Chapter 7 - ETHAN #2
I groan low in the back of my throat and refocus on the music, closing my eyes to let it wash over me.
I’m sitting in the corner booth, back to the wall, whiskey untouched as I’m too consumed by the music as it loops again.
The woman’s voice dissolves into liquid gold and reassembles itself into something almost tender.
My pulse slows to match it. My hands rest loosely on the table.
But the mood soon sours, when someone laughs. Too loud. Too sudden.
I follow the sound to a man at the bar, someone who doesn’t belong here.
Expensive jacket, and cheap awareness. He slaps the counter, calls to the bartender like the room belongs to him.
The sound punches straight through the music and my jaw tightens.
Who the fuck does this guy think he is? I turn back to the music, in the hope that the asshole shuts the fuck up.
Again. The fucker laughs again.
Everything in my head goes very quiet as my true self takes over.
There is nothing I can do to stop it in these situations, and my body goes on autopilot.
I stand and cross the room without urgency, stopping beside his barstool.
He doesn’t notice until my shadow over his head interrupts whatever he finds so fucking hilarious.
“Can you not?” I ask softly.
He squints at me. “What?”
“Your laugh, it’s ruining my evening.”
He scoffs. “It’s a bar, man.”
I lean closer. Close enough that he smells the whiskey on my breath.
“Lower your voice.”
There is nothing threatening in my tone, but that is the problem. He studies my face, trying to decide which social rule applies. Predictably, because he’s an idiot, he chooses the wrong one.
“Or what?” he says, putting on a show.
I hold his gaze and say nothing. Let him look into my vacant soul where anger should be.
His smile falters, contemplating whether to keep his mouth shut, or be the big man.
But it’s obvious this guy is the king of bad decisions.
I just know he will want to impress his friend who is sitting next to him, watching us with an unsure posture as if he should leave, or needs the bathroom. I can’t quite tell.
Then the asshole finally speaks.
“Fuck off, you freak. It’s a free country,” he says, and goes to turn away, but not before my hand grabs his throat, pushing him backward into the bar, his ass dangling off the barstool as I squeeze as hard as I can.
I zone out, distantly aware of him hitting out, but without enough force to stop me.
I’m a lot bigger than he is. His friend is shouting, and I suddenly feel strong hands on my shoulders, trying to pull me back.
But I can’t take my eyes off his red face, the fear in his eyes that are filled with tears and bloodshot.
This feels so fucking good. Like a shot of my favorite vodka right into my veins.
“Ethan, let go,” a voice shouts, pulling at me. I recognize that voice, which is what brings me out of the haze. Dima.
“He’s ruining the show,” I say, continuing to hold onto this asshole.
“Yeah, yeah. Let go, we can deal with it,” Dima says, and another pair of hands grab at me, who I recognize as one of Dima’s men. So I let go. Begrudgingly.
“Jules, kick these two out. Boys, you’re barred,” Dima says to the two guys. Jules is manhandling the one I choked, who is coughing violently. Then Dima pulls me away from the action, and guides me back to my booth.
The music continues and everyone goes back to their normal spots.
As I slump into my seat, Dima sits opposite me, long legs stretched out, one eyebrow raised in quiet amusement. A few moments later, his husband Seb joins us, who I’ve met a few times. A sexy fucker with that rock boy vibe similar to Leo.
“Feeling better?” Dima asks.
“A little. I would’ve preferred for him to stop breathing.”
“What was that about?” Seb asks.
“He laughed,” I say before taking a sip of my drink.
“He laughed? Really? That’s all?” Seb says, his brows furrowed in confusion. I see he’s still retained some of his civilian morals.
“Ethan is particular, beautiful. Don’t worry about it,” Dima reassures just as a waitress delivers a drink for Dima and a bottle of water for Seb, who from the look of how he’s dressed in all black with a red waistcoat, is working tonight. He runs the bar here.
Dima watches me for a moment, then tilts his head. “You look… focused. Haven’t seen that look in years.”
“I am.”
“On?”
I think of sweat drenched fabric and uneven breathing, and the way Leo looks at the ground when he’s bracing himself.
“A man.”
Dima sighs. “Of course.”
“I’m going to offer him money.”
Dima blinks. “For what, exactly?”
“One night.”
He chokes on his drink. “You’re joking.”
“No.”
He studies me carefully now. “You don’t do people beyond their purpose. That’s why you only ever fuck.”
“I know.”
Silence hums between us, threaded with the music.
“One night,” I continue, “he will understand the terms, so he will step into it willingly.”
“And then?” Dima asks.
“Then I keep him. After I’ve dealt with the wife.”
“He’s married?” Dima asks, and I nod.
I look over at Seb who just stares at me. “You can’t just keep people, Ethan,” Seb says, and I roll my eyes before meeting his.
“Watch me.”
Seb looks at Dima who shrugs and continues to enjoy his drink, and then turns his focus back onto me. I don’t know why this man thinks his opinion means anything to me.
“You’re talking about kidnapping with better manners,” Seb scolds.
“I’m talking about an arrangement.”
“And what about the wife?” Seb says.
The word irritates me more than the laughter earlier.
“She’s a loose end.”
“That’s one way to put it,” Dima says.
“She values money. Status. I can use that.”
Dima considers this. “Bribe her?”
“Redirect her.”
“To where?” Seb asks.
“Anywhere far away. If that fails, a coffin.”
Seb exhales slowly. “You’re sick.”
“Yes.”
“But you’re serious?” Dima says.
“I’ve never been anything else.”
Dima shakes his head, amused by the whole situation.
“You know what normal people do when they like someone?” Seb says.
“Irrelevant.”
“They flirt,” Seb says.
“I make an offer.”
“They date,” Seb continues.
“I assess compatibility.”
“They don’t build containment strategies,” Seb argues, crossing his arms.
“I build security. Anyway, I didn’t hear any complaints when Dima tied you up until you complied?”
Seb opens his mouth to speak, but slumps back into his seat, thinking better of it.
Dima leans toward me across the table. “You’re going to ruin him.”
“No,” I say calmly.
“I’m going to remove everything that’s ruining him already.”
I picture Leo’s apartment. The way he carries disappointment like an inherited disease. He deserves peace. Control. Relief.
Dima studies me for a long moment.
Then, reluctantly: “If you’re doing this… you need leverage. Legal. Financial. Emotional.”
“I have all three.”
He snorts. “Of course you do.”
The song changes. Slower. Softer.
My thoughts return to the shape of Leo’s shoulders as he runs.
The way the sweat on his neck dripped down to his t-shirt.
What would he taste like? What do his moans sound like?
Will he cry? Will he scream? My dick is so hard, thinking about it.
I’ve never felt this urge of desire before. It’s becoming uncontrollable.
“One night,” I say again, tasting the lie in it.
Dima lifts his glass. “You’re a disaster.”
Seb scoffs, appalled at my plan, whereas Dima looks proud. Darkness cut from the same cloth. We own souls, we don’t ask.
I lift my glass too and we toast.
“To inevitability,” I say as Seb mumbles in horror. Hypocrite.