Chapter Three Tom
Chapter Three
Tom
The Ferrante kid was chasing me.
What the hell did he want?
It was bad enough my predatory instinct snapped into action when I saw that bastard aiming a gun at him, and I acted irresponsibly.
Enzo was right. No part of the FBI protocol or training I’d undergone would suggest I should execute a man on his knees with his back to me.
Hell, in any other scenario, I would’ve waited out the entire disturbing scene, then turned this Cash asshole into an informant to bring the Ferrantes down.
But Cash had triggered my one and only weakness—forcing someone out of the closet and terrorizing them because of their sexuality. It was a trigger that overrode my logic. Every single time.
At least I hadn’t used my government-issued Glock. That would make the scenario a million times worse, not that it needed any further complications.
I knew Enzo wouldn’t breathe a word about what happened. He wasn’t out—probably never would be—so he wouldn’t risk running his mouth about my heroic act. Plus, for all the Camorra’s faults—and there were plenty—they weren’t snitches.
Getting rid of me wouldn’t solve their problems. Someone else would take my place. They were all headed to prison, one way or the other.
No.
This lapse of judgment on my end would be our little secret.
Enzo knew that, and so did I.
Which raised the question—what the fuck did he want now?
“How much did you see back there?” His voice, all throaty and husky, grated on my nerves. “Because I’m not sure you noticed, but he didn’t get me very hard.”
Was this asshole really talking to me about his failed hookup, who was currently lying dead in an alleyway? Kids these days had zero boundaries.
I didn’t respond. I wasn’t Dr. Ruth, and I sure as hell didn’t care about his less-than-stellar blowjob experience.
“Is that…like…normal?”
Pursing my lips, I continued walking away from him.
Enzo followed, like a dumb stray puppy hoping to get adopted.
“I’ve never done that before. With a man, I mean.”
I stopped and turned around to face him, about to tell him to fuck off. Then thought better of it and continued on my way. Any words I’d speak would just encourage him. Better to completely ignore his existence.
“I was attracted to him enough. Before he aimed a gun at me, at least,” he blabbered on.
I said nothing, increasing my pace to my car. I hadn’t suspected Enzo was gay or bi, because during my surveillance of him, he’d visited at least six women in what I assumed was a romantic capacity. It made finding him with his cock inside a guy’s mouth jarring, to say the least.
Unfortunately, Enzo had the advantage of having longer legs and being a slave to his cardio routine. I couldn’t outpace him. It didn’t stop me from trying, though.
I missed our past encounters, where I was the cat and he the mouse. He still acted like a dumbass, but at least he didn’t talk.
Every time I followed him and he’d caught me, he’d flash me his wiseass smile and wink at me.
Sometimes he’d blow me a kiss. Sometimes even offer an autograph.
One time, when he caught me with my partner, Sully, who was taking pictures of him outside a suspected whorehouse, the little shit struck a pose and put his chin on his shoulder, pressing his index finger to his lips.
He was punchable to a fault.
He seemed in a perky mood for someone who’d buried his father earlier today. Then again, Don Vello was a piece of work. No doubt he’d put Enzo through the same nine circles of hell his two older brothers had to survive.
Truth be told, I had a bit of a soft spot for Enzo Ferrante.
He wasn’t his eldest brother, Luca, the crown prince, the golden heir, the entitled, genius sibling with the heart of ice.
He wasn’t Achilles, either—the ferocious sociopath who actively enjoyed inflicting pain and spreading terror.
Achilles’s FBI file was the prototype for ASPD we showed our trainee profilers.
He was the kind of man who shouldn’t be let out on the streets, and every day he spent out of prison felt like my own personal failure.
No one had ever considered Enzo as the next reigning king of the family empire.
He was saddled with the low-ranking role of the enforcer.
Still, he never complained or threw a fit.
When his brothers sent him to babysit billionaires’ wives, he did so without putting up much of a fight.
He was always the one to stitch up injured Camorra soldiers, offer them water, a snack, a good word.
I had no doubt that, had he been born to a different family, he would have chosen another career path.
Perhaps a circus clown.
Unbelievably, he was still talking.
“…thought I was safe because I didn’t send him any headshots. Lesson learned, I guess. Good thing I have a prolific stalker with protective tendencies—”
A headache was forming behind my eyes.
“Go away, Enzo,” I spat out.
“Can’t. You saved my life. We’re brothers in arms now.” He caught up with my step, throwing an arm around my shoulders. I promptly pushed it away.
“You’re not my brother, and if you touch me again, I will break your arm.”
“Holy shit, that’s a little hot. I think I’m finding out my type. Domineering, grumpy men. I do have a taste for violence, you know.”
“You’re harassing a federal agent,” I warned.
Though I doubted he gave a shit. I had a file in my office with Enzo’s name on it and over five hundred vivid pictures of flayed corpses and mutilated bodies.
The only reason he hadn’t been arrested thus far was because of damn technicalities, and the army of lawyers the Ferrante family had at their disposal.
“I’m just trying to say thank you.”
“You already did. Eight times. Now fuck off.”
“How’s it fair that you can stalk me for three years but I can’t even walk you to your car this one time?”
“I’m not stalking you; I’m doing my damn job.”
“To-may-to, to-mah-to.”
“Go away, Enzo.”
“You’re my guardian angel, and it’s basic manners that I let you know how much I appreciate it.”
“I will arrest you if you don’t stop.”
“See, now you’re just threatening me with a good time.” He grunted in that deep, lazy drawl of his. “I’d pay good money to have you put handcuffs on me.”
A thought occurred to me—I could probably kill him, too. Though his body would be harder to dispose of.
I was immune to theatrics, so I wasn’t annoyed per se, but I definitely regretted not letting that Cash bastard put a bullet in his thigh.
“What can I do to make you leave me alone?” I ground out between clenched teeth.
“Kiss me,” he said breathlessly.
I tripped on the cobblestoned street like a bumbling idiot, managing to correct my stance a second before hitting the ground.
Enzo’s deviancy was nothing new to anyone who studied him more than ten minutes, but even I was surprised by how far gone the Mafia heir truly was.
He laughed at my clumsiness, throwing out his arms theatrically. “Kiss me, Clark Kent!”
“Kiss you?” I spotted my car on the street. It took every ounce of restraint in me not to sprint the rest of the way there.
“Yeah. I need to know if I’m attracted to men or not.”
I was just desperate enough to get rid of him to consider it. Not that I was willing to admit it.
“Stop embarrassing yourself, Enzo.”
“I thought you said you were bi.”
“I am.”
“What’s the problem, then?”
“That I also have standards.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not asking for a ring. Just a kiss!” I wondered, if I stopped answering, would he stop yammering my ear off? This was why I kept my hookups strictly with people thirty-five or above.
At least I was about three steps away from my Audi.
I got my answer half a second later.
“It’s just that you seem like the kind of man who knows what he’s doing. And even though I got excited when that prick started sucking me off, I wasn’t all the way into it. To be honest, I’ve been much harder with women. But then again, the idea of him really appealed to me, so maybe—”
I couldn’t take it anymore.
I whirled around, stalked the short distance toward him, grabbed the back of his neck roughly, and slammed my lips against his, cutting off the incoherent stream of words.
An awkward oomph escaped him. The taste of tobacco, beer, and undetectable sweetness invaded my senses all at once.
I grabbed the back of his head, thrusting my tongue into his mouth, wedging my thigh between his legs, applying pressure to his swelling cock.
I was hard, too. Of course I was hard. He was fucking gorgeous, a fact I never denied, but never let cloud my judgment, either.
His tongue traced mine in an open-mouthed kiss, erotic and indulgent, just like the man himself.
I met him with my own personality—demanding, aggressive, unhinged beneath the buttoned-down facade.
I swallowed down his needy, slutty groans, dominating his mouth, his body, his soul.
We grappled, him pushing at my chest to earn some of his dominance back, me returning his thrust with double the force.
He grinned into our kiss, liking the way it felt being with someone his own size.
I felt his smile in more than just my mouth.
I waited for him to freak out and bolt, but all he did was deepen the kiss between harsh, desperate pants, bucking his hips to press his erection against my thigh in the middle of the goddamn street.
Jesus fuck, he tasted good. Better than good. Divine. How long had it been since I’d eaten someone’s face like this? Two years? Five years? Ten?
Don’t think about it. It doesn’t matter.
I needed to stop.
Shit.
Fuck.
Dammit!
Even though I’d been out for twenty years now, I didn’t do public displays of affection.
More specifically, I didn’t do affection.
Come to think about it, I did not do public, either.
Ripping my mouth from his, I ignored his growl of protest as I pushed my thumb down his lower lip, pried his mouth open, and grunted in frustration, “Wider.”
His mouth parted on cue. He took the order like a good boy, Bambi eyes glazed, cheeks flushed. It was the last thing I expected from a mouthy, extroverted man-child.
Clasping his closely shaven, square jaw, I leaned forward and spat into his mouth. He threw his head back on instinct, trying to wiggle free from my grasp. But while he had more muscle mass, I’d been trained by the deadliest and cruelest in combat and could dismantle him quickly.
I tightened my grip on two facial pressure points that completely paralyzed him, my eyes boring into his. “Gurgle.”
He did. By God, did he gurgle the shit out of my saliva. His Adam’s apple bobbed beautifully, making the crown of my cock stick to my briefs with precum.
“Now swallow.”
I watched his thick throat work around my saliva, consuming it, and finally dropped my hand from his face, cupping his crotch.
Jesus, the kid was packing. That was some dick.
I hadn’t taken a look back in the alleyway, because that felt both predatory and wrong.
And though size didn’t always guarantee aesthetic, I had a feeling that, like everything else about this asshole, his cock was a work of art.
He arched into my hand, grunting, his hooded eyes pleading for more. His penis twitched against my palm through his sweatpants. Fuck. I needed to get out of here before I lost my sanity and my job.
I released him completely. He stumbled backward a couple steps, coughing and heaving. I stood straight, my frosty demeanor intact as I took him in with my signature boredom. “Suffice it to say you are attracted to men. Good night, Enzo.”
I slipped into my car and drove off before I fucked him right there on the pavement.