Chapter 8
Matt
As my driver speeds away from the bloodbath, my heart races even faster than the SUV.
I shot Aron.
I love Aron, and I looked him square in the eyes as I shot him.
He fell into the water, which had to be almost freezing, and disappeared under the waves.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and, irritated that someone is checking in early, I delete the message without even checking it.
We agreed to meet up at the mansion in the morning, with complete phone and radio silence until then.
If someone in the Royal Syndicate can’t handle their own shit for six fucking hours, that’s on them.
Later, at the mansion, I assist our physicians to patch up those wounded in the fighting. Dr. Nilczek and Dr. Carne do most of the technical work, but anyone with minor enough injuries gets directed to me and Gia, who also has a surprising amount of medical training.
Some associates can’t believe their own Don is stitching cuts and bandaging minor bullet holes, but they don’t know my history. They don’t know who I learned for.
I brush off any questions about my medical abilities as just a well-rounded curriculum at St. Mary’s of the Divine Light, knowing full well that the school burned down more than a decade ago, taking with it any records of what I really studied.
Despite some careful questioning on my part, no one admits to being the one to break the radio silence after our job. Who the fuck messaged me?
Since I’m now curious, I head to the twins’ room, where their equipment might be able to check my phone and give me an answer.
When I arrive, Holly and Hank have, well, twin expressions of confusion on their faces.
I check the screens in front of them and see that a motion alert is coming from one of my holdings, one that shouldn’t be occupied.
“What’s this?” I ask with as casual a tone as I can muster.
Holly shakes her head. “I didn’t even know this place was on the surveillance radar, but all of a sudden it’s been lit up like a fucking Christmas tree. Lights going on and off, motion inside, but the cameras aren’t connecting. We can’t figure out why it’s not showing us who’s there.”
That raises suspicion with me as well. I personally set up that camera system, and no one should be able to disarm it. “What rooms are showing motion?”
Hank points to another screen. “Living room, front hallway, guest bathroom, kitchen. Each light is shut off before the next one turns on, like they’re trying to conserve electricity. It seems you’ve got one smart vagrant helping himself to your shit.”
“At least they’re being considerate,” Holly muses.
Living room … straight in front of the entryway, and where I patched up Aron after his father blew up his home. Front hallway, where the supply closet is. Guest bathroom, likely for a mirror to see what he’s doing. And of course he’d hit the kitchen—he’s probably starving.
Did Aron survive?
“How long has this activity been going on?”
They exchange a glance, then answer in unison. “Twenty minutes.”
Whoever it is, Aron or some “vagrant,” they haven’t been there long. Maybe I can catch them in the act.
After having the twins erase this new data, I text Gia, Rico, and Cinder to keep an eye on things while I’m gone. Dad insisted that this location remain a secret, and I’d rather not alert the intruder with a full entourage.
I normally would have texted Jules, too, but he was our lone casualty for the night. Like Aron, he disappeared overboard after getting shot by one of Javier’s men, and with the police on the way, we couldn’t stop to search for him.
If my heart was pounding after shooting Aron, it’s damn near beating out of my chest now.
Did I leave him behind? Could I have saved him by diving into the water after him? No. No, there were too many witnesses. If I dove in after a traitor, suspicions would arise.
Halfway to the manor, I pull into a shopping center parking lot and break into a nondescript sedan, hotwiring it and leaving my personal SUV parked at the far end of the lot with the cell phone inside.
I know my car and phone are bugged, but the twins can’t track a car they don’t know I’ve stolen.
It’s not like they don’t know where I’m going, but this at least leaves room for doubt.
Hopefully no one takes it upon themselves to come after me.
By the time I reach Dad’s isolated manor, it’s clear that someone is home. I know I certainly didn’t leave that Chevy truck in the drive.
I cut the sedan’s engine and coast into place next to the truck, then, with my nine-mil in one hand and my phone in the other, I creep towards the door.
I open my phone screen to the manor’s security systems app, so I can track whoever’s inside, but the app refuses to connect.
The motion sensor activated lights don’t kick in when I approach, telling me that the intruder has disabled them, and the security system is similarly shut off, using a code that I taught only one person.
What is Aron’s game here? He left the Syndicate, chose his father’s newly formed Empire over us, over me, and that broadcast across the Empire holdings was sure a damn solid indication that he’s done with whatever we had started.
He couldn’t wait for me to rescue him, couldn’t wait more than a few days to turn and join Javier’s side, and a week later he opened fire on us.
I slip inside silently, careful to close the door without the latch clicking.
The immediate downstairs area appears vacant.
Lights off, no sound. After disconnecting the feed to the mansion, I sweep each room methodically, checking for Aron’s presence before moving on to the next.
Thankfully, my eyes adjust to the relative darkness quickly, so I don’t have to go around turning on lights, though it’s odd that most of the curtains are pulled back from the windows.
Is he trying to make it easier for me to find him?
By the time I head upstairs, my heart is in my throat. I found large bandage wrappers, smeared blood, and a half-used roll of vet wrap on the bathroom counter, confirming my theory that he was performing some first aid. How bad did I hit him?
I check every room but the master first, terrified of what I might find there. Did Aron come here to die?
The hinges of the master bedroom door creak when I push it open, and I cringe. Holding my gun out, I step inside and—
Strong hands come out of the darkness and yank both my arms over my head. I open my mouth to shout, but a familiar pair of lips meets mine and swallows my cries. Shock freezes me, and my assailant easily pulls the gun from my hand, setting it on the dresser by the door.
“No more of this, Matteo. You got me good enough already last night.”
My biggest fear—and greatest wish—came true. It’s Aron.
“How did you survive?”
He chuckles against my skin, lips exploring like he’d never left.
“I’ve taken enough bullets over the years.
I know how to lessen the blow.” His free hand strokes my cheek, and I finally raise the courage to look into his dark eyes.
There’s pain there, yes, but I’m not sure it’s all from the gunshot.
“It also helped that the water was ice cold. I think it stalled the bleeding.”
“What happened, Aron? Why didn’t you wait for me? I came as soon as we found where Javier was holding you.”
He laughs mirthlessly. “Did you see Hell’s Kitchen?”
“You mean that storage unit in the warehouse that was done up like something out of the fifties? Yeah, I saw.”
“They kept me chained. Wouldn’t even unlock them so I could take a proper piss.
Emily held my—She had urinals. Bedpans. It was all …
Matt, I didn’t even know how long I was there.
I couldn’t sleep right in the chair, couldn’t see the outside.
The stupid Felix the Cat clock didn’t even keep time.
Just that tail and those eyes flicking back and forth, but the hands never moved. ”
Dear God. That kind of torture is extreme, even for Javier. Especially considering it’s his son. “Fuck … Aron, I didn’t know …”
He releases my arms and leans into me. “I know. I don’t blame you.”
I wrap my arms around him and stroke his mussed hair. “I would have found you. No matter where Javier took you, or how long it took, I would have rescued you.”
“Don’t you see, Matt? I couldn’t let you save me.
I had to stay until I had an opportunity to disappear.
They’ve got Maria. They’ve got my daughter.
If I left on my own or through a rescue attempt—Matt, Emily’s lost her fucking mind.
She’s crazy. I didn’t want her to hurt Maria if I stepped out of line. ”
“So the broadcasts from your dad’s penthouse …”
“Fuck! You saw those?” Aron backs away from me and lowers his gaze. “I’m so sorry, Matt. I had to. I had no choice. Dad has me under a fucking microscope. It’s why I needed you to supposedly kill me. Now, we can work together to rescue Maria.”
I draw him back to my chest. “Shh … It's okay. I understand now. You don’t have to be ashamed.”
Aron’s tears dampen my shirt. “I didn’t want to be there. If it wasn’t for Maria, I would have tried to escape, to contact you, something. Emily even offered to call you for me, but I don’t trust her. They fucking killed an innocent pregnant woman. I can’t begin to fathom why.”
“It’s not your fault.”
“Dad will come for you. Whether he believes I’m dead or not, he’ll stop at nothing to take you and the entire Syndicate down.”
“He can try.” As I rub Aron’s back, I notice how thick and wrinkled his bandages are. Either that bullet did more damage than he wants to admit, or he’s a terrible nurse. “Let’s turn on the lights and check you out. I want to be sure you’re bandaged properly.”
Aron flips the switch for me, and the sheepish expression on his face when I see the wads of gauze held in place by wrap after wrap after wrap of Coban is just adorable.
Bless his heart, he tried, but I’ll definitely have to redo all of it and maybe stitch the bullet holes closed as well.
Fuck, I hope there are two holes. I haven’t dug a slug out of him in a while; my skills might be rusty.
While I undo all his wrapping and take off the gauze to inspect his wounds—which, thankfully, are on the same spot in the front and the back of his torso, meaning the bullet went straight through without doing more damage inside—Aron sits on the bathroom counter, exhaustion written in his droopy lids, sunken shoulders, and pallid skin.
At least, I hope the pallor is due to exhaustion and not blood loss.
He said that being in the frigid waters for a while seemed to slow the flow, so that might be a good sign.
His melodramatic fall might have unintentionally been the perfect escape plan.
I stitch him up and rebandage him with much less gauze and just a few pieces of tape, then we head to the bed. I know Aron probably didn’t sleep, so that’s my priority for him right now.
Aron, it seems, has other ideas. He kisses me again as soon as we lie down, and his hand slides under my pants to cup my cock and balls. He works me until I’m hard, then starts stroking me slowly.
“Aron, baby, you should rest. This isn’t a good idea when I’ve just shot you less than twelve hours ago.”
“We don’t have to have sex,” he protests. “You could just straddle my head and fuck my mouth. I need you, Matt. You have no idea … I had to picture your face over Emily’s to be able to perform every night. The whole time she was on top of me, I saw you.”
That’s sweet, if a little disturbing. “Who has the better tits? Me or Em?”
The joke has the desired effect. Aron laughs, and the mood feels a bit lighter. I wish he’d stop with his hand, though, but he just strokes harder and faster.
“I used to see you before … before we were together. You two have the same color eyes, the exact same color. Until you and I—I just thought it was the eye color. Now I realize what it really was.”
His breathing is ragged, and I see from a quick glance that he’s hard, too. As much as I want him to relax, I suspect he won’t until we both finish.
“Lie down all the way,” I say, as he’s propped up a little, which won’t work for what I have in mind. “Lie flat, baby.”
He obliges immediately, grimacing with the movement, and I help him out of his pants before I take mine off. Then I turn around, facing the foot of the bed, and finally straddle his head as he asked.
It puts me in the perfect position to suck him off at the same time.
“Oh, God, Matt!” He guides my dick into his mouth as I lick up his shaft and slowly suck on the tip.
I swirl my tongue around the smooth edge, teasing, while Aron starts all-out swallowing me.
I have to start thrusting my hips to stop him from overexerting himself.
All that head bobbing won’t be good for his injury.
Since I’m now doing most of the work, he settles for grabbing my ass with both hands, fingers digging into my cheeks.
Where Aron is frantic, I’m slower. I stroke his shaft while sucking on the sensitive tip, then take him in inch by inch.
When my lips meet his base, he moans into me and swallows even harder.
By now, we’re deep throating each other.
I toy with his balls and slip a finger into his tight ass, which might have been a mistake.
He nearly rises off the bed with how hard his back arches as he comes inside my throat.
Moments later, I empty down his gullet, and we each give a few weak pumps of our hips to finish.
I roll off him while wiping my mouth, and Aron follows suit, cleaning his own chin of my excess. It seems we were both a bit messy.
Now that he’s sated, I snuggle next to him, playing the role of big spoon to his little spoon.
He’s protected me his entire life, but now it’s my turn again to protect him.
I curl around him, wishing I could ward off all of his woes just with my body.
We still need to rescue his daughter and take down his father’s organization, and we have to somehow do it without word getting out that he’s alive.
That’s all for another day, though. After our brief sixty-nine, Aron drifts off into a deep slumber, one I don’t dare wake him from.