12.

TWELVE

Dominic

I glance in my rearview mirror, looking past Rafael’s unconscious form in the backseat to the headlights behind me. Heading out of the city, Rocco can no longer hide that he’s tailing me. I told him to fuck off the other day when I caught him. All he did was get sneakier. Like me, I guess. For four days, I never let Rafael spot me.

From a distance, I watched him come apart. I fucking reveled in it. It soothed me.

He covered it well. His clothes were impeccable, his hair perfect. Everyone stared at him like they always do when he was at the gym, at the steakhouse, at his club. I never entered Lush, but I saw him walk in more than once.

I’m sure most people saw only the sexy, confident man they’re used to. I saw all his tricks for hiding shaky hands.

Rafael is moody even at his best. I would know. I’ve been watching him for months. In truth, I was watching him long before that, though only sporadically. Only when I could get away with it.

The thing about his moodiness is that people around him are used to him being at turns charming or sharp or silent. He got silent over the last couple days. Anyone could have seen that. But I saw how he got dangerous.

I didn’t plan to interfere with him tonight. I wasn’t ready to deal with him. But when I realized what he was doing, I couldn’t hold back.

No one gets to hurt Rafael but me, not even in the fake-as-fuck fighting ring. My hands nearly strangled the chrome railing when that prancy prick hit Rafael. Twice in the gut, once in the face.

Why the hell did Rafael let that happen? I watched him slice a man to death a few days ago, then I had to work hard to put him down even when he was so high he could barely stand up. Tonight, he wasn’t protecting himself.

As if that wasn’t clear enough in the ring, he proved it beyond any doubt in the alley.

The steering wheel creaks in my twisting grip. I check the rearview mirror again, this time ignoring the irritating headlights behind me to glare at my unconscious captive.

This can’t go on. He’s distracting me. He’s fucking up my head. I have to end it.

I take the road to my family’s estate. Rocco is way past trying to hide, and when I pull around to the back side of the house, he follows, parking his Charger beside my Audi.

He gets out when I do. He stays by his car, waiting for what he knows is coming, bracing as I stalk his way. He doesn’t react when I grab the front of his jacket or even when I slam him against the side of his car.

“What the fuck did I tell you?” I snarl into his face.

“I know what you told me.”

“And you think you can fucking ignore my orders?”

“I think you need me to.”

“That’s not your fucking call to make!”

He doesn’t argue, doesn’t get smart with me. He’s just big and silent and steady. I shove him and step back.

“If you’re so fucking desperate to help, you can haul his ass to the cell,” I snap and head for the cellar door.

I go down ahead of Rocco, passing through the cellar to the hidden door and beyond that to the cell.

It’s clean. There are no traces of the last torture and death that took place here. I detach the metal chair from the floor and get it out of the way as Rocco lumbers in with Rafael draped over his shoulder. I repress an instinctive growl at the sight of Rocco’s arm hooked around Rafael’s legs and Rafael’s head hanging near Rocco’s ass.

“String him up,” I order.

Rocco glances at me, not liking it. He knows I’ve been stalking Rafael. I’m sure he assumes, correctly, that I’ve been fucking him.

“Take his jacket off first,” I add.

Rocco lowers Rafael to the sealed concrete floor, but when he unzips the leather jacket, I elbow him aside and do it myself. Rafael’s still out because I drugged him as soon as I got him in the car. He’s a dead weight as I haul him partway up to shove his jacket off his shoulders. Rocco pulls it free.

I decide to remove his shirt too. I want to look at his body one more time while he’s still breathing.

Rocco stands up and checks the cuffs that hang from the beam. I wrap my arms around Rafael’s torso and haul him up. Rocco gets his wrists in the cuffs.

“Dominic,” he says when Rafael is secured.

“Get the fuck out,” I tell him before he can finish whatever bullshit he was about to start.

When Rocco lingers like he has shit he really wants to say, I pull my gun from its underarm holster and point it at him. He takes the hint and heads to the door.

“He’s gorgeous,” Rocco says then quickly snaps the door shut.

I almost fire at the steel surface, but I grit my teeth and return my gun to its holster.

Yeah. Rafael is gorgeous. Even like this, unconscious, head hanging, body lax, he’s fucking gorgeous. He’s all refined muscle and perfect proportion. So beautiful and so male.

His jeans are riding low enough to show all of the tattoo on his lower belly. The intricate, twisting design would look purely aggressive anywhere else on his body, but the placement makes it sexual.

The artwork hooking over his shoulders from his back echoes the pattern and introduces the other elements. The roses and thorns and what I’ve come to realize are skulls. They hide in the design, blending it, hard to recognize. I get it.

Death

Pain.

Beauty.

Order and chaos intermingled.

On his back the, design flares out in the vague shape of wings.

Oh, Angel. What a twisted sense of beauty. Why do you have to make me want you like this?

My hard cock is hidden by the compression shorts I’m wearing under my dress pants. But that’s like any mask. It may fool others, it may give the appearance that I want, but I know the truth.

I’m hard for him. Always.

I step close behind him and reach around to unbutton and unzip his pants. Anger sizzles through my veins at the memory of someone else doing this in the alley. He’s wearing boxer briefs tonight instead of a g-string. I strip him bare.

His cock hangs fat and unstirred over his balls. Even unaroused, it’s beautiful. I want to touch him, but I don’t.

He starts waking up as I return to the front of him. His head lifts. His face is bruised, his lip split. His eyes are bleary. He’s still beautiful.

He gets his feet somewhat under himself, taking some of his weight off the cuffs.

“ Fuuuu ,” he slurs.

I lean back against the wall and cross my arms. “Did you want them to rape you?”

He squints at me.

“No one touches you but me. I told you that.”

“Where have you been?” he asks, speaking slowly.

“Thinking.”

He sways. Without the shackles, he would fall. “About sucking me off?”

Ice slides down my spine. Yes, I’ve been thinking about that. How I took his hard cock into my mouth, felt him thrust into me. How I listened to him moan. How I moaned too as I stroked myself. How I came as soon as I felt his cock pulse in my mouth and tasted his cum.

I tell him, “I’ve been thinking about killing you.”

He swallows hard. His thoughts are slow from the drugging, but he pulls them together enough to say, “Because you want me.”

He’s probably too drugged to see how I flinch, but I do—because, yes, that’s exactly it.

It was one thing to admit that before we fucked in his play room. It had a limited meaning there. The problem is that here, now, it’s bigger, more encompassing.

I really, really want him.

That’s why I focused on him instead of Dante, who was actually the one that put the final bullet in my father’s head. And I’m glad he did. I’m glad he and Rafael attacked that night. And I don’t actually care about the appearance of getting revenge. It was only ever an excuse to approach Rafael.

But ever since I started shit with him, I’ve felt off balance. I haven’t felt like myself.

And I don’t like panicking. I know that’s what happened after I sucked him off. I panicked. I wasn’t even thinking about anything specific. I simply felt a deep terror. I don’t know where it came from. My father. The Island.

Or from myself—because I want Rafael so much. Because I felt in that moment how much power he could have over me.

That’s why I have to do this.

He’s gorgeous.

Why the hell did Rocco say that?

Rafael’s right leg straightens then gives out. His wrists pull against the cuffs.

I push away from the wall and walk across the cell to him. I step close, right against his naked body. He leans into me as I take some of his weight. His head bows until his face rests in the crook of my neck. He sighs, relaxing against me. His breath tickles warmly against my neck.

He passes out.

***

Rocco straightens from his slump against a wine rack as I emerge from the hidden passage into the cellar. His expression is grim, his body language heavy.

“Cleanup?” he asks dully.

“Just fuck off,” I tell him.

He blinks. Then the biggest, dumbest smile spreads across his broad face.

I narrow my eyes.

“I’m gonna get some food,” he says, heading to the door into the house, still smiling like a fucking moron.

I glare at his retreating back then make my way to the steps and the exterior door. My shoes crunch over the gravel as I return to my car and pop the trunk. I rummage in the bag until I find what I’m looking for.

I make my way back to the cell.

Rafael hangs limp in the cuffs, his head bowed. I walk up to his still form. I fit the straps around his hips to settle the cage in place, then I slip his cock inside it. I close the ring around his cock and balls.

I crouch down and reach between his legs for the remaining strap, fitting it between his ass cheeks. I draw it along his taint to attach to the ring. I fit the lock in place and turn the key. I put the key in my pocket.

Still crouching before him, I admire the sight of his cock within the bars of my cage. I admire that beautiful, long, thick shaft and plump head curving over his balls. I cup them and stroke them like I did when I sucked him.

He’s gorgeous , Rocco said.

Yeah. He is.

And he’s mine.