Chapter Fourteen #2
Nevertheless, last I’d heard, he was still living with his aunt in Bogota. So this is a welcome surprise, that’s not all that surprising. There was a strong possibility the kid would come for me eventually, and I may have hoped that if it did happen, he’d look like that.
Like an Achillean fantasy doused in hatred.
The bartender is being all post-coital clingy, and I feel that sizzle rising in my extremities again. Watching him kiss the visibly soft flesh of my little bird’s neck and throat is bringing forth another disturbing urge…
I could dislocate his jaw with my bare hands.
But then I catch something in the glimmering green. Uncertainty…
He’s not sure that it’s me.
Right… I’m wearing a mask.
El diablo…
Maybe that’s why he said it? Because he saw the devil standing out in the hall, staring at him?
Maybe that’s not even him…
A frown tugs at my lips from beneath my disguise. No, it’s definitely him. For fifteen years, I’ve been seeing those eyes in my dreams—or my nightmares, depending on who you ask.
I know with full certainty that this is Angel Alvarez standing before me, as a grown man.
That said, it could be a coincidence that he’s here. Highly unlikely, but not completely impossible. Maybe he’s not here to kill me…
Maybe he’s just here to have some good old-fashioned slutty fun. Or… maybe he’s here because he’s dating that guy.
My stomach rolls. Ugh, no. I don’t like that.
“I feel bad you didn’t get to come…” Bartender says, sliding sneaky fingers below Angel’s waistline.
I’m literally about to barge in there and snap each one in a different direction when Angel flinches. He actually jumps in surprise, at the sensation of being touched down there, grabbing the bartender’s wrist like a reflex to stop him.
I catch a very brief, yet distinct flash of malaise in Angel’s eyes. A vulnerability I don’t think he expected to feel, let alone be displaying for someone else to see.
He covers it up quick, plastering on a forced grin, distracting the bartender with kisses that make me want to puke.
But I saw it. I caught that reaction, and now that it’s in my brain, I can’t unsee it.
They’re not in a relationship, that much is clear. Still, what was that? The flustered distress of being touched, like something visceral he couldn’t control…
I myself have been caught off-guard by this entire turn of events. There’s no way I can just go into the suite and fuck whomever Dom selected for me.
No, no. What’s happening here is much more enticing.
Finally deciding to leave this hallway and go regroup, I slip away while the kid is distracted. But I only make it a step before I hear the bartender’s voice… calling him Lucas.
Lucas Lips.
I scoff, shaking my head. What a corny fool.
Still, I’m pleased by this revelation. Now I know what name to look for in the guest manifest.
Surely there will be more than a few Lucas’s, but it shouldn’t be too hard to narrow it down. I’m assuming he either had a fake ID made with his picture, or is using the ID of someone named Lucas who looks like him.
Stalking away quickly, I slip into the elevator, using my key card to access my personal floor. Only Dom and I have access to it, but even he isn’t allowed in certain areas. I trust him enough to run this place, but anything beyond that is questionable.
Honestly, there aren’t many people I trust with more than business. Very few, in fact. Single digits for sure.
Kent comes to mind, my right-hand man. The poor guy is overloaded, though. I’ve been meaning to find an assistant.
My lawyers, of course, but then they’re paid to be trustworthy.
I’m not sure I even trust Max the way I probably should, being that he’s one of my oldest friends and my senior lieutenant.
My thoughts circle back to someone whom I know I trust, but whose trust in me seems to be wavering more each day… Whose existence has perplexed me for far longer than I care to admit, hence my frequent need to come here and let loose.
Jonathan…
I need a distraction from John Chevelle.
Once on the private floor, I rip the mask off, smoothing my hair back. It’s not exactly comfortable to wear for extended periods of time, but necessary nonetheless. I need to keep my identity hidden when I’m here, and because of my hair, I can’t just throw on any old thing.
At least it has a mouth and eyeholes, unlike the Ghostface hood I’d considered. Plus, el diablo is truly fitting.
“Diablo…”
I hear it in my head now, from the silk-wrapped grunge that is his voice.
“Oh, pajarito…” I sigh to myself, sauntering inside my office, plopping down at my desk. “What ever are you doing here?”
Pulling up the security camera’s live feed, I click through until I land on the corridor where Angel and his bartender pal were. I see the bartender scurrying into the main club area and back behind the bar where he belongs. I shake my head.
Bringing a non-member into the VIP area… Who’s managing these kids?? Honestly.
I am going to have to have a chat with mi amigo, Dominic Raza. He seems to have forgotten that he’s the General Manager of a high-end club catering to elite clientele and specializing in exclusive forms of entertainment.
Not a flippant babysitter in a nineties movie.
Quickly clicking through camera feeds, I search for him, just to see what he’s up to while he’s supposed to be working. Sure enough, I find him in his office, sniffing lines of coke off a tray, which he then holds up for the dude who’s riding his dick.
I roll my eyes. Typical.
Yet I can’t help but linger on the kid bouncing on his lap. He works here. I’ve definitely noticed him before…
Strikingly beautiful. Black hair, perfect body, vibrant blue eyes with visible torment behind them. Just the way he’s taking Dom’s cock like he needs it tells me he’s probably a very fun fuck. Dangerous, but fun.
Like his orgasms come with a restraining order. Or a felony.
Shaking it off, I click back to the hall where I left Angel, finding him easily enough. He’s exiting the private restroom he’s not supposed to be using because he’s not a member, flitting about like the sneaky little bird he is.
Reclining in my chair, I watch curiously as he tries door after door, face tipping around in observation. Searching…
“Lost, pajarito?” I hum, biting back my smirk. Reaching out, I press my fingertip to the screen, touching his pretty face.
Or are you looking to be found?