CHAPTER 13
DAMIáN
This morning, Knox picked me up, locked me in the trunk of his black RAM, and smuggled me into Harknett’s HQ through a hidden tunnel connected to a secure warehouse ten blocks away. A tunnel we built in case of a raid.
…At Leif’s request, of course.
Now, for the last six hours, I’ve been sitting with Alexios, Tae, and Leif, working our way through the color-coded files Oliver gave us… And wow!
The sheer volume of information and the level of organization in these files is insane. Even Law, whose perfectionism is legendary, is impressed with Oliver’s work.
I’m halfway through my section of the list when an annoying little ping sounds across the room. Alexios glances at his screen, then immediately slams his laptop shut, scaring the bejesus out of me.
“What happened?” I ask.
“Nothing…”
Tae reaches over, pops the laptop back open, takes a peek at the screen, and his eyes go wide. “Yes, something… But I’m not sure you’re going to like seeing it.”
“I don’t understand. What does that sound have to do with me?”
“Not you,” Tae leans back to his seat, “Your fake boyfriend.”
“Alexios, give me the laptop,” I demand, and he takes the laptop, holding it against his chest.
“It’s really not that bad. I’m sure the mission will go exactly as planned,” he says, which only annoys me more. “You could just say you are in an open relationship.”
Open relationship?
The fuck is he talking about?
My heart starts beating faster, and a sickening wave of dread crashes over me. The room starts to spin, I feel like I can’t breathe, and my chest aches.
No… he can’t be.
We agreed to be exclusive, and it’s not like one stupid fight changed that… right?
Right?…
“Alexios, give me the fucking laptop,” I demand, but Alexios shakes his head.
I pull out my gun, chamber a round, and aim it directly at his external hard drive.
“Give it. Now.”
“You wouldn’t!” he gasps in horror.
“Try me.” I dare.
“Nej, nej!” Leif intervenes, holding his hand out. “How about we exchange the laptop for the gun? Trust me, you don’t want to be holding that when you see this.”
I drop the magazine, clear the chamber, and hand the gun over to Leif.
Leif nods toward Alexios, and the asshole finally passes me his stupid laptop.
I take a deep breath, open the screen, see what they were talking about… and it’s worse than I thought.
What the…
Anger, sadness, confusion, and betrayal burn in my throat. I feel like I’ve been punched in the stomach, the face, and the balls all at the exact same time.
On the screen, there is a new post on Zara’s socials showing a picture of Oliver at a nightclub with a ridiculously handsome man… and new, as in it was posted four minutes ago.
They’re just talking, but they’re incredibly close. The man is leaning intimately into Oliver’s ear, and Oliver is actually smiling.
What the fuck?!
Who is this guy?
And… Why does he look so familiar?
Oh, Dios, no…
Por favor, no… I pray as I isolate the man’s face and run a quick reverse-image search.
Dozens of pictures instantly flood the screen from different tabloids and paparazzi sites. In half of them, he and Oliver are together. They’re leaving parties, sitting on couches with lines of coke on the table, or whispering entirely too close to each other.
But the last photo on the search makes my blood run cold: the man has his arms wrapped tightly around Oliver, and it looks as if he is kissing Oliver’s neck.
He is one of Oliver’s ex-hookups…
What the fuck is he doing with him?
I check Oliver’s recent picture, and I pay attention to the background. The place has square tables made of glass, black flooring, velvet curtains dividing the sections, and then I see it, way into the background, the purple neon VIP sign that leads into a corridor.
Mierda!
I slam the laptop shut, snatch Leif’s car keys off the desk, and storm toward the back exit. But I don’t make it two steps before Leif blocks my path.
“What are you doing?”
“I know where they are.”
“And you’ll do what, exactly?” Leif asks, holding his ground. “Walk in and grab a drink with them?”
“They’re at Purple Velvet.”
“Oh, crap…”
“What’s Purple Velvet?” Tae asks, and it makes sense he wouldn’t know; the guy despises anything that involves physical human contact.
“It’s a club with VIP back rooms you can rent to have sex,” Leif explains, while still blocking my damn path.
“And your fake boyfriend is there right now with Jason Momoa?” Tae gasps.
“He is not Jason Momoa,” I snap, glaring at him.
Tae shrugs. “He looks like him.”
Alexios leans closer to Tae and whispers, “I thought so too.”
“Leif, move,” I warn him.
“I can’t. You are very agitated, and I don’t want you to do something stupid.”
Tae reaches out and pulls him back. “Come on, Leif, we need to trust that Damián knows what to do, and that if he fucks up, he’ll call us.“
“Promise you’ll call if you need us.”
“I promise,” I say, and he finally moves away.
“And please don’t shoot anyone!” Leif screams as I run down the hall to a vending machine that’s also a secret elevator.
I reach the nightclub and immediately push my way inside, scanning the crowded floor. I’ve been here before, so I know exactly where to go.
I cut straight toward the VIP section, and… yeah, just like the photo showed, Oliver is sitting on a velvet couch, whispering into the man’s ear.
Zara is there, too, staring at me with the happiest, smuggest expression I’ve ever seen on her face.
Is she happy that Ollie is with another man?
Did she hear that we fought?
And sure, Oliver and the man aren’t exactly touching… They’re more like sitting side-by-side. But still, Oliver is whispering right into his fucking ear, and I know they have a history.
I head toward their section, and the second Oliver sees me, he freezes. He looks completely shocked, but worse than that?
He looks busted.
That one guilty expression makes my stomach drop all over again.
He scrambles to his feet and hurries over to intercept me before I can reach the couch.
“What are you doing here?” Oliver asks, his eyes darting nervously around the room.
“Me?” I snap. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
“Damián, it’s not what it seems. He’s just—”
“I’ve seen all the pictures of you with him.”
The man steps up behind Oliver and reaches a hand out. “Is everything okay, Ollie?”
Fuck, he looks even better in person.
This is not good…
“Yes, everything is okay, Kaleo.”
No, Oliver, everything is not okay.
I want to punch the handsome Momoa-looking guy in the face, but instead, I grab Oliver by the arm and drag him away from the table, pulling him toward the back hallway.
“Damián, what are you doing?” Oliver asks, stumbling slightly as I pull him down the dimly lit hallway. “What are you looking for?”
I ignore him while I twist the doorknobs of the private VIP rooms. The first two are locked, but when I grab the third handle, it opens.
I shove the door open, pull Oliver inside, and lock the freaking thing behind us.
“Seriously, Damián, what the—” he begins to say, but he doesn’t get to finish.
I surge forward, shoving him back until his back hits the wall. Then, I pin him there with my entire body weight and crash my mouth over his.
Oliver gasps in surprise.
“This is a misunderstanding—” he manages to say, but I silence him with another kiss.
I am too angry to listen to his lies, too hurt at the realization that I was going out of my mind thinking about him, if we were okay, and where he was, while he was meeting another man.
A groan rumbles in my chest as I grind my hips against him, desperate for friction, desperate to connect with this man again.
To fix things between us.
To make him want me again.
“Unzip your pants,” I order him, my lips brushing his.
“What for? So you can fuck up again?” he glares at me, though his face is flushed, his body is leaning toward mine, and his eyes are hooded with the same level of desire I’m feeling.
I step closer, leaving absolutely zero space between us. “Oliver, I promise we’ll talk about that later, but for now, unzip your fucking pants.”
He swallows hard… And without breaking eye contact, his hands drop to his waist, and the sound of his zipper sends a jolt down my spine.
The second his pants drop, I go for his neck, and he moans. I lick a stripe up his throat and bite down on the sensitive skin, making him shiver.
“Unzip mine,” I whisper against his neck, and he immediately does what he is told.
He reaches for my waistband; his fingers are shaking, fumbling with the metal zipper like a man who can’t contain his need. And as soon as my pants are open, I slide my hand down into his boxers, freeing him and then myself.
I wrap my fist tight around both of our aching lengths, squeezing us together, and start to move my hand.
“Ahhh, Damián…” Oliver’s eyes roll back, his mouth falls open, and I kiss him again, swallowing his breathy moans.
“We had one fight, you go dark on me, and now are already meeting others?” I ask, moving my fist slower and tighter than before.
“No,” Oliver gasps against my mouth, and his hips grind against me with an uneven rhythm that is driving me wild.
I grip the back of his neck, holding him steady as I grind my hips into my hand, driving the friction deeper.
“Then what the fuck are you doing with another man, Oliver? We’re supposed to be exclusive.”
“It’s not that…” he gasps, completely losing himself to the pleasure, his fingers digging into my shoulders to stay upright. “…Ahhh, Dami …faster.”
I kiss him, hard and deep, moving my hand even faster. Our precum makes the friction disappear, allowing my hand to slide faster and harder. Oliver breaks the kiss to pant, his breath hitching into a moan.
“Did you already get bored with me? Were you planning on doing this with him?”
“Never…” Oliver shakes his head and opens his gorgeous hazel eyes. “I only want you, Damián.”
My chest tightens with his words, and I kiss him again. This time, I wrap my arms under his thighs, carry him the few steps to the leather sofa in the center of the room, and I sit down, pulling him with me so he is straddling my lap.