Chapter 20 Tommy
Tommy
The sound of the curtains opening snaps me awake. I sit up in bed with a groan, feeling sore in places I haven’t felt sore before.
“Rise and shine, sweetheart,” Niko says, smiling at me as he props his ass on the edge of the desk by the window.
He’s wearing nothing but underwear and an unbuttoned shirt.
“Isi called. It’s time.” He tilts his chin toward the bathroom, the adoration in his gaze turning my stomach upside-down.
“I did my best to clean you up, but you should probably still shower.”
My cheeks catch fire. It’s not exactly from embarrassment, but I still get this tight feeling in my chest, like bubbles trying to escape.
“You okay, Tommy? Or do you need me to carry you there?” Niko teases, his smile transforming into a playful smirk as the morning sun envelops him in a fiery halo.
I dramatically flick a lock of hair that’s fallen in front of my eyes and huff with overplayed indignation. “There’s no need for that. I am perfectly capable of walking even after you railed my ass all night.”
His chuckle accompanies me as I slide off the bed and pad over to the bathroom. My legs feel a little wobbly at first, like they’ve turned into noodles, but after a couple of steps, I’ve got everything under control.
Shower out of the way fifteen minutes later, I emerge from the bathroom feeling refreshed. Niko has laid out clothes for me on the bed, the sheets of which he has also changed. Aw, how nice of him to hide the evidence of our filthy adventures. So thoughtful.
I put on the black briefs, grab the burgundy shirt and frown. “Uh, what’s up with this?”
Niko hums as he positions himself behind me and throws his arms over my shoulders.
“Ah, yeah. Apparently, the Gala Andras is throwing has a dress code of super extra fancy.” He laughs, taking the frilly, glittery silk shirt from my hands.
“Isi got us a matching set. Your shirt and my pants and my shirt and your pants.”
I follow his gaze to a second pile of clothes sitting on top of the drawer. “I’ve never… worn something so luxurious.”
“You’ll get used to it fast, trust me. Now chop, chop. We need to be in the lounge in ten.”
He kisses my head and gets started on his own clothes.
Just like he said, they match the color of mine, just reversed.
The burgundy pants with glitter look amazing on him, form-hugging and leaving little to the imagination.
It makes my mouth water just looking at him.
His dark gray shirt is simpler than mine, with frills only along the button line as opposed to the way my sleeves end in beautiful ruffles.
“Stop staring, Tommy. You are making it awfully hard not to think with my dick when you give me this look,” Niko says, snapping his fingers.
I shake my head, because he’s ogling me just as shamelessly. “What’s with the double standards? You think you’re any better?”
He ties the drawstrings of his shirt, then walks over to me and does mine. “I can’t help it. You look stunning, like some royalty going to a ball.”
I consider that for a moment, gliding my gaze along the ornate ceiling.
I suppose that’s kind of correct, sort of.
The ball part, I mean. I steal a glance in the mirror, checking myself out.
The clothes fit me perfectly, tailored in a way that compliments my build.
The burgundy and dark gray bring out my eyes and the golden ear cuffs that came as part of the getup.
They are simple in design, but they follow the curve of my ears all the way to the top without being too much. Niko has the exact same.
“I think we should go shopping, once this is over. Your wardrobe needs an update. Isi might be a bit eccentric at times, but when it comes to clothes, his taste is unmatched.”
I peek at the mirror again. The two of us standing next to each other truly look like something otherworldly, like we’ve come from some magical kingdom far far away.
“I’d argue for the principle of it, but this is actually quite comfortable.” I spin around and stretch my arms and legs, the fabric giving in pliantly.
Niko places his hand at the low of my back and turns us so we are both facing the mirror. A beat of silence passes before he makes an approving sound and kisses my cheek. “Let’s go.”
When we arrive in the lounge, it’s bustling with activity. Isidoro stands in the middle, waving his arms and talking in quick, but curt sentences as people buzz around him.
“There they are!” he announces when he sees us. “Hair, makeup, please.”
Two women appear next to us, placing a pair of chairs. “Please, take a seat,” the one with dark purple hair says. “This won’t take a minute.”
I do as told. While she does something or other to my hair, the second woman, who has light blue locks, does Niko’s makeup. It’s nothing too extreme, just a black eyeliner and red eyeshadow that make him look like one of those goths from my sex fantasies.
“Good. You two look presentable,” Isidoro deems once the two women have changed places so my makeup and Niko’s hair can be done. “Here, take this.”
He produces a beautiful black box from somewhere and hands it to Niko, who shakes off invisible dust as he stands. His hair has been slicked back all the way, exposing his chiseled face.
“What is this?” Niko asks.
Isidoro laces his hands together. “Open it.”
I observe with budding curiosity, speculating what might be inside. In the end, it’s not a gun or syringes with sedatives or tranquilizer darts or some kind of a ceremonial weapon. It’s two Victorian masks.
“You can’t go to Andras’ Gala and risk being recognized.”
“Wow.” I pick the smaller one that’s meant for me. The details are mind-blowing, the golden flowery patterns intertwining with the red and the black. “These are so pretty.”
Isidoro angles his head to the side, his gaze moving up and down as he scans me. “It’s the kind of event where only perfection is acceptable, dear Thomas.” His incisors make an appearance. “Which I am glad to say, both of you now are.”
The lounge clears of people and vampires, leaving just the three of us. Isidoro gestures toward the corridor. “The plane is waiting.”
He leads us outside, through the luscious garden and to the gates, then down the overgrown path in the forest until we reach the landing strip. A jet plane sits at the near end, its sleek, white body gleaming under the bright sun. The doors swing open when we approach.
“Good afternoon and welcome onboard, Mr. Altamirano,” a man dressed in a white shirt and black pants welcomes us on the plane, bowing his head.
We follow him to the seating area with the table, where a selection of fruit, pastries and alcohol already awaits. I recognize the opulent interior around us, concluding this must be the same plane that picked us up from Dona Chela’s village.
“You’re coming with us?” I raise an eyebrow at Isidoro, who accepts a glass of wine from the steward.
“To the Gala? Oh, no.” He takes a small sip and shakes his head while the plane’s engines come to life. “I will be recognized immediately. But I will be nearby and waiting, in case… Well. Let’s hope there won’t be a need for backup.”
Right. There is that. Things might not go according to plan, and then Niko and I are fucked.
Part of me wonders how we even got in this situation when Isidoro was the one who was supposed to help us get rid of our problem, but I guess it also makes sense that he can’t really take on an entire vampire clan for us on his own.
Especially since he’s kind of in hiding after his parents were murdered and his crown was stolen.
My hand automatically goes to the pocket of my pants, where the red stone is safely tucked away.
I contemplated leaving it in Isidoro’s house, but didn’t want to risk him, or one of his servants, finding it.
Now that I think about it, it’s also a bummer it takes time for it to bond with its new vampire master or whatever, because I’d probably have caved and given it to him if it meant Niko and I didn’t have to go into a den full of predators and pretend we belong there.
Oh, well. At least Niko let me go with him.
I’d have lost my mind if he had forced me to stay behind.
The plane starts moving. Before I have time to panic as the takeoff quickly approaches, Niko’s hand is already on my thigh, firm and grounding. I look up at him, finding only fondness in his expression as he leans his shoulder against mine.
My stomach still feels like it’s trying to eat itself from the inside out, but the sensation passes quicker than usual. I don’t freak out, I don’t feel like I’m about to plunge to the ground and splatter. It’s a start.
The flight itself is rather uneventful with no naughty encounters in the cramped bathroom this time around. We arrive in New York just after seven in the evening.
“We’ll swing by a couple of places before we head over,” Isidoro announces.
“Isn’t the Gala in like two hours?” I ask when we get off the plane, after I’ve made sure to thank the staff and pilots for the great service and steady cruise.
“It is,” Isidoro confirms, his long black coat billowing behind him. “But we need to pick up your invitations and stake out the venue as best as we can in the little time we have.”
Right. Of course. That makes sense. We don’t want to walk into this completely blind.
“You’ve already sourced the invitations?” Niko asks.
We enter the terminal building, but not through one of the usual gates. We use a staff-only access point, which then takes us straight to the street on the other side. A black SUV waits there.
“Yes. We extracted the information from the Crimson Crew individual we had in our captivity,” Isidoro explains, climbing into the back of the car. He has to mean the guy they had in that ritual room.
Once all three of us are settled comfortably, the vehicle starts moving.
“It’s only a matter of picking them up, don’t worry. And I have your credentials and IDs ready. We’ll grab them afterwards.”
We drive downtown while Niko and Isidoro discuss the logistics of fake identities and our disguises, whether they’ll hold up and whatnot. I’m not really worried. Maybe I should be, but now that the time has almost come to start our mission, I’m kind of buzzing with excitement.
Our first stop is a mechanic’s garage in Chelsea. A woman with tattooed arms and long braided hair hands the SUV’s driver a package, then taps on the car’s roof. We don’t linger, leaving as soon as the driver has handed the package to Isidoro.
He opens it. The invitations he takes out are luxurious black paper decorated with gold and dried flowers. “Here. Anthony and Charlie.”
I let Niko put away my invitation along with his own. They fit in the pocket of his coat, which is currently draped over the empty part of the seat.
After we collect the fake IDs from a jeweler in Lenox Hill, we drive south to Tribeca. Our destination is one of the high buildings near Washington Market Park.
“Let me make a phone call,” Isidoro says, dialing someone on his mobile as the car comes to a stop near some trees.
His conversation is quick and vague, and when he hangs up, tension filters into his features.
“Everything alright?” Niko tosses, facing his friend.
“The contact I had couldn’t make it inside. I’m afraid you will have to go in blind.”
He doesn’t sound happy about it. I’m not either. But, well, we’ve got no choice but to do this anyway and pull it off, too.