Chapter Thirteen Tom
Chapter Thirteen
Tom
I couldn’t believe I was doing this.
It was the purest, most inconceivable form of insanity I’d ever committed.
And yet here I was.
Breaking my own rules.
Shifting my schedule.
Deserting my carefully laid plans.
Inserting myself into a situation without a controlled environment.
Putting my career on the line.
And my morals, ethics, and principles on hold.
For a kid.
An engaged, criminal kid.
For the third time in less than a month.
After an hour of pacing the same perimeter, I finally stepped into the reception of Enzo’s luxurious building. A stout security guard with droopy eyes and a three-day stubble was slouched behind a computer screen, the blue light illuminating his comatose expression.
“FBI.” I flashed my badge in his sleepy face. His jaw slacked, potato chip crumbs tumbling onto his wrinkled uniform. “Going up to the tenth floor. Vincenzo Ferrante’s apartment.”
He swallowed hard, nodding. “O-of course.”
Idiot. These were the people who were hired to protect the residents of this building? Good thing Enzo was good with a knife and a gun.
“I’ll need you to swipe your card at the elevator,” I said matter-of-factly.
He ripped his ass from his seat and called the elevator with his card. I stepped inside and gave him a stern look. “You never saw me.”
“Yes, sir. I mean, no, sir.”
The doors slid closed between us.
The entire way up, I spiraled in an avalanche of headache, anxiety, and an untamable obsession.
I couldn’t believe not only was I letting Enzo break every rule I’d given him, but I was actively breaking the rules I’d set for myself nearly a decade ago, in order to protect me and others from myself.
Clawing two fingers into my bow tie, I tugged it loose.
You’re blowing this out of proportion.
I wasn’t here to apologize.
I wasn’t here to extract vulnerable information—not this time, anyway.
I wasn’t even here to fuck him.
I was here to check that he was okay, that the concerning marks on his wrists were no longer fresh and prominent, and that he wasn’t on suicide watch.
Simple as that.
Nothing out of the ordinary in being a good Samaritan. I’d been this way my whole life, doing what I thought was right, no matter the price tag on my personal life.
In the same way I’d enlisted fresh out of high school.
Why I joined the FBI.
Why I spent every minute of my personal time with people who needed me.
The elevator dinged and I stepped out, standing in front of Enzo’s apartment.
I stared at the door, yet again confused by the reason I was here.
Move. Knock. Function, Tom.
I’d fought, battled, and made difficult decisions since I was eighteen. Had seen my closest friends die in combat. I’d known sorrow, anger, even guilt—but never fear.
What the fuck was happening to me?
I punched the doorbell, thrusting my hand into my hair and dragging my fingers through it. It was one thirty in the morning, but fuck it, he didn’t need beauty sleep. He was already gorgeous.
The sound of his bare feet slapping the floor on the other side made my heart beat faster.
He tossed the door open, shirtless and freshly showered.
His hair was damp and mussed in messy curls atop of his head, his body sleek, golden, and inked.
A modern-day gladiator. Hard as stone, with the softest lips.
He squinted. “Did you not read my doormat? It says no soliciting, bitch.”
My concern and gnawing desperation were out the window, replaced by good old annoyance and exasperation.
“Step back.”
Enzo rolled his eyes. “Where’s your warrant, fucker?”
I clenched my jaw tight to prevent myself from snapping at him. Letting go of my rules and structured had been hard, and he’d been nothing but pure fucking chaos.
“Can’t try to arrest me again. This is a residential property, and one you’re not welcome in, by the way.”
“I’m hoping we’ll reach…an understanding.” I raked my gaze along his body, making sure to halt at his impressive package.
He snorted, shaking his head. “This is like the beginning of a very badly plotted porn.”
“As opposed to all those well-plotted porns?” I smiled back. I actually smiled in front of him. He didn’t fail to notice.
“Holy shit, Tomcat, is that an honest-to-God smile I’m seeing on your sulky-ass face?” His face lit up. “And you cracked a joke, too.”
I gave his chest a shove, and he stumbled back, his amused smirk morphing into a devious grin. I stalked him backward, crowding him, suddenly remembering exactly why I’d put off seeing him again.
This.
The push and pull.
The lack of control.
The whirlpool of madness that threw me into the deep end and made me lose sense of time, space, and identity.
I hadn’t planned on nearly fucking him on his parents’ golf course the other day, and I certainly knew he wasn’t ready for full-blown sex now.
I was going to ease him into it, though it would probably cost me more than my sanity was willing to pay.
“First, show me your wrists.” I tucked my badge back into my pocket.
“Fuck off, dude.” Enzo shoved at my chest in anger. I captured his wrists, rotating them toward me. Upon closer inspection, it didn’t look like cutting. Not only cutting, anyway. More like a really nasty rash.
“That’s it, I’ve had enough of you, asshole.
” Enzo jerked his arm back before throwing an accurate sucker punch straight to the side of my nose.
Blood sprayed out of it, gushing all over my designer suit.
My glasses tumbled somewhere under the couch, probably broken.
Not done putting his point across, he slammed the door behind me, pounced on top of me, and sent me sprawling to the floor.
My head plunked against the French herringbone as he mounted me.
I stared up at his exquisite, blurry face—my beautiful, intoxicating ruin—holding his gaze in a vise grip.
“You’re not cutting. It’s something else. Tell me what’s going on.”
“Jesus Christ, would you let it go!” He bashed my head against the floor, the ricochets of the assault reverberating in my spine and jaw. He was a big, muscular guy, and his job was beating people to death.
I watched him stoically, allowing him to let it all out, to purge the darkness he harbored from being the enforcer, the killer, the wayward brother, the lesser Ferrante.
“Whatever it is, I can help,” I said calmly.
“Stop fucking talking!”
His fist slid across my jaw in another brutal blow. My patience was running thin.
“Kid, I’m allowing you one more punch before I start retaliating. You don’t want me to do that. If you prefer, we can talk about the marks on your hands tomorr—”
He pummeled my mouth, splitting my lip. More blood gushed out. I licked my bottom lip, running my tongue along my teeth to make sure they remained intact. The coppery taste flooded my senses and turned me the fuck on.
Blood wasn’t usually a kink I indulged in. Making Enzo face his feelings, though? Worth it.
My violent little butterfly.
So beautiful.
So fragile.
So fucking mine.
“Good. Now get off me.”
“Not until you stop talking about my damn wrists.”
“Oh, we’ll discuss them. However many times we need to. Until I stop seeing abuse marks. Is it drugs? Is it—”
He threw another punch, toward my sternum, but this time, I dodged expertly. I wrapped his fist with mine, twisted his hand, then quickly rolled over, flipping him down so I was on top of him. He panted hard, snarling like a wounded beast, reaching to claw my eyes out in anger.
Seizing the pressure points in his neck and grabbing him in a frontal chokehold, I tsked. “I don’t want to cause you brain damage. You can’t afford to lose any gray matter. Can we stop with all this violence?”
Those bottomless whiskey ambers flared at me in rage, before dimming in acceptance. I kept the pressure light, but we both knew I could finish him off effortlessly.
“Nod once if you plan on being a good boy,” I ordered him.
He did, his eyes dancing with the same malicious contempt I’d seen before when I asked about his scars.
I removed my hands from him, the cold sense of loss already frosting my fingertips.
“We’ll save the tough conversation for after your orgasm.
” I pushed off him, smoothing out my suit and offering him a hand.
He didn’t take it, climbing back to his feet with a sulky pout.
I didn’t like that the warm, tingly fire had dimmed from his playful eyes.
And I especially didn’t like that I was the one who’d extinguished it.
“What now?” He folded his arms over his broad chest.
I shoved him against the TV stand and covered his mouth with mine, a grunt of pained desperation rolling off my throat.
Thrusting my tongue deep into his mouth, I twisted my fingers in his hair, pressing my straining, engorged cock against his, rubbing them together through our clothes.
I tasted my blood and his cigarettes in the kiss, a ghastly potion that shouldn’t be palatable and yet I couldn’t get enough of.
This time, he fought for dominance, pushing back, rolling his tongue against mine, and penetrating my mouth as deep as he could get.
He kissed me like he wanted to destroy me.
I kissed him like I was going to let him.
We ground against each other, my hands roaming his hot, hard body. Every inch of him was carved in measurements that’d make Michelangelo’s David weep in envy.
Perfect.
Perfect.
Fuck.
My mouth ran down his throat, skimming the fading hickey I’d left on his neck and closing on the same spot to mark him again. Fucking mine.
For the time being, but still.