5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

ELIO

My knees ache against the hard tile floor as I gulp down breaths to slow my racing heart rate. I’m trying not to think too hard about when anyone might have bothered to mop this floor last, if ever, or the hot, sticky cum clinging to my soft cock and the inside of my underwear. Of course, the harder I try to think of anything else, the more stuck those two thoughts become, ricocheting around my brain and creating a hot well of shame in the pit of my stomach that I like a hell of a lot more than I should.

I drag my tongue slowly over my bottom lip, savoring the lingering flavor of Orion’s cum—salty and sweet, and without a doubt my new favorite flavor in existence. My scalp is still tingling from the rough way he yanked at my hair, using me to work out his aggression, doing his level best to teach me some kind of lesson by punishing my throat with his cock. Unless the lesson was meant to be about what a shameless slut I am for pain and humiliation, I don’t think I was a very good student. It would probably be best for us to have at least a dozen more one- on-one tutoring sessions just like this one until whatever it is he wants me to learn starts to sink in properly.

I study his back for a few seconds, lean but powerful as he hunches his shoulders slightly, his attention back on the bleeding wound on his jaw. Or maybe that’s just a good excuse for him to ignore me until I take the hint and leave. Silent laughter tightens my throat, and I grin to myself. If he thinks being dismissive is all it’s going to take to get me to slink away with my tail between my legs, then I’m not the only one with a lot to learn.

I get to my feet, careful not to touch the sticky floor with my hands as I push myself up. I don’t bother to do anything to straighten myself out. My tie is crooked, my jacket unbuttoned, and even without looking in the mirror, I’m sure my hair is as wild as I feel inside right now. But I don’t want to put myself back together yet. I want to wear the disarray and know that I didn’t imagine the way he put his hands on me with the perfect blend of passion and violence.

Orion is dabbing at the jagged wound with a fresh wad of dry paper towels, his eyes flicking to mine through the mirror when I come up behind him for the second time tonight. This time, he doesn’t bark anything at me. He doesn’t scoff or scowl, he just glances at me for a second before yanking his attention away all over again.

The paper towel dispenser hanging next to the sink is barely attached to the wall at this point, hanging loosely and dented like it’s seen one too many rogue fists from drunken patrons. But whoever is in charge of keeping it full didn’t let that stop them from doing their job. The whole thing rattles and sways on the wall as I yank out a handful of brown paper towels.

Orion glances at me again as I sidle up next to him at the only working sink and crank the nozzle on. I stuff the wad of paper towels under the water, then wring them out so they aren’t dripping wet.

“Here,” I murmur, pivoting to face him.

He stares at me for a minute, his eyes ping ponging between the damp towels in my hand and my face, like he’s trying to work out a complex puzzle. I’m expecting him to tell me to fuck off and stay away from him again, maybe even shove past me and leave without a word. But after a few silent moments, he lowers the bloodied compress away from his jaw and makes a grab for the ones in my hand. I yank them back, then take a step closer, feeling the heat radiating off of his body. The smell of his sweat and blood tickles my nose as I gently dab at the cut. The blood wells up and spills over again every time I clear it.

Up close like this, I greedily rake my eyes over every inch of his face, cataloging all the details I’ve never had the time to notice before, like the hazel flecks in his green eyes and the light, almost invisible freckles on the bridge of his nose. His breathing is steady and even, his eyes hard as he stares right back at me like he’s trying not to see me.

“It looks like you need stitches.” I press and hold the paper towel to the spot again, applying more pressure this time.

“Mm,” he grunts, a clear dismissal of my suggestion without uttering a single word.

“You don’t have to tell them you got it during an illegal, underground fight.” I pull the paper towels away to check it again. It takes a few seconds longer before the blood wells up again, but it still does. “Or I could come with you, keep them from questioning you about it at all.”

Orion rumbles out another scathing, humorless laugh. “You’ve got ER doctors on the Moretti payroll, I take it?”

I flatten my lips into a thin line and reach for a fresh batch of towels. “One or two. And the rest of them know what’s good for them, just like everyone else in this city. Except you, apparently.”

He laughs again, but this time there actually is a hint of amusement in the sound, and it sets my heart racing all over again. He doesn’t respond though, and I didn’t really expect him to. He’s obviously stubborn enough to avoid the hospital just because I told him he should go.

“Hold these.” I press the fresh paper towels to his face and wait for him to take over with his hand before pulling mine away. My unbuttoned suit jacket flutters open as I reach inside to check the hidden pockets. I notice Orion’s eyes lingering on my holstered revolver, the furrow between his eyebrows deepening. My fingertips brush the small strips I was looking for. I pull out a small handful of butterfly sutures and button my jacket with one hand.

“You’ve got a pocketful of first aid supplies?” He surrenders the paper towels to me again, letting me pull them away from the wound and toss them into the trash.

Orion tilts his head slightly, giving me better access to patch him up.

“Believe it or not, they come in handy from time to time in my line of work,” I say dryly. “They’re not as good as the real thing, but they’re better than nothing.”

The stubble on his chin makes it harder to get the strips to stick, but it’s not impossible. After I get the first couple applied, the bleeding finally stops, and the rest are a lot easier to place. There’s already purple bruising and swelling forming around the cut.

“Why are you doing this?”

“Because you’re too stubborn to go get proper stitches,” I say with a pointed look.

“That’s not what I meant,” he mumbles, his face hardening again, his eyes searching mine like he’s looking for answers to questions he hasn’t bothered asking out loud. “I just damn near sexually assaulted you and you’re playing doctor.”

I snort a laugh. “If that had been sexual assault, I’d have shot you in the dick.”

Orion winces. “Jesus.”

I should quit while I’m ahead. He already thinks I’m a heartless monster, willing to shoot a waitress in cold blood if she gets my order wrong. But there’s some sick need inside of me that keeps my mouth moving, some fucked-up voice in my head that wants to know just how much I can make him hate me.

“It wouldn’t have been the first time, and I promise you, I would have gone home and slept like a baby while you spent the night bleeding out here on the bathroom floor.”

Right on cue, coldness flickers in Orion’s eyes and he jerks away from my touch. Satisfaction and disgust with myself war inside of me.

“Playing god is just a day in the life of a Moretti, isn’t it?”

“Sometimes,” I admit, leaning in closer again to reclaim the space. He doesn’t move, doesn’t shove me away or tell me to back the fuck off as I ghost the tip of my nose along the uninjured side of his jaw, then up to his cheek, where I press my lips against his skin. Orion shudders and tenses, but still doesn’t make a sound. “Thanks for tonight. I’ll see you around.”

Everything inside of me wants to drag him back home with me. I want to spend the rest of the night finding different ways to press his buttons to see just how brightly I can make his eyes burn with rage. I want to let him hate me until I’m immune to the sting of it.

But I’m smart enough to know when I’ve pushed my luck enough for one night. I can feel his eyes on my back as I leave the bathroom. I stride through the raucous crowd again, passing the bar without stopping to so much as glance at the bottles lined up along the back wall, up the stairs, and out into the alley. I’m vaguely aware that my hair and clothes are still a mess, completely at odds with the dangerous, organized man I walked in here as tonight.

Orion took me apart, and I think he’s the only one who can put me back together.

ORION

I glare at the door and finish cleaning the streaks of blood off my skin as best I can. My balls are still fucking tingling from how hard I came in Elio’s mouth. His handy little butterfly sutures solved the problem of the bleeding, and then he had to go and drop some psycho shit like that before leaving. As if he was the one who used me and just got to walk away.

What the fuck is wrong with him?

And why the hell do I want to follow him out of here just to yell at him some more about fucking with my head? Every time I see him, I tell him to leave me the fuck alone. Now, when he actually walks away, I want to chase him?

I get rid of the last of the paper towels and force myself to wait a few minutes, so I won’t feel like I’m going after him. I shove my hands into my pockets when I finally slip out of the bathroom, checking that my money is still there. Not that I think he could have pickpocketed me. Well, maybe he could have. What the fuck do I know about the things a Moretti is capable of? Even if he had, it wouldn’t have mattered. This money is going right in his till anyway.

The humid air of the bar gives way to a cool breeze when I step out into the alley. Gravel crunches under my feet, drowned out after a few seconds by the familiar sounds of the city. Traffic, voices, music. It’s a lively, comforting sound that never fails to make me feel at home, and yet somehow completely alienated at the same time.

I pass by the assisted living facility without stopping tonight. I can’t go in there with blood crusted on my shirt and a fresh cut on my face. Jack will want to know what happened, and I’m too tired to come up with a plausible lie.

I pick up my pace until I’m practically jogging, trying not to imagine the disappointed look on my brother’s face if he knew about all the shit I’ve had to do to keep up with the cost of his care. Underground fights, borrowing money from the Morettis…

He has enough to worry about without having to stress about all that bullshit.

I reach my building and stop to fish my keys out of my pocket. I jog up the few steps to the main door and mutter a curse under my breath when I see it’s propped open. It’s like people want to get robbed. I kick the doorstop out of the way and let the heavy door swing closed behind me.

The yellowing walls of the entryway smell like decades-old cigarette smoke and the remnants of a million dinners that have wafted through the hallway over the years. The linoleum floor is peeling, and I notice some black specks in one corner that are more than likely rat droppings.

Home sweet home.

I turn towards the stairs, but movement catches the corner of my eye. There’s a quiet mrrrow and an undersized gray tabby cat scampers out from the storage space under the steps.

“Come here, you little troublemaker.” I stoop down and drum my fingers on the floor to entice the cat towards me. “You know, if you’re going to spend so much time roaming these halls, you could at least try to eat some of the rodents.”

He meows again, and butts his forehead against my knee, purring when I put my hand under his chest and scoop him up. He digs his claws into my shirt, the fabric making little tearing sounds as he kneads it and purrs even harder on our way upstairs. He sniffs at the blood on my shirt and makes an offended face at me that draws a chuckle from my throat.

“Sorry, dude. I don’t like it that much either.”

I stop at the second door on the floor and angle myself so I won’t scare Mrs. Stevens with the sight of my mangled face and the drying blood on my clothes. I rap my knuckles against the door, noticing the tender ache in them from fighting bare knuckled tonight. Well, not quite bare, but the wrap I put around them only saved them from getting scraped up during the fight, it didn’t cushion any of the blows.

I hear the shuffle of footsteps on the other side of the door, and the cat starts to squirm in my arms. Another few seconds and it finally swings open. Mrs. Stevens is wearing a fluffy bathrobe and a pair of house shoes that she’s probably owned since the war. She’s already taken her teeth out for the night, so the big grin she gives me is mildly unsettling, but I smile back anyway.

“Sorry to disturb you so late, but I found Gato prowling around downstairs. Someone left the door propped open, so I’m glad he didn’t make a run for it.” I let the cat leap out of my arms and flounce into the apartment.

“Oh my. I didn’t even realize he was missing. Thank you so much. You’re such a good boy.” She says the same thing every time I bring Gato back for her, and every time I nod and smile, not inclined to ruin her image of me as her heroic, cat rescuing neighbor by telling her I stopped being a boy a hell of a long time ago, and that most days, I’m not sure I’m all that good. “Let me make you some tea,” she offers.

“Thanks, but I actually need to turn in. How about tomorrow instead?” I suggest. Gato weaves between her legs and tries to dart out into the hallway again, but I stop him with a gentle nudge of my foot.

“That sounds lovely. Stop by any time.”

“Thanks, I will. Good night.” I breathe a sigh of relief when she closes the door without noticing my injury.

I continue on down the hallway until I reach the last door. The deadbolts groan as I stick my key in each lock to undo them. The door jams, and I wince as I put my shoulder into it to force it open. As soon as I step inside, I redo all the locks. There isn’t a hell of a lot in my apartment that anyone would want to steal, but the wad of cash in my pocket is certainly incentive enough. Of course, anyone who was at the fight and knows I walked away with the money probably isn’t stupid enough to come take it from me, but you never know.

The white noise of the traffic outside is faint, creating a soothing harmony with the hum of the old refrigerator in my kitchen and the muffled sound of a tv show I can hear through the walls. My ears are still ringing from the fight, from the noise of the bar, and, if I’m being honest with myself, from Elio’s parting words.

Thanks for tonight. I’ll see you around.

Were they meant to be dismissive? Were they a promise? A threat? I don’t have the first fucking clue. I shuffle through my apartment to the small bedroom, barely big enough to fit my queen bed and a dresser. I strip off my shirt, the fabric stiff with dried blood, and toss it into the pile of dirty clothes that I need to find time to haul down to the laundry room.

I collapse on the edge of the bed, the frame creaking under my weight. The ache in my jaw is already boring, barely noticeable, but I probe it with my fingers anyway. The memory of Elio’s dark eyes drilling into me makes my jaw tick and my insides burn.

If that had been sexual assault, I’d have shot you in the dick.

I sputter a laugh in spite of myself, remembering the twitch of his lips when he said it. Jesus, he really is fucking cold blooded. Or maybe it’s just an act—a survival tactic like the ones I’ve had to learn. I bristle at the momentary softness I feel towards the stone-cold killer. You don’t get to be the underboss of a crime family like the Morettis without being a seriously fucked-up person. Elio doesn’t deserve my sympathy. What he deserves is to get roughed up again, to be forced to his knees a second time and put in his place. He deserves to be spanked until his ass is bright red with my handprints and that cocky fucking attitude of his is forgotten.

I grind my teeth harder and scoff out loud to my empty apartment.

Forget what he needs.

What I need is to stay as far away from that mess as possible. I need to pay off my debt, then figure out a way to get enough money together so I won’t have to keep risking my life in underground fights. One problem at a time, I suppose. But none of it will be solved by getting mixed up with Elio Moretti. Period.