wrapped his arms around him, tightening his grip. Then, he screamed his lungs out as he grabbed the man, extending both arms, raising him into the air, and then slamming him to the ground.

When he saw Len rolling and heard his loud grunts, he knew he was winning. Watching him struggling to get on his feet, he dragged himself in his direction with a heavy heart. “We didn’t have to do this. But you forced me.” He babbled on, watching him limping. He pushed out a breath and looked him in the eye. “Now tell me, where should I find him?”

Len lowered his head, obviously struggling to accept his defeat. After several minutes, he raised his face to his eye view and rolled his eyes. He breathed out a small, rueful laugh, surprising him. “You’re pretty desperate, aren’t you?”

Whether it was something in his voice or the grim set on his face that did it, Stefan wasn’t sure. All he could say was he was certainly not the type of person who would confess.

Knowing Len’s inhibitions, he didn’t back down. “I don’t care. I played fair and square with you. It would be nice if you could do the same.” His voice was low but took on the hard-as-nails sound, though he struggled to catch his breath.

“What will you do to him?” Len asked with concern in his voice.

Stefan let out an insulting chuckle. “It’s not about what.” He paused and gave him a long look. “It’s about who. Whether you like it or not, Frank is mine. So, fuck off!”

Author’s Note:

Thank you so much for spending time reading this chapter. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did when I wrote this part months ago. This chapter, in particular, reminded me of those times when I sat before my desk, seemingly prepared to type in words, but I struggled to keep it up.

It took an external motivation to get it through, and, at that time, the NaNoWriMo event was upcoming. At that time, I thought, “This could be a great opportunity to try and give this a shot one more time. You’d done an excellent job with ‘The Rival,’ so you could do it, Mecyll.”

You know, it’s easier said than done because writing a chapter with a clear intent to finish it requires more than just a skill. Since I started writing fiction, I realized how much this work demands my ability to be naked and the guarantees to answer whether I was mentally, emotionally, and spiritually prepared to face my fears, conscious or unconscious.

So, being able to write this down meant I managed despite the countless times dancing around with depression and enjoying the roller coaster rides my anxiety provided me.

This is why I don’t know how to thank you for your support, regardless of the scale or contribution size, from sharing my work with others or buying my books. It doesn’t matter because, for me, every small act you show is appreciated.

Again, thank you, and have a great day!

If you like to support my writing life, here’s what you can do:

  1. Get a copy of “The Rival” Uncensored Gay Romance Novel.
  2. Read “Dr. Clay” (Cult of Eros #1)
  3. Check out my latest book, “Non-Native Speakers Only.”
  4. Find more writing tips on my website (i.e., content writing, freelance writing, copywriting, self-publishing, novel writing, and many more!)
  5. Subscribe to my Substack newsletter.

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