19.

NINETEEN

Dominic

“Is it done?”

I eye the flames in my rearview mirror. “It’s done.”

Sirens wail in the distance. I’ll be long gone from the wharf before they arrive, and Frank Richards’ warehouse will be unsavable. His insurance will cover the loss of imported goods—unless he gets nailed for the arson—but not the drugs hidden in the cracks.

Of course, he should probably hope he gets nailed for arson. He’ll live longer in prison than in the city. Unless he wants to liquidate his fortune to reimburse the Scalzi family that owns those drugs.

That family is Moretti’s rival—and he wants their territory. But he needs to weaken them before he goes in for the kill, and he can’t show his hand too early. That’s why he needed me to do this. So he and his highest men could be visible at a nightclub while the warehouse blew.

The thing is, I’ll do my own dirty work, but I’m not a fucking henchman. This is a favor, and I need Moretti to remember that.

“I’ll put it on your tab,” I tell him.

He goes silent. I know he’s testing me, sweating me, waiting for me scramble out an apology. I don’t. You can’t deal with fuckers like Moretti that way.

He chuckles. “You’ve got balls, Capelli.” The call ends.

I dial Raphael. He told me via text that he had “something to do” tonight. When I asked what the fuck that meant, he didn’t reply. I didn’t force the issue because I had “something to do” too, but I’m sure as hell going to force the issue now.

He doesn’t answer. I end the call when his voicemail picks up. Annoyed, I dial again. Still nothing.

Then he calls me back. Fucking finally. I hit accept. “Where the hell are you?”

“Um …”

All I hear is the sound of him breathing. It’s quick and shallow and too loud.

“Rafael? What’s going on? Where are you?”

“Um …” He trails off again, making my hands tighten until the steering wheel creaks. “I’m not sure.”

“What the hell do you mean you’re not sure? Are you alone? Are you hurt?”

“No.”

“No to which fucking question?” When he doesn’t reply, like he’s maybe already forgotten the questions, I grab onto my patience and start over. Firm and blunt, I ask, “Are you hurt?”

“No.”

Relief sweeps through me. “Are you alone?” I ask next.

“Yes.”

“Why are you not sure where you are?”

“I took the train. I’m just walking now.”

“So you’re outside.”

“Yeah.”

“Pull up your map and find your location. Now, Rafael.”

For a minute all I can hear is him breathing. Why the hell is he breathing so hard?

When he gives me the location, I input it into my phone, wishing I had my car’s navigation system. To Rafael, I say, “Don’t move. Do you hear me, Rafael? Don’t fucking leave that spot.”

“You’re … coming to get me?”

Something about that question, about his tone, has my throat tightening up. I have to clear it to answer. “Yeah. I am.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll be there in six minutes. Don’t. Fucking. Move.”

“I won’t.”

He doesn’t say anything after that, but he doesn’t hang up. Neither do I. For six agonizing minutes, I just listen to him breathing. It’s freaking me out, but at least I know he’s there.

Then, when I see him in my headlights, his face splattered with blood, I break the silence. “I’m here,” I tell him and watch a small, almost disbelieving smile play over his lips.

I disconnect the call. He stows his phone inside his black leather jacket and walks to the car. When he gets in, I ask, “Is there cleanup to do?”

“No.”

“Is this the guy you were following last night?”

“Yes.”

He’s still breathing hard, shivering too, so I leave him alone and drive. He doesn’t ask where we’re going. He doesn’t even notice that this isn’t my car until we pull into a parking spot in my building’s garage.

Then he asks, frowning at the dash, “Whose car is this?”

“Head of building security.”

“What building?”

“My building. Get out. No, wait.”

I grab his jacket as he opens the door. I pop the center console and poke around, finding a bandana. I spit on it and use it to scrub the blood from Rafael’s face.

His nose wrinkles. “Smells like sweat.”

“You’re such a princess sometimes. Okay, get out.”

Since the bandana now has what is probably incriminating evidence on it, I stuff it in my pocket. I’ll destroy it later. We get out of the car. I lead Rafael across the garage to the service elevator.

Halsey, head of security, meets us there. I toss him his keys. He nods and enters his code to let us into the service elevator.

Money greases the gears , my father used to say. He wasn’t wrong about everything.

At the top, the elevator doors slide open with a ding. I lead Rafael through the discreet service hallways to my penthouse’s back door.

We walk into the pantry and through to the open-plan kitchen. My place is less artsy than Rafael’s, more coldly modern and utilitarian. I actually like his place better, but I have to be here tonight. I was seen entering the building at eleven p.m. I need to leave in the morning and head to the office as though I’ve been here all night.

Rafael looks around, but I don’t think he’s really seeing much. His eyes aren’t focused. He’s not quite here. He seems to wake up a little when I unzip his jacket. It doesn’t show much on the black leather, but I tell it’s splattered with blood.

Rafael’s eyes focus on me. “You smell like smoke. What were you doing tonight?”

“Burning some trash.”

“Human trash?”

“Not this time. Your phone’s buzzing.”

When he doesn’t react, I reach inside his jacket and pull the phone from his interior pocket. I hand it to him. He declines the call and shrugs out of his jacket.

As I take the jacket from him, his phone starts buzzing again. “Who is it?” I ask.

“Noah.”

Noah Carter.

The former FBI agent was with Rafael and Dante when they came after my father. I don’t know much about him except that he got a whole bunch of boys off the Island. I was already gone by then. My father had decided I’d learned my lesson. Eight months was enough, he said. He didn’t want me to start liking it.

Fuck, I don’t want to start thinking about that.

“Answer him,” I tell Rafael.

If I didn’t already realize how fucked up Rafael’s head is right now, the fact that he doesn’t argue with me says it loud and clear.

“Yeah,” he answers woodenly as he accepts the call. Then he says, “Yeah, I’m safe.” Then, “With Dominic.” He listens for a few seconds then says, “I can’t talk right now,” and ends the call.

I’m glad Rafael’s not looking at me right now. Because, holy shit, that fucks me up.

I’m safe.

With Dominic.

It’s not really true. And yet, somehow, it is.

He told Noah he couldn’t talk right now, and he can’t. His mind is somewhere else. He can focus for a second, then he’s gone again.

Where the hell would he have ended up tonight if I hadn’t tracked him down?

Would Noah have found him?

Maybe. Maybe not.

I get him back to my bathroom and get him undressed. I get him in the shower. He lets me help him, but he’s not enjoying it. His cock doesn’t respond. Mine doesn’t either. Whatever is going on right now, I don’t like this.

After, I make him get in bed. I tug him against my body. It takes me a while to fall asleep, but eventually, when I’m sure he’s out, I do.

***

I often don’t sleep well, so I’m already awake from my own nightmare when Rafael starts having his. He’s lying on his back. His cock is tenting the sheet. At first, I thought he was just having a sex dream, but he starts making such bad sounds that I grip his shoulder and squeeze.

It’s not enough, so I shake him. He wakes with a shout. He wrenches away from me, scrambling out of the bed, taking the sheets with him. He falls in a tangle.

“Rafael.”

I slide across the bed toward him, but he’s already fighting his way out of the sheets and scrambling up.

He staggers away across the room and through the doorway. I get out of bed and follow him. He bangs into the hallway wall a few times before he makes it out into the living room.

“Rafael.”

He wheels to face me. The nightlights glow dully over his bare skin. His hard cock juts up toward his navel.

“ Help me ,” he gasps.

My nostrils flare as I stalk toward him. I grab his throat. I don’t squeeze, but I hold firmly. Anyone but me would try to soothe him with words, with gentleness.

There’s no way in hell that would reach him right now, but my hand on his throat definitely does. He visibly calms. He’s shivering, still breathing hard, but he’s listening, waiting.

“You need me to fuck you up, Angel?”

He grabs my wrist, but not to stop me. He’s begging me.

My cock, which has been stiff since I woke from my own dream, twitches upward. Thank god he needs me right now—because I need him too.

“Then get back in the fucking bed.” I thrust him away from me in the direction of the hallway.

He could fight, force me to deal with things right here, but he complies. I’m impatient to take over, practically treading on his heels as he backtracks to the bedroom. As soon as we near the bed, I grab him and force him onto it. God, it’s so darkly satisfying.

I pin him with my body as I lean across him to the bedside table and grab the lube. He’s panting, shaking. I slap his ass.

“Calm the fuck down.”

It helps a little. He loosens enough that I can get his hips up. I lube my cock until it’s sloppy and slap some on his hole. Then I set my broad tip against that tight ring. In the ambient light, I watch how his hole stretches around the head of my cock as I breach him. It’s fucking beautiful, and the way he’s crying out as I penetrate him in a long, unrelenting glide just makes it better.

His hands fist the sheets as I force my way into his body. When I bottom out, I lean down and grab his hair. Hard. Meanly.

“Cry as much as you want. Scream if you want. It’s not gonna stop.”

He gasps and shudders at my words—and I start fucking him. I’m not nice about it. I pull back, drawing out the thick, brutal length of my cock almost to the tip before thrusting deep. He’s tight. I’m sure it hurts. But when I reach under him and grab his dick, he’s still rock hard.

I slap his cock away, making him cry out at it smacks against his lower belly. I grab his hips in a bruising grip and start railing him. Eventually, his body loosens. He starts taking it better.

“You like that, whore? My cock in your ass?”

He moans and puts his hands over his head. I let my hips snap forward as hard as they want. I don’t hold back. The bed is too solid to hit the wall, but it still moves with my pounding. My cock plunges noisily. My pelvis and balls slap audibly against him.

“How many men have been inside you? How many times have you been fucked by cocks in the dark? Do they make you come, you dirty bitch?”

He cries out hard and long. It’s awful, and I fucking love it. I almost come when I hear it—because I feel that sound inside myself all the time, but I can’t let it. He can. He does it for us both.

I plant my hand on his head and smash his face into the mattress as I pound his ass. He’s so fucking loud. He’s half screaming, half moaning. He’s so damn close.

“You take it so good, you pretty little whore. No wonder everybody wanted to fuck you.” I start jackhammering him. “You’re made for cock, aren’t you?”

I slap his ass. “Answer me!”

He screams. His ass clenches on me like a fucking vice as he comes so hard that he starts thrashing. It flips my switch. Holding him in place, I pound into him ruthlessly until my balls draw up hard, and I come in hot, wrenching pulses inside him.

It is the ugliest, dirtiest orgasm I’ve ever had. It has me roaring, snapping forward, burying myself deep as I keep coming in angry spurts. It takes a long time for me to stop heaving against him, for my anger to fade.

Rafael is spasming through his own aftershocks, but he’s starting to go still, to go quiet. I pull out of him. I flop onto my back and try to come back to myself.

Rafael hasn’t moved. When I touch his hip, he doesn’t react.

I get up and walk on shaky legs to the bathroom. I turn on the low accent lights, go to the oversized tub, and turn on the hot water.

Rafael still hasn’t moved when I return. I pull him up and get him moving. I walk him to the bathroom and help him into the tub as it fills. His balance is off. Cum is spilling down his inner thighs.

I get in the tub behind him. With my knees up on either side of him, I tug him into the crook of my body. His arms are down, his hands resting between his legs, so I end up pinning his arms to his body when I wrap mine around him.

The rushing sound of the water soothes me. I hope it soothes him too. When the tub is full, I reach past him to turn off the water. Then I hold onto him again.

I kiss the back of his head. He takes a deep breath and lets it out.

I tell him quietly, “I’m right here.”

His hand comes up from where it’s been resting under the water. It closes on my forearm where it’s banded over his chest. Slowly, he relaxes. I pull him back so he can rest against me as I lean against the sloped side of the tub.

We lie there a long, long while.

When the water is starting to cool, I ask, “Can you sleep?”

His answer is barely audible. “I don’t think so.”

“Can we at least get back in bed?”

“Not yet. Don’t leave me.”

I press my cheek against his head. “I won’t.”