Chapter 12 #2
I tilt my head away from him, but he holds on forcefully, parting his legs so his thigh hits mine. A gross display of ownership.
My face turns slowly. I keep the smile and the genial tone. “Get your hand off of me.”
His lips pull tight. Although he does move his hand, it’s slow, like a spider crawling down my back. He keeps his glare on Robin just long enough to catch the smug smile at the corner of his mouth.
Fuck, it looks good there.
Then Jason’s black eyes meet mine. There’s something right on the edge of his tongue. I can almost hear it. My heart beats a little harder wondering whether his jealousy or his intelligence will win out.
This is not a good place to have someone like me for an enemy, but I can tell he’s dying to make our past known to Robin, right here, right now.
Suddenly, his hand shoots out, and with a splash, Robin’s white shirt turns orange, the juice from Jason’s glass tossed all over him.
“You fuck!” Robin yells, his chair smashing to the ground as he leaps to his feet.
“Shit, sorry, man,” Jason goads. “Clumsy. You’d better go change.”
“I can beat the shit out of you just like this,” Robin throws back. He’s so fast to anger. Their feud must still be going strong.
“Let’s go, pretty boy,” Jason says, climbing to his feet. Max breaks into a laugh. The men start gathering around like I wouldn’t personally beat the shit out of every one of them for this, a week before the first match and all.
“Sit the fuck down,” I command them.
Instant silence. They all drop, except Robin.
“Guards!” I shout. “Jason’s on lavatory duty this morning. Take him out.”
“Fuck off, Marco!” he spits.
“And tomorrow. And until he learns some respect. Don’t fucking touch me, and don’t make a mess of the breakfast table. Got it?”
He only stands there, seething, his fists clenching, and I wish he’d throw a punch. I wish he’d give me one good reason to retaliate. But this time his smarts do win out, and he storms off with the guards.
“Shower, birdie.” I don’t raise my eyes to him, only catch the edge of his built legs as he waits, hesitates, then leaves the room without another word.
“The rest of you, breakfast’s over.” There’s a series of groans up and down the table, which I drown out. “Go to your rooms, get ready for training.”
They can swear as much as they like, curse me. None of it will stop me sitting here, drinking my tea, and waiting for them all to fuck off.
One by one, slow as can be, they wander away until finally I’m alone.
The second I’m clear, I’m on my way to the shower room.
It’s a bad idea. A very bad idea. There are rumors swirling already. Jason knows. But he’s busy cleaning shit, so what do I care?
I’m already later than I’d like. Or Robin was too fast. The shower squeaks off, and before I can round the corner, he’s in front of me, a towel draped low around his waist, rivulets of warm water dripping down his chest. “Marco…”
“What did you think you were doing back there?”
He flares beautifully at the provocation. “I didn’t do a thing!”
“Oh, really?” I take a step toward him, the scent of steam and soap like a leash around my neck. “Then whose foot was that beneath the table?”
His pretty lips part, and a warm flush comes into his cheeks. The slightest smile twists his mouth admirably.
“Are you fucking with me, birdie?”
“I wouldn’t fuck with you, Marco.” He takes a step back, but I know it’s just so I can pin him to the locker.
I do it with pleasure, bracing a hand over his shoulder, taking the other to his chin to hold his face up to mine. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like to?”
He holds my gaze, steady. Then lunges. It’s fast, and it’s violent.
His teeth clash against mine, his tongue rough and hungry.
He grabs my hand and takes it to his dick, firm and bulging through the towel, absolutely monstrous in length and girth.
He works my hand over his cock like I owe him for the trouble.
Like this isn’t the first hard-on I’ve given him.
“Let me,” he rasps, fingers pulling up my tunic, finding the waistband beneath. “I bet you taste so fucking good.”
His fingers have just slipped around the crown of my dick when we hear it. The scuff of sandals on the tile floor. We break the kiss, breathing hard, listening. Robin’s head turns toward the entrance, perfect in profile, like a god. Then his hand starts moving again.
“Who’s there?” I shout, eyes glued to his face as his head rolls back against the locker, a wide grin growing with every pump of my dick.
“It’s, uh…” Cas’s voice. Fuck. “It’s the fixture sheet. It’s here early. They said to, um…”
“Out!” I shout in as authoritative a voice as I can summon, knowing full well I probably sound like a man being taken apart, which is exactly what I am.
“Yep,” Cas mumbles. “Yep. Going. Now.”
Thank fuck.
That lustful twinkle reaches right to the back of Robin’s eyes. I grasp him at the wrist, withdraw him slowly. The grin doesn’t fade once, even as he slides his thumb over my slit, raises it, coated in precum, and sinks it into his mouth.
It’s gratuitous. It’s pure sex. If I hadn’t shot my load an hour ago, dreaming of this exact mouth, he could probably make me come just watching him. He sinks his thumb deep between his lips, and what I’d give for that to be my dick.
I want to finish him, work his huge cock through this towel, leave him a breathless, begging heap. I’m sorely tempted to push him down to the floor and make all my dreams from this morning a reality.
But on the other hand, I also want him thinking about me during training. I want him desperate for me by lunchtime. I want him in my villa tonight.
“You heard the man, baby bird. I’ll see you out there in two minutes.”
His face falls, and I didn’t think it would be possible for such a warrior-like physique to look so petulant. “You’re not going to leave me like this.”
“I am.” I run my hand down the length of his cock one last time. “And you’re not going to touch it. You’re going to save it for me.”
“I can’t. Marco…” I’m already halfway across the room. “Marco!”
“You’ve got one minute now,” I call back. And it’s not easy to wipe the smile off my face before I turn the corner to join the rest of the team.
But that’s all it would have taken.
As soon as I see them, it knocks the sobriety straight back into me.
Valentine, completely motionless. Andreas in the corner, crouching, his head in his palms. Cas pacing, running his hand through his hair, face set and eyes red.
Max patting Elijah on the back, René speaking low to him, while they stand around a brand-new poster, right there in the middle of the wall.
I should have been here. I should have been here to tell them.
“Who the fuck posted this?” I yell at the guards. “This is my job. You don’t just stick this to the wall when I’m not here!”
“I’m first,” Andreas mumbles, no doubt mostly to himself. He’s staring off into space like he can see his maker right there, coming for him. “First.”
Cas spins a sharp circle, sighting him with a twenty-yard stare.
Cas and Andreas, match one.
At least it’s not Robin.
The thought strikes me like a knife in the chest.
I can’t think like this. He’s as good as dead. I cannot afford to care about him.
But if I can train him in time…
Train him harder. Make him better. Make him the best.
“Marco, what the fuck?”
“Sorry.” I hadn’t meant to push Max that hard. I just need to see.
My finger stabs into the board.
I. Cas vs. Andreas
II. Robin…
Robin…
The room spins beneath my feet. Heat rises to my skin, aching as though it’s been pushed there by a thousand tiny needles beneath the surface. My lungs feel like they’re in a cage.
Just one full breath…
I haven’t felt like this since… not since my first match was announced.
Movement catches my eye; my head turns.
Robin.
Robin, fresh and beautiful.
Robin’s smile, too sweet. Too soft.
Then gone.
He takes the room in with one sharp glance—the men, the poster—and he doesn’t move another inch. His eyes settle on mine.
“Round two, birdie,” I tell him weakly.
He’s still as a bronze bust for three breathless beats. Then his gaze shifts to Cas, who meets it, shakes his head, and mutters, “Elijah.”
The two lock eyes. The change in Robin is fast and catastrophic. The heated glow of him fades to a ghostly pallor, like watching his soul drain out of him. The stormy eyes dull to a faint shadow. His voice comes broken. “Fuck, man. I’m so sorry.”
He’s sorry.
He’s sorry.
This whole fucking situation—all of us slaughtering each other to give the wealthy of this city something to bet on, something to talk about over drinks in the evening.
And he’s sorry.
Elijah says nothing.
Half the man that walked in a few seconds ago, Robin turns to leave.
“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” The words are out before I can stop them, spoken with all the anger I’ve been keeping under wraps for the last five years.
He glares at me sidelong, as if he doesn’t even know who I am. And that’s the thing. He really has no idea. “I just need a second—”
“Do you think we’ve got all day? I didn’t come over here to watch you cry like a little fucking baby.”
“Marco—”
“It’s ‘Captain’ to you. Now, get your shoes on, and get the fuck out on the sand.”
I can’t stand to even look at him as he shuffles past. Him and all the rest of them. But I feel him, the hot sun and soul of him, and the warmth that fades from the room when he leaves.
Then it’s me and this poster, this bill of death. All these names, a price on every head. Men who were living their lives one day, completely innocent of any wrongdoing, and now, at the whim of people they’ll probably never even meet, here are their execution dates lined up in front of me.
Robin’s not ready.
You don’t apologize to the man you’re about to kill.
You don’t turn weak at the knees when you think about doing it.
If I let him go into battle like this, his humanity will be the death of him.
Which means I have only two weeks to destroy every last shred of it.