7. Matt

SEVEN

MATT

I got around the corner and sagged against the building, trying to get air into my lungs. The burrito that I was so looking forward to had one bite taken out and was now squished in my palm, the salsa, ground beef, and cheese oozing onto my hand. Ewww!

I was being pummeled by emotions hurtling toward me from two different directions, and my shoes and pants were soaked from the downpour.

Adrenaline spiked in my veins as I conjured up his face. I'd lied about sensing a connection with him. My mind and body wanted to connect with him. His tongue in my mouth, hands on my cock, length in my hole with legs wrapped around mine. I wanted all of him.

But he was the enemy, being the brother of the most powerful mob boss in the city or perhaps the state. Maybe the country? Was that possible?

And the flip side of the problem was that in my undercover work, Dane and the entire Obsidian Circle were beefing with La Luna Noir.

Beefing? No, that described two kids on a playground insulting one another.

My dad's stronger than your dad .

No, mine is .

They weren't at odds or on bad terms. They loathed one another. While there were no verified accounts of assassinations on either side, mafia organizations kept those details quiet, though both Flint's father and grandfather had been killed by an opposing group.

Me working undercover was always fraught with difficulty, and the possibility of being unmasked grew the longer I worked for Dane. But now there was an added complication: Flint's brother. Him knowing who I was and interfering put my life in more danger.

And what was that "I like you" crap? He was playing at high school first-love level while messing with my head and undercover work.

I entered Dane's building after the face recognition software let me in. Rather than staying in the underground parking garage where I'd be gassed with exhaust fumes, I went to a small staff room assigned to the drivers and bodyguards. It was a small windowless room with armchairs, a cheap coffee machine, water cooler, and magazines.

Going to the bathroom required trundling down the hallway to the security guard and getting a key. Weird that the building supported modern technology but taking a pee needed an actual piece of metal.

Being Dane's driver, I overheard tidbits of information, though the divider was usually up between us. But I picked up details here and there and pieced them together when I got home. One wall in my crappy apartment was covered with pics, dates, times, and arrows, along with string connecting each one.

Some of the best information came not from Dane who was tightlipped but the musclemen he surrounded himself with. They sometimes came into the staff room to get coffee and we chatted. Or more likely, they talked amongst themselves.

They were professionals, but if they were tired or pissed off, they often let slip something they shouldn't. And they often forgot I was there, huddled in a corner reading a magazine that I'd looked at hundreds of times, the images blurring as I stared at a page while pretending not to listen.

But my big break had come when one of Dane's assistants left his unlocked phone in the car. If Dane had been aware of that, he would have gone ballistic.

Baxter had shown me how to install spyware, and I took a chance the guy wouldn't miss his phone for a few minutes. If I'd been caught… yeah, well. If he was smart, he would have checked his device every day. Maybe he would, but I might get something out of it.

But as I approached the staff room, I sensed I was being watched. Nothing unusual about that because there were cameras everywhere. Goosebumps spiked and sprawled over my skin, triggering my sweat glands. My palms, underarms, and feet were damp as I tried to remain calm and not give away my anxiety.

"Michael!"

Dane's deputy, Blake. His snarl brought me back to the present. I tensed at his guttural voice but plastered a smile on my face and turned on my heel.

"Yes, sir."

"The boss has to go out. Meet him at the car." His sneer and his lips set in a straight line did nothing to inspire confidence that this was a normal outing. "Now!"

"Okay." I kept my voice even, though nausea threatened to bring up the one bite of burrito.

The boss's head bodyguard Cato was usually the one who messaged me when Dane needed the car. This was different. Different wasn't good when undercover and surrounded by mobsters.

Someone had seen me with Flint's brother. I could explain, but were explanations allowed in the mafia? Or was it shoot first and ask questions later? Shit, Blake was on my ass, herding me to the elevator.

"I'll take the stairs. Good exercise." I took a step toward the stairwell until a hand gripped my arm and a feral scent filled my nostrils. I was in more trouble than I thought.

"No need to worry about keeping fit where you're going."

This was it. My foolishness and headstrong ways were leading me to my death, probably a gruesome one.

"Where would that be?" I kept my voice light as his nails dug through the suit and shirt fabric into my skin. He was hurting me, but I refused to admit it. My belly rumbled, and I wondered if my bowels were about to explode. Ewww, messy. No one wanted to clean that up.

The elevator dinged, an ominous sound that heralded my journey to oblivion. Make it quick.

The phone bounced against my thigh as we walked into the small metal box, and Blake stabbed the button for the basement. I might not be alive when the doors opened. I needed to make a call, but the only people in my address book in this phone were Dane's people.

Except one. The brother.

Blake's gaze was fixed on me, but he'd released his grip. I had nowhere to run. In the movies, the hero removed a panel from the elevator ceiling and crawled out. But Blake had a gun, he made sure I could see the holster when he unbuttoned his jacket.

We were on the fifteenth floor, and I needed time. So I pushed three buttons for floors 10, 9, and 8, before Blake manhandled me and shoved me against the back of the elevator, and I collapsed onto the floor.

My head lolled to the side and blood dripped from my ear. There was a pounding in my head as I groaned and adjusted my position, rolling on my side while sliding a hand into my pocket.

Flint's brother had put his number in my address book, and he'd just shoved the device in my pocket. His contact details were still on the screen. Maybe if I calculated the position right and hit his number, I could call him. But did I need to press it twice? Damn, why couldn't I remember? It was something I did every day, countless times.

I took a chance and pressed once and twice, everywhere on the screen. I couldn't feel a vibration, so had I failed? And what if he answered with a loud, "Matt? Are you okay?"

But Blake grabbed my tie and yanked me to my feet, blood spurting from my face over his hand and cuff.

"Who did you call?"

How did he hear that? I'd been moaning and banging my heels on the floor to mask any dialing.

He shook me and yelled, "I should kill you myself, but the boss said?—"

The elevator doors slid open. Two of Dane's bodyguards were waiting, and they dragged me toward the car, the one I'd been driving this morning. Dane was sitting in the back seat.

"You've been a naughty boy, Michael, assuming that is your name." Dane's manicurist was sitting on a small stool at his feet, buffing his nails. He kept his head down. Smart guy. No one wanted to get in the way of what Dane had planned for me.

The boss nodded and removed his hand. The manicurist picked up his stuff and scuttled off. Dane patted the seat. "Get in. We're going for a little ride."

Not what you wanted to hear from the mob boss you were investigating.

"Nah, I'll pass, boss. I get car sick riding in the back." I patted his sleeve, and he reared away as blood dripped in his lap. "Wouldn't want to barf on that expensive fabric."

Bodyguard one grabbed me and threw me into the seat facing Dane and sat beside me, while the other guy, Cato, got in the driver's seat. My chest ached with the fierce pounding of my heart. I jerked forward as the car moved.

"Damn, can we get a decent driver for once," Dane complained as he pulled out a gun.

I raised my hand. "That would be me, boss."

"Sorry, boss," Cato said. "Not used to a car like this."

The car sped outside. The rain had increased since I'd gone into the building. Rivers of water slid down the slope into the garage. The food truck had gone, and traffic was backed up, lights blazing as drivers attempted to peer through the wall of rain. Cars blocked our way, and Dane snapped at Cato to barge between the vehicles.

A torrent drummed on the roof, but my brain was working overtime, thinking of how to escape. I didn't like my chances, but I knew every inch of this vehicle. There had to be a way. The odds weren't great. Three mobsters, all with weapons, against me.

Visibility was hampered by the tall buildings, traffic, low clouds, and rain, but as I put both hands between my knees to stop them shaking, Cato must have flattened the accelerator and the car sped forward, ramming into two cars on the street that were bumper to bumper.

With none of us wearing seatbelts, our bodies were tossed about in the car, and my head hit the roof. I must have blacked out because the next thing I remembered was a face hovering over me and being carried while the rain bucketed onto me.

"We have to get out of here."