Title: A Matter of Courage
Series: Hong Kong Nights, Book Two
Author: J.C. Long
Publisher: NineStar
Press
Release Date: September 4, 2017
Heat Level: 3 - Some Sex
Pairing: Male/Male
Length: 81400
Genre: Contemporary, mafia,
criminals, friends to lovers, alcohol use, slow burn
Synopsis
Winston
Chang has spent much of his young life admiring the Dragons who have kept his
area safe and fought off the gangs that would bring violence to their area. Now
that he’s an adult, he wants nothing more than to join the Dragons and live up
to those standards.
The
opportunity presents itself when his passion and knowledge of cars is just what
the Dragons need. One of their own has been killed and his death seems linked
to his involvement with the illegal racing scene known as the Dark Streets.
Winston is needed to infiltrate the scene and find out who is responsible and
why.
Steel
has always been Winston’s best friend, and Winston has always been there to get
him out of trouble. Just as the stress in Winston’s life reaches its peak, the
relationship between Winston and Steel begins to change in ways neither of them
expected.
Will
Winston and Steel be able to find the courage to face not only the unknown
killer stalking the Dark Streets racers but also their growing feelings?
Excerpt
A
Matter of Courage
J.C.
Long © 2017
All
Rights Reserved
Chapter
One
Winston
Chang awoke with a splitting headache, a mouth that tasted like rubbing
alcohol, and the feeling that he was on a boat out at sea during a storm. His
stomach flip-flopped just from opening his eyes, and he let out a pitiful
groan. He closed his eyes again and gritted his teeth to fight back the nausea
that washed over him at the smell of his own breath.
What
the fuck did I do last night?
He
waited until the bout of nausea passed and slowly opened his eyes once more. He
was happy to find he could open them without making himself puke; it was
progress. He stared up at the ceiling, confused. It wasn’t the ceiling of his
room. His ceiling didn’t have those weird little texture-bumps all over it.
The
next thing Winston noticed was the sound of someone else snoring. He turned his
head to the side, wincing at the stab of pain the movement caused. His best
friend, who liked to be called Steel, was lying facedown on the bed next to
him, head turned facing his direction. Steel was still lost in sleep, snoring
every so often.
Winston
couldn’t face him long; Steel’s breath also reeked of cheap booze and poor
decisions.
Staring
back up at the ceiling, he tried to remember something, anything, from the
night before. He and Steel had gone to a bar, that much he remembered—like he
remembered it being Steel’s idea, because it was always Steel’s idea. The place
was a dive, dimly lit, stinking of smoke and booze and sweat. At some point in
the night, they’d been approached by a group of people who asked them to join
their group. Winston had been hesitant, wanting to get in early, though he
couldn’t recall why he’d kept insisting they leave. Steel had convinced him to
stay, as always. Winston never could tell Steel no.
He
vaguely recalled stumbling back to Steel’s apartment, which was near the club,
unable to drive home, barely able to walk up the single flight of stairs to
Steel’s apartment. At one point, he had thrown up, though he couldn’t remember
when, and everything after that was a complete blur.
Grunting,
he sat up, and immediately buried his head in his hands to fight the swelling
nausea that threatened to empty the contents of his stomach. Once he had it
under control, he turned toward Steel. The way the sheet fell, Winston couldn’t
tell if Steel was dressed.
He
looked down quickly, lifting the sheet off his own form. He was naked and
sporting quite the morning wood despite his hangover. It was funny the things
the body did.
Why
the fuck am I naked?
He
glanced at the clock. It was nearly nine in the morning. He searched around
him, finding no sign of his cell phone or clothes. He turned, shaking Steel’s
shoulder roughly. “Dude, where’re my clothes? Dude!” He shook harder, and Steel
finally stirred long enough to roll onto his back, muttering something
unintelligible.
Seeing
Steel lying like that made Winston’s pulse quicken. He raked his eyes over his
friend’s sleeping body, admiring the musculature. Steel wasn’t a gym bunny, but
his body was lean from a rougher-than-average childhood, whipcord muscles
standing out with his arms stretched over his head. The room was chilly—Steel
always slept with his air conditioner on—and his nipples were stiff buds. The
sheet pulled down just enough for Winston to see that he was wearing his
typical boxers.
Everything
about Steel drew him in. He’d known Steel since he was ten years old—almost
eleven years, now. For pretty much the entirety of that friendship, Winston had
been in love with him. Something he’d been unable to shake. Most of the time,
he didn’t think he wanted to—and then other times, Steel drove him crazy, and
not just in a sexual way.
Winston
couldn’t help his eyes traveling down to the dragon tattoo on Steel’s calf—his
leg was sticking out of the sheet—and his admiration was interrupted by a jolt
of envy. Winston longed to have one of those tattoos himself, the mark of the
Dragons, the gang—for lack of a better word—that ran the Eastern District. The
underworld of Hong Kong, both the island city itself and the New Territories on
the Mainland, was run by gangs, competing against one another and struggling to
gain power.
The
Dragons, though, they were different. They didn’t rule through fear, drugs, or
terror, but by protecting and serving the community. Wei, the leader of the
Dragons, didn’t allow drugs to be sold in the Eastern District, and he didn’t
demand protection money from the people; he protected them because it was a
duty he’d taken upon himself.
It
was a duty Winston wanted to take up, too.
He
reached out to touch Steel’s chest and stopped himself, instead slapping
Steel’s stomach—though it might not have been safer to go near his friend’s
lower body.
Steel
jerked awake, swatting at Winston, who knew his friend well enough to move
quickly out of reach. “What the hell, man?”
“Where
are my clothes?”
Steel
flopped back on the bed, closing his eyes tightly. Winston sympathized with what
he must have been feeling at that moment, and he was thankful his nausea was
mostly gone, leaving him with just the headache.
“Dude,
my clothes?”
Steel
inhaled and exhaled slowly several times before answering. “You don’t remember?
You puked all over them last night, so they’re in the wash.”
So
that was when he threw up. That question was answered. “Okay, so how did I
manage to get them off?”
Steel
chuckled despite how much pain his head must be in. “You didn’t. You just
tugged at the shirt like a baby, and I finally got you undressed. Dick stiffed
right up when I took off those little boy briefs, too. How long has it been
since you got some action, Winston?”
The
sound of his phone ringing jarred Winston, and he peered around for it, finding
it on the bedside table next to him. He grabbed it and saw that it was Conroy
Wong, Wei’s right-hand man in the Dragons.
“Hey,
Conroy.” He hoped he didn’t sound too hungover. Conroy didn’t disapprove of
drinking—the opposite, actually; he drank like a tank and never in his life
seemed to have a hangover—but if he knew Winston had one, he would take great
pleasure in torturing him in as many ways as he possibly could. “What’s up?”
“Yo,
where the fuck are you, man?”
Dread
coiled in Winston’s stomach; he didn’t like it when Conroy sounded angry at
him. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s
wrong. Just wanted to make sure your punk ass was up. A few of my boys told me
you and Steel were out drinking ’til dawn. How ya feelin’?”
“I’m
fine,” Winston lied. “Absolutely no problem.”
“Good,
then you won’t mind hoppin’ in your car and driving to the airport,” said
Conroy cheerfully. Winston guessed if he could see him at that moment, he’d
have that smug little smile on his face that drove Winston crazy. “The boss is
busy right now, and Noah will be arriving this afternoon. Wei refuses to let
him just ride public transportation like a normal person, especially since—”
“Since
the subway will take him through Twisted Viper territory,” Winston finished. He
understood Wei’s concern; their recent run-ins with the Twisted Vipers had been
far less than friendly, and temperatures were getting even colder, fast.
Considering Noah was at the heart of that unfriendly encounter, Wei’s concern
was completely justified.
“What
time is he getting in?”
“Just
after noon.”
“Damn
it. That means I need to get going now.”
“Get
on it.” Conroy hung up with that.
“What
did Conroy want?” Steel asked. He was now sitting up in bed, looking relatively
healthier. Winston felt a bit of resentment at his quick recovery.
“Asked
me to ride out to the airport to get Noah. Wei’s busy.”
“Oh,
is Noah coming back from America today?”
“I
guess so.” Winston started out of the bed but stopped. “What the fuck am I
going to wear?”
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Meet the Author
J.C. Long is an American expat living in
Japan, though he’s also lived stints in Seoul, South Korea—no, he’s not an army
brat; he’s an English teacher. He is also quite passionate about Welsh corgis
and is convinced that anyone who does not like them is evil incarnate. His
dramatic streak comes from his life-long involvement in theater. After living
in several countries aside from the United States J. C. is convinced that love
is love, no matter where you are, and is determined to write stories that
demonstrate exactly that. J. C. Long’s favorite things in the world are
pictures of corgis, writing and Korean food (not in that order…okay, in that
order). J. C. spends his time not writing thinking about writing, coming up
with new characters, attending Big Bang concerts and wishing he was writing.
The best way to get him to write faster is to motivate him with corgi pictures.
Yes, that is a veiled hint.
Author Links
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