Chapter 24 Andre
TWENTY-FOUR
Andre
I stare across my desk to where Piero Valenci is standing in his dark suit. He’s around fifty, handsome. He’s smaller than I am, more refined. Like Elias. Or Elio, I suppose I should call him.
Elio, who’s under my desk, pressed against my leg, naked with a toy in his ass. Will he reveal himself in spite of my warning? This is the best chance he’s going to have to get free of me.
But I’ll deal with that when it happens. Until then, I have to deal with this.
I hold my body still. I don’t let myself react.
“Rebecca Grange,” I say, calmly offering my guess about how he accessed the hotel. It’s not a difficult guess. She knows this place. She would’ve been able to tell Piero how to get up here. “I understand her coming after me, but what the hell does it have to do with you?”
“So it’s true,” Piero says, parting his jacket and sliding his hands into his pockets. I don’t see a gun, and there was no one else in the hallway when I pulled up the security feed. He’s here to talk.
“What’s true?” I ask.
“Her story. I didn’t believe it at first when she told me that one of the boys from the Island, all grown up, had blackmailed her husband into suicide and taken everything.”
My skin tightens at his easy reference to the Island, but I still don’t let myself react. Not visibly.
“Not everything,” I argue. “If she hadn’t wasted what I left her with, she wouldn’t have needed to come slithering back here looking for that painting. And, yes, I know why she wanted it. I saw the account number on the back before I destroyed it. That money’s been gone for years.”
Piero looks bored. “She said something about a painting, but I don’t give a shit. This isn’t about Rebecca Grange.”
I believe him. He has no reason to care about her.
Her husband, however, is another matter.
Probably not a friend or Piero would’ve come after me years ago.
But if Piero recently discovered what I did to Peter Grange, he might be grabbing an excuse to avenge a former business connection, or even just a fellow connoisseur.
I can’t guess at his precise angle, but like Rebecca Grange, he’s undoubtedly after money.
There isn’t enough in the world for people like the Granges and Valencis.
I got distracted from my interrogation of Elias—I mean, Elio. I never got answers. I fell too quickly into our game. With him already playing, it was so easy to let it happen.
But now he’s under my desk, threatening to expose me.
Of course, Piero must know that I have his son. He’s the one who put Elio in my path, and that, really, is what this is about.
But I play along. “So what is this about?”
Piero, however, doesn’t ask about his son. “My nephew Ernesto went missing last night. Know anything about it?”
“Why should I?”
“Because his final search history was all about you.”
I feel Elias—fuck, I mean Elio—trembling against me. He must be dying to speak. But he also must know that I have a gun. I made sure that he heard it.
“So?” I push back.
Under the desk, a hand settles on my knee, but I feel it only faintly. I go a little numb at times like this.
“So,” Piero replies, “when I saw that you now own The Axis, which used to be owned by Peter Grange, I paid a visit to his widow. All I wanted was a way into this building, but I got a whole story to go with it. And a few things started to make sense.”
My brain trips a little because there’s no discernable reason for him to pretend that he’s only today learned about what I did to Grange. But I stick to my role as the cold, calculating opponent and say, “Did they now.”
“Yeah, they fucking did. You see, I used to take Ernesto to the Island and let him play there.”
A sensation of both hot and cold water starts running through my body. I know where he’s going with this, and I can’t stop him. I can’t mentally escape either. I have to stay in my role, but now my role has to include hearing what he’s about to say.
“Did he fuck you?” Piero asks, and I try to let the question go past me. “You’re about the same age and you were probably bigger than he was, but with restraints? Drugs? Someone to hold you down? He could’ve done it.”
I lock all my muscles to keep myself from shaking. I make myself hold Piero’s gaze. That’s all I can manage. Words are frozen.
“Well?” Piero prompts. “Is that it? Did he fuck you?”
I let the words go past again, like they’re not for me. They’re for someone else.
I make myself speak. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
It’s sort of true. I don’t remember Ernesto. I don’t remember any of them, not specifically. Except the last one.
Somehow, it superimposed itself over the others, smothered them as the dead weight smothered me. Until Noah rolled the body off.
I lose everything for a second. There’s just white space all around me and no sound.
Then Piero’s hands slam onto my desk and he shouts, “Where the fuck is Ernesto?”
“I don’t know,” I reply, and I don’t. I have no idea what Noah and Wes did with his body. But I leave that out, of course.
Piero’s nostrils flare. He’s frustrated. He expected to be able to intimidate me.
And still he says nothing about his son. And his son remains silent and hidden under my desk.
Piero says, “You need to understand, Mr. Black, how easily you could end up in a dozen pieces.”
The problem is, fear is disconnected for me. I haven’t felt it in a long time. I enjoy it through others. I get a little flash of it when I cause it, but it’s mostly dead for me. It got overused.
“Leave me your number,” I suggest, still acting out the role of businessman. “I’ll call you if I hear anything about your nephew.”
Piero straightens from his lean on my desk. He gives me an almost appreciative look. He pulls his wallet from his pocket and draws out a card, which he flicks onto my desk.
“I’m sure I’ll be seeing you again, Mr. Black.”
With that, Piero Valenci turns and walks across my office to the door. It thumps shut behind him.
My office goes silent and still. I’m locked up, like I’m made of stone. I’m not dissociating. I’m here. I’m just locked.
I’m aware, vaguely, of how dangerous this is. It’s happened to me before. With enough time, it might pass, but—
A hand settles on my knee, and it triggers me so hard, so fast that as I explode up, I don’t even feel the weight of the desk as I grip the edge of it and flip it so hard that it rolls and crashes into the couch. I barely hear the scream that comes from my own mouth.
Dimly, I register the naked form at my feet, the head tucked down, the arms above, blocking. I storm away.
I catch sight of myself in the wall of mirrors, and I hate it so much that I slam my fist right into it, shattering the image of my own face.
I don’t feel pain in my hand. I feel only relief as the image vanishes and the cracks spiderweb out across the wall.
Shards fall to the floor in a scatter of shining pieces.
The relief doesn’t last. It only takes enough of the edge off my rage that my brain starts to work.
I turn back to Elio. He’s crouching where my desk was. His dark eyes are huge. He knows exactly how much danger he’s in. I stalk his way. He’s already rising to his feet when I grab him by the collar.
He doesn’t beg me. He doesn’t say red. He knows we’re not playing now. This isn’t a game anymore.
His hand settles on my wrist, but not to stop me, nor to push me away. His touch is gentle, and his eyes, though afraid, are soft.
He’s still mine.
He chose to still be mine.
He didn’t speak out, didn’t reveal himself. And his father didn’t ask about him or hint at any information that he’d gathered from him.
Because there was none.
I can fucking see it. I fucking know it.
He’s mine—Elias is mine—because he always was. I start shaking so hard that my knees buckle. I let go of Elias’s collar, but he doesn’t let go of my arm. He falls with me.
My ass hits the floor. Before I can pull away from Elias, he crawls into my lap. Instinctively, I drop my head and curl around him, wrapping tight. He huddles in the cave of my body, like it’s safe there.
The tremors go through me in waves, seizing and releasing, easing slowly until they stop.
When I raise my head and see the black collar banding Elias’s neck, I reach for it. But when I start to unbuckle it, something, life, fades from Elias’s eyes. His expression dies. I see him begin to withdraw into an empty, lonely space inside himself.
I see him clearly for the first time. I see that no one has ever taken care of him. I see that he needs me.
I slide the strap back into its keeper, leaving the collar in place. I don’t get a chance to see Elias’s expression because he throws himself at me, burying his face against my throat. He stays like that as I scoop him up into my arms and get to my feet.
I carry him across the office to the elevator and get in. We go down one floor into his private hallway. I take him to his door where I punch in his code. I carry him inside like I did a few days ago. But this time, I’m not going to leave him.
I carry him through the apartment to the bathroom. I turn on the light with my elbow. When I set him down on the closed toilet, he curls toward me, leaning against my leg. I pet his hair. He’s shuddering, and I remember that he still has the toy inside him.
I crouch so I can meet his eyes. I’ve see his darkness and hunger. I’ve seen his submission. But I’ve never seen the vulnerability that I see now.
Things shift around inside me. In my head. In my … heart. All the borders between the parts of myself are broken. I’m everything at once, and it coalesces into something new. And I understand, finally.
Elias isn’t mine just to possess but also to protect. To take care of.
That understanding, I realize now, has been trying to form for a long time. I finally let it.
When I reach for his collar, worry comes back into his eyes.
“You’re still mine,” I reassure him. “You always will be.”
Tears spill from his eyes. As the collar comes free, he pitches into me. I hold him until he relaxes, then I get up and start removing my clothes.
I’m fine until I get to my pants. No one has seen me naked in …
a long time. But I can’t take care of Elias fully without being fully with him.
So I take them off. I start shaking again, but I just keep moving.
I turn on the shower. I’m careful, though, not to let Elias see the scars on my ass. I’m just … not ready.
I go to Elias and hold out my hand. He takes it, but not in the way I intended.
He plucks out a shard of glass, which he drops into the nearby trashcan.
I take my hand back and pull out another shard because I don’t want him to cut his fingers.
I offer my other hand, and he takes it. I put him in front of me and guide him to the shower.
I put him under the spray and soap the washcloth. I start scrubbing his skin. I’m gentle, especially where he scratched himself after I shut him away, alone.
“I’m sorry,” I tell him, but he looks away from me, like he’s ashamed of it now. I take hold of his jaw and turn his face so he has to see me when I say again, “I’m sorry.”
I can see that he hears me, and that’s enough. I don’t force a response from him. I just go back to work. His cock hardens as I touch more of him. I’ve edged him all morning and he still has that toy in his ass.
I start getting hard in response. I’ve never been gentle with him during sex.
I don’t really know how. So I’m not going to fuck him, but I do want him to come.
I wrap my hand around his cock and start stroking.
He leans into me in relief. His hands rest on my chest. His fingers flex.
I can feel the motions of his body, the way his need builds, but he’s not going to come like this.
So I make him sit on the floor of the shower with me. I get him to straddle me.
He starts frotting me. My mind trips and glitches at first, but I make myself relax. I make myself feel the glide of Elias’s cock against mine. I wrap my uninjured hand around both of us. I don’t think I’ll come, but I don’t need to.
But as Elias whines and grinds on me, as he curls into me with his face at my throat, something strange happens in my body.
I start moaning. I start gasping. I start straining up against him.
And when he cries out at my throat and his cock kicks against mine, my body seizes tight and I start coming.
I cry out and curl into Elias as my cock kicks back against his and we spill all over each other.
There’s panic at the edge of my mind, but I don’t let it in. I’m with Elias, and it feels good.
He relaxes against me. I hold him there. I reach around him and gently pull the toy from his ass. He moans and shudders as I do it.
I let him rest for a while, then I get him up and finish washing him and myself.
I turn off the water and reach outside the shower for a towel. I don’t want to go look for another, so I use the towel to dry him first, then I dry myself.
I keep him in front of me again as we move to the sink. I find the hairdryer. He finds the first aid kit.
He doesn’t say anything—he hasn’t spoken yet, not once since his father appeared in my office—but the look he gives me is clear enough.
He thinks my hand looks bad. It’s fine though.
I wrap it up with some gauze and tape. Then I put the first aid kit away to make him understand that we’re done with that.
He lets me dry his hair. His eyes are soft. He’s relaxed. It’s nice. I dry my own hair then guide him out of the bathroom. It’s still morning, but I make him get in bed with me.
I need him to rest and reset. I need time to let myself find the shape of my new role. Except … it doesn’t feel like a role. It feels real. It feels right.
I curl around Elias, pulling his ass against me. I hook my arms around him and bury my face in his clean hair.
“You’re mine, Elias Rose,” I tell him, wondering at the name, how he chose it. When his hands curl around my forearm, I feel his acceptance of my claim, but I don’t feel like he really understands what I mean.
So I clarify. “I love you, Elias.”
A breath stutters into his lungs. He turns in my arms, wrapping his around me, mirroring my position. He buries his face against me and says desperately, “I love you too.”