Chapter 12 #2
Frowning, Dante picks up his fork and digs in. I don’t miss the tension easing from his body, like he was waiting for my approval. He likes that I enjoy his food.
Laz keeps the conversation amiable. We mostly talk about fighting. I used to dabble in street fighting back in my twenties, but I won’t bring that up when Dante’s already in a mood.
His brother tells me about their father being a professional Colombian fighter. I make a mental note to look up Sotero’s fights later this evening.
“You’re familiar with Muay Thai?” Laz asks around a mouthful of food.
“I earned my first belt in Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu at twenty-seven.”
It wasn’t that I necessarily cared about the status. It just seemed like fun at the time. A good challenge to occupy my mind between deployments.
“Never too late to start. Takes discipline,” Laz replied.
“Mmm. It’s the mental game I like. Anticipating your opponent’s moves. Defeating them before you even lay hands on them.” I glance at Dante, but he keeps his head down.
A big grin spreads on Laz’s face. “Nothing compares to that feeling.”
Dante takes another long drink of his beer.
“We should roll sometime,” Laz says.
I don’t miss the way Dante throws his brother shade. Definitely the jealous type. I would say I’m not capable of feeling it, but things are different with Dante.
“I’d enjoy that.” I smile politely.
“Cool.” Laz bobs his head. “So what do you do for work?”
I feel Dante’s eyes flick to me, almost daring me to tell the truth.
“I’m the COO at Sinro Enterprises. We mainly offer security detail.”
Laz’s fork freezes over his food. I catch the twitch of a muscle in his jaw before he recovers, quickly shoveling a bite of food in his mouth before he pushes away from the table.
As he takes his plate to the sink, I don’t comment on his sudden, weird behavior.
Not everyone in West Bank is a fan of our work, especially those who like to meddle in crime.
And Laz has a criminal record.
Dante’s chair screeches as he gets up, too, his food barely picked at. He scoops the leftovers into a glass container to place in the fridge as Laz slips out the front door with a full trash bag in tow.
“I’ll wash dishes,” I offer.
Dante doesn’t protest. I’m pleasantly surprised when he lingers in the kitchen, eyes glued to me as he drinks another beer.
Smirking, I take my time scrubbing our plates under the warm water.
Once I’m finished resting them on a towel beside the sink, I turn around and lean against the counter to look at him.
He sets his beer on the table and crosses his arms. “Whatever you think you’re getting out of this other than SIXX to kill, you’re gonna be disappointed.”
“Why is that?”
He motions between us. “I don’t do this.”
“What, have conversations?”
“No, pendejo. Whatever this is you think is gonna happen between us.”
“Oh, we’re going to fuck, Dante,” I say matter-of-factly.
His eyes glint with fire. I can’t help pushing his buttons. Every interaction, every little shift in his body language, ignites me. I don’t foresee getting tired of him. Not like with the other guys I’ve fucked. Sure, they proved to be fun in the heat of the moment, but nothing more.
“You’re delusional,” he mutters.
I walk toward him, caging him against the wall.
My cock takes notice of the red blooming on his cheeks.
If his brother weren’t about to walk back inside, I might be tempted to push him harder.
To shove him into the tiny bathroom beside us, lock the door, and drop to my knees to show him just how much he already owns me.
His Adam’s apple bobs. “Still hate you.”
“Mmm. Have you had hate sex before, Dante?” I murmur.
“We’re not talking about this.”
“No?”
He gives my chest a shove, but he comes with me, hands twisted in the material of my shirt. Either he’s not aware of the fact that he’s holding me, or I’m beginning to break him down.
I grin wickedly as he bumps me against the kitchen counter. “I’m all yours, murder kitten.”
He looks like he wants to hurt me. Like he wants to cock a fist back and slam it into my jaw. And yet, his forehead falls to my chest as he sighs heavily. “You keep fucking with my head.”
My humor dissolves. A new emotion settles in. An odd desire to wrap him up and hold him, even though I know this is probably just the beers he drank talking.
I grip the counter harder, determined to keep my word to him. I won’t touch him until he asks for it.
“I’ve been clear from the start what I want with you, Dante.”
“And I’ve been clear about how much I don’t want it.”
I shift my leg slightly, nudging the hard ridge in his pants with my thigh. “No? Your body tells me otherwise.”
“Natural reaction. Doesn’t mean shit,” he whispers.
We stay locked like that, his hands fisted in my shirt, and my body taut with desire as he lifts his head to look at me with wide pupils.
I can only imagine how good it’s going to feel to sink into him. To claim him in every way. A sinister voice chants in my head. Mine. Mine. Mine.
“Touch me, and I’ll cut you,” he says.
But the way he’s looking at me seems more like a dare. Like he wants me to be the one to break first so he can blame me for whatever unravels. He doesn’t want to want me.
“Careful. You turn me on when you talk murderous,” I reply.
“Yet you don’t do shit about it.”
“I don’t play without consent, and you can’t consent while drinking.”
His nostrils flare. “That’s your fucking line in the sand?”
“I don’t want you regretting anything we do together. I’m going to earn you. I want every bit of your venom until I do.”
His lashes flutter before his brown eyes dip to my mouth. He leans closer, and I struggle to hold onto my last thread of willpower.
I bring my lips to the shell of his ear. “What do you want, baby boy?”
His exhale is shaky and hot against my neck. “Revenge.”
As much as the visual of him sinking his knife into our enemies turns me on even more, it irks me, too. His life shouldn’t belong to SIXX.
“After their bodies are cold in the ground,” I clarify.
His silence proves my assumption correct—his life stopped when SIXX pulled the trigger. I witnessed internal shutdowns from comrades while I was enlisted, but I’ve never experienced it myself. Never questioned my purpose in this world or hesitated on account of any sort of emotional turmoil.
I hunt. I kill. I move on.
But pure souls like Dante…
My hands twitch with the urge to take his face in my hands. “Don’t put your life on hold for them.”
Dante pushes away, his gaze dropping to the floor. “You should go.”
I study him for a moment longer. From our limited interactions, I’ve picked up that he rarely says what he feels. I don’t want to leave him tonight and have him fall apart. I meant what I said; I don’t want him to regret anything with me.
And if he never comes around to the idea of us, then I’ll have to be satisfied with protecting him and nothing more.
“Thank you for dinner,” I say softly.
After retrieving my coat, I step out into the cold. On my walk between our houses, I’m stopped by a presence in the alley.
Laz.
He’s puffing on a cigarette, fixated on the smoke billowing in the air. I prop against the wall next to him and wait for an explanation for his sudden change in behavior at dinner.
“You’re good for my brother,” Laz says quietly, flicking ash onto the street.
“Maybe not as good as you think.”
Laz nods and scuffs his boot on the ground. “We all keep secrets, don’t we?”
“It’s the nature of humanity.” I shrug.
Deep-brown eyes meet mine with an edge. “I would do anything to protect my brother.”
“Whatever it is you’ve done, I can help.”
Laz grimaces. “See, I don’t think you can, amigo.”
Again, I give him space to air out whatever is troubling him. Sometimes a good interrogation involves silence. With certain people, it can be more effective than inflicting pain.
Laz takes another inhale from his cigarette. “I don’t care what happens to me, but I don’t want my little bro to go through any more shit, you know?”
“I can understand that.”
“He’s fond of you.”
I’m not sure how Dante’s aggression could translate into fondness, but Laz understands him better than I do.
“If you’re in a dangerous situation, I can offer you and Dante a safe place to stay.”
Laz shakes his head, then spits on the ground. “Dante won’t go.”
“Not even if you do?”
After one final puff of smoke, Laz smashes the butt of his cigarette on the bricks. “I’m gonna drop something on your front porch after Dante goes to bed.”
With those mysterious words spoken, he disappears inside his house.
I sigh, tipping my head up to the dark, hazy night sky, as I wonder what kind of trouble Laz could have gotten himself into and how it could potentially impact Dante. The two brothers have already been through enough, yet trouble seems to flock to them.
Is Laz stealing money? I couldn’t help but notice the chilly temp in their house. He could be trying to cover bills.
Or he could be in too deep with the street fighting. Someone with his skill level and proclivity for illegal activity would thrive in that environment. I know from experience.
Though my choice to step into the ring wasn’t financially driven. I just needed something to temporarily cure my boredom between tours.
I’d offer up whatever money Laz needs to make ends meet, but I doubt he’d appreciate me meddling. Pride runs deep in this family, and I plan on staying in Laz’s good graces.
After all, I’m going to be dating his brother soon.
So, I’ll just have to wait to see what kind of gift Laz delivers later this evening.
As I push off the wall, I glance up at Dante’s bedroom window. A black cat is perched on the fire escape railing like a tiny gargoyle, big green eyes glowing in the night. Behind the fluffy animal, Dante peeks out of his curtains. I chuckle when he drops them back into place.
It’s only after I’ve showered and propped myself up in bed with my work laptop that I get a message from him. Swiping at it quickly, I discover it’s not a message. It’s a video.
A dirty video.
I groan, squeezing my hardening cock in my sweats. “Oh, baby boy. You are fucking trouble.”
Hitting play on the image of him stripped down to a lacy red thong, I marvel at his confidence. He’s beautiful. All taut, lean muscle that he knows how to work.
His phone must be propped up against a pillow on his bed. The camera is angled up from between his legs, a place I’d very much like to be.
I grow rock hard the second he touches a hand to his bare chest and glides it down his body. He holds eye contact with the camera the entire time, almost as if taunting me.
Touch me, and I’ll fuck you up.
“Don’t you know I want it?” I murmur.
I stop breathing when his hand reaches his panties. Shutting his eyes, he tips his head back and shifts his hips forward. A whimper slips free when he touches himself.
A fucking whimper.
It’s so baby boy coded.
The idea of stroking myself without his presence displeases me. Next time I come, I need it to be on him or inside him.
Which unfortunately leaves me to simply watch.
Dante slips his panties beneath his balls and jerks himself so fucking slowly with a lubed hand that I have to tug at my hair to keep from storming across the alleyway, climbing up his fire escape, and ruining him for all others.
He comes with a raspy moan and a shudder of his body. An overwhelming need to possess him floods every molecule of my being. This is worse than an itch. It’s an inferno burning beneath my skin.
I’ve got hundreds of successful missions under my belt, and yet this feisty Colombian king will be my downfall.