15. CARLOS
CARLOS
I can’t stop the laughter as Simon runs away from me.
Does he not see that his behavior gives his truth away?
Does he not see that those closest to him already know that he likes men?
And that they don’t care? Why does he do this to himself?
I was tempted not to tease him, but I promised myself to push him, because it's the only way he will become free. It's time he lived.
“You’re one fucked up individual, Carlos,” Ivan says to me, Tyler cuddled into his side. They all fucking know. But, it's not my place to talk for Simon. Only piss him off.
“See you around, boys,” I say before leaving the club.
I walk through the parking lot until I reach Lucas, who is waiting for me next to the car.
“You like him,” he says as he finishes his cigarette, and stubs it out on the ground with his foot.
“I enjoy rattling him.”
“Come on, Carlos. I know you. And don’t take me for a fool, I know you were fucking when he turned up the other night.”
“You know what I want you to know, and you keep it to yourself.”
“Hey, I’m not criticizing you. You know I only want to protect you.”
“I’m aware.”
“So, if he turns up again, am I just to allow him up?”
“Yes. I’m sure he’ll pop by tonight,” I say, convinced that he will be unable to stay away after what has just happened.
“You’re so screwed up in the head, Carlos, and I love it,” he says as we both laugh. Lucas has been around me long enough to know how I tick.
“How is my brother? Causing any problems?”
“He’s not really talking. Only asking when you’re going to visit again.”
“Hmm.”
“Are you going to see him?”
“No. Nothing more needs to be said. I’ll see enough of him when we leave next week.”
“Fair enough. Ready to go?” Lucas asks, and I nod.
We get in the car and drive back to the docks with a long afternoon of meetings ahead of me.
It's late in the evening and I’m in my study, placing my two new teeth additions that arrived today into my collection. I take the opportunity to make sure all my pieces are shiny and on display. I feel nothing but pride when I look at them.
A loud banging on the door brings me back into the room. I know who it is. There is only one person I know who could have a fight with an inanimate object. I knew he’d come. Lucas must’ve informed the guys to allow him up.
The rattling on my door continues as I slow my stride to answer it. There’s no rush.
I open the door with the slowest pace possible, to be greeted by a scowling Simon. His nostrils flared, eyes squinting. He wants to hurt me. Maybe even kill me.
“What did my door do to you?”
Simon slams into me, almost causing me to lose balance as he stomps into my penthouse like he owns it. He would look good here full time. All mine, day and night.
“You’re ruining my life, Carlos! What the fuck was that in the club? Touching me like that, making the others think I’m like that.”
“You are like that.”
“Shut up!” he roars, grabbing his hair and turning to face the window. He’s a mess.
“What do you want from me, Simon? Nobody forced you to come over and verbally attack me earlier. You do it to yourself and what I don’t understand is what you’re so afraid of,” I say, my hands in my black pants pockets and my maroon shirt partly open. He swivels on his feet and walks over to me.
“I want nothing from you. I want you to leave me alone.”
“No you don’t. You want me to fuck you. Because you need it. You’re bisexual, Simon. Which means you like men.”
I knew it was coming and I allow it. A swift punch in my face.
It's not too hard but hard enough that I have to wiggle my jaw to ease the ache, tenderness blooming in my cheek. But he can’t expect me to just stand here, so I punch him back.
My hand curls into a fist and I return the hit, deciding to punch him in the stomach as I don’t want to mark that pretty face.
With a grunt, he stumbles back, bumping into my sofa, clutching his stomach, gasping for air.
“We can do this all night, Simon. I enjoy it.”
Gathering his composure, he runs at me, grabbing me around the waist as he tackles me to the floor, the thud of our bodies onto the hardwood rattles in the echo of the open plan room.
The fight is quick, brutal, more about pride than pain.
I snarl at him, twisting, but Simon's weight and pure determination pins me down.
We are locked in a struggle—knees scraping, fists grappling, teeth bared in something between fury and desire.
Our breath burns in the inches of air between us, every exhale hot, ragged and dangerous.
As I shove him, I almost manage to roll him over, but Simon doesn’t relent.
He drives his upper body harder into my torso, pinning me into the ground as he leans close enough our foreheads collide.
It isn’t victory or dominance he’s after, it's something darker and deeper.
A need that's been twisting under his ribs for too long for him to ignore it.
The fight stutters, not stopped but suspended. Simon clamps his hand on my wrist, holding me still. Our eyes lock—defiance sparkling like flint against steel—and the silence stretches so taut, it feels like it might snap.
Finally, Simon crushes his mouth to mine.
It isn’t tender. It's a clash, a bite, a reckless surrender to the same heat that made us fight in the first place.
I resist for half a heartbeat, before giving in with equal ferocity then flipping us over and pinning Simon to the ground using my whole bodyweight.
The kiss turns into another battle, one neither of us intends on losing.