Dark Soul Vol. 4 (6 page)

“Is that all you have to say?”

Kick me again, will you?
Stefano raked his fingers through his hair and couldn’t bring himself to answer.
Coward.
He was certainly that.

“I’ll prepare the guest bedroom for you,” she said, far too gently.

Like she didn’t actually mean to hurt him. Like he’d brought this upon himself.

He had, though, hadn’t he? If only he had the first clue how to fix it.

Dark

Temptation

e found Silvio because of his motorbike. Off all the bars where he could have been, only one had a black bike like Hhis standing outside.

Stefano drummed the steering wheel with his thumbs until the car behind him honked and sped past him—close and loud enough to express the driver’s displeasure. That, while taking the immediate pressure off to make a decision, unfroze him. He pulled into a free parking space.

The place itself looked inconspicuous enough. He’d expected rainbow flags and flashing lights, but none of that. It could have been just any kind of bar. Stefano glanced around and considered putting on his sunglasses, but that would definitely draw more attention than give him privacy.

He could wait outside. Silvio would have to come out eventually.

But the things that might happen in the meantime . . . While he had almost no clue what usually went on in these places, part of him expected it had rooms for a ful -blown orgy, and Silvio would be right in the middle.

He kept telling himself it didn’t look like that kind of place, and he’d certainly been to some seedy places in London and Amsterdam before he’d married, but the worry was a frantic animal inside that wouldn’t be calmed.

Donata was right. He’d lost a fair amount of his cool. He felt every tension double, felt all the possibilities, and expected the worst these days. As a younger man, he’d possessed a swaggering panache, but that was all gone, eaten up by a reality crueler than invention.

The bar was doing healthy business, the crowd mixed, even some women. Lesbians, probably, or various hangers-on. And if he’d thought he’d make an inconspicuous entrance, he was wrong. Lots of people—men—looked up and several tried to meet and keep his gaze.

He swallowed and made a big show of just looking around, itchy all over from the undesired attention. Up to the bar. Safest place, unless he’d sidle up to the edge of the room and keep his back and shoulders to the wal .

Relax, God damn you. They got rights, too. It’s not like you’d end up
gang-raped out here for ordering a drink.

Stefano found a space at the bar when a group of people departed for one of the tables, but the staff was too busy to immediately attend to him, so he turned and surveyed the crowd, looking for one face, one pair of eyes.

At the back were more secluded areas, and one table there was just receiving more drinks. Stefano waited, and, indeed, there he was, still wearing his biking leathers. Of course Silvio wasn’t alone—but the type of company was a punch in the gut. Two burly cops in full uniform.

Jesus, Silvio loved playing with fire, didn’t he? The cops looked like they were a couple, physically way too comfortable with each other in that tight space. Both so huge they made Silvio appear slight.

That image, Silvio caught in between these two big guys, made Stefano’s mouth dry. Silvio’s eyes glittered, and he was very much the hunter, drawing the two guys out, daring them to flirt and touch him.

Just then, one of the cops got up, adjusted his belt and slid in next to Silvio. Stefano thought he saw a big hand grab Silvio’s groin, but the view of that was pretty much blocked by the guy’s broad back.

Considering the cops were probably all on high alert because of the killings and the bomb attack, them cruising Silvio in a gay bar was the height of irony.

The cop next to Silvio leaned in and pushed two fingers into Silvio’s mouth. Silvio closed his eyes and sucked on them, allowing the cop to push his fingers deeper as if to test whether Silvio had a gag reflex. It seemed Silvio passed that test with flying colors, because the cop withdrew his fingers and kissed him roughly.

Stefano drew a breath, tried to ignore his hard-on, tried to get himself to move, protest. They looked like they were getting ready to leave; the second cop was just emptying his glass, and then glanced at his partner with the “And? Going?” expression.

Stefano pushed forward and found himself staring at a lot of muscular throat and shoulder when he arrived at the table just as the men were getting up. He ignored the cop, stared at Silvio, who looked both wild and spaced out, clearly aroused, and dangerous as all hell.

With that expression, everything was possible. Fucking, killing. Like none of it mattered.

“Hey you. What do you want? You his boyfriend?”

“Stefano Marino,” Stefano growled between gritted teeth.

The cop who’d had his hands all over Silvio paused, narrowed his eyes, looked him up and down, and frowned. “And I’m the fucking pope.”

“Shit,” the other cop said. “Thought he looked familiar. It’s
Marino,
Jake.” Stefano could almost hear the “of the Marino clan”

tagging behind.

Jake still seemed unwilling to let go of his prize. And who could fault him. He’d had a taste of Silvio, and he clearly wanted more. And damn Silvio for giving him that taste in the first place.

“Let him go, or you’ll regret it,
officer
.” Stefano half-smiled, half-snarled.

The cop looked like he was seriously considering punching Stefano in the face, but his name did carry weight in this city, and these two could do absolutely nothing to hurt him. One word to Peter Thomson, and they’d be eating their donuts—which they doubtlessly had after a shitload of heavy weightlifting—guarding the parking lot of the local WalMart.

“That your little piece of ass, Marino?”

That was it. He’d really been pushed enough today. But, no. He had to calm himself down, remember to breathe, but every hair on his skin was bristling. “Spadaro,
if you would.
Outside,” he said to Silvio in Italian, so sharp his own voice sounded like a stranger’s.

Silvio sobered and nodded to him, heading outside. Stefano shot a glance to the first cop. “You’re a smart man, officer.” He pulled a twenty from his money clip and slapped it on the table. “Drinks on me. Good evening.”

He turned and forced himself to not run after Silvio.

His pulse was hammering up against the roof of his head when he caught up with Silvio, who was leaning against his bike, displaying himself as if he were propping up the bar back in that . . .
gay place
.

Stefano stepped right up to him, saw Silvio’s lips open and his pupils widen.
Confronting him
does nothing but turn him on.
“What the fuck was that?”

“They call it cruising.”

Smartass. “Two cops?”

“I was in the mood.” Silvio’s eyes were hooded, guarding his emotions. “Still am.”

Stefano glanced back to the bar, half-expecting the two meatheads to come out and “resolve” the matter. “No scene in public. Get in the car.”

“My bike . . .”

“Get in the car.”

He pressed the button that unlocked the door and relaxed once he was inside and Silvio had slid in right next to him. He still needed a moment or he’d ram the car backward into oncoming traffic.

It was just anger. Normally, he didn’t struggle so hard to control it, but it was hard not to embrace it when it seemed so much better than guilt and horror and the thought that his wife had kicked him out. First out of bed, but it absolutely wasn’t about the sex. It was the intimacy, the shared space. All gone, and the reason was sitting right next to him and had been about to embark on a little orgy with two slabs of meat that were enjoying some off-time from the hunt for the very same killer they’d been minutes away from fucking. All this was too bizarre for words.

“Can I remind you why all the cops in this city are on high alert?”

“They cruised me, not the other way round. I don’t even like cops.”

“You were sucking on the guy’s fingers.”

Silvio shrugged. “Once the clothes are off, he’s just some guy.”

Never mind he’d still had his uniform on while Silvio had sucked his fingers. And wasn’t that a sex fantasy that could keep him entertained when he slept alone? Shit. He was no better than Silvio, only Silvio acted on every one of those fantasies. Impulses.

Whatever.

He weaved into traffic and drove off, and eventually realized where he was headed. The hotel where Donata and him ended up on date night. He considered driving to the rival luxury chain, but then, they knew him there, and they would consider Silvio nothing but a bodyguard. He hoped. God, he hoped. Silvio was good-looking and young enough to be a prostitute, but he looked like the wrong gender.

Was the wrong gender.

Stefano slowed when he reached the hotel parking lot. “Can you look and act like a bodyguard for five minutes rather than a . . .

plaything?”

Silvio glanced over. “You think
I’m
going to out you everywhere?

You
followed me into that bar and made a scene.”

Oh, yeah. Passive-aggressive barbs were exactly what he needed now, on top of everything else. “It’s not about outing me, okay?”

“Oh. Really.” Silvio pursed his lips. “Fine. I’m going to be as heterosexual as anything. More than you, even.”

“Great. That’s all I’m asking.” Stefano pulled up to the door and left the car to the valet, but shook his head when the man asked about his bags. “I’ll get them delivered later,” he said, off-handedly.

At the desk, he signed in for a different suite, not the one they offered him out of habit. He really didn’t want to take Silvio there.

He asked at length about hotel wifi, to make it appear more like a work visit, then muttered something about “needing peace and quiet”

and received nothing but polite non-interest. Silvio maintained his distance and a stony expression to complement that.

“We’ll need to get some clothes and stuff from the villa to draw less attention,” Stefano said when they stood alone in the suite. Vast shared space, the two double bedrooms at opposite ends.

“I need to pick up the bike.”

“Tomorrow morning.”
There’s no way in hell I’ll let you anywhere
near that bar while that place is still open.

“Fine.” Silvio flopped down on the couch. “I sleep nude anyway.”

Stefano shot him a glance. “Toiletries are in the bathroom.”

“Condoms? Lube?”

Yeah, very inconspicuous, asking the porter for the ingredients of a gay orgy. And of course Silvio would think about that first. But then, it was a perfect opportunity, wasn’t it? Nobody expected him to go out without protection, and as long as Silvio didn’t look or act suspicious, they could hide in plain sight.

That’s what’s driving you up the wall, though, isn’t it? You only
think about hiding these days.

“I don’t have any of that.”

“Should I pick some up?” Silvio stood again. “There was a drug store down the street.”

“No.” Stefano was surprised how angry he still sounded. “Leave it.”

Silvio sat back again, nearly stretched out on the couch, which was half display, half invitation to join him. “Spit works, too.”

“Silvio, Goddamnit!”

Silvio turned his head and looked at him with those inscrutable eyes, but said nothing. Didn’t ask a single question. On the other hand, he also didn’t make any move to bridge the gap. No caring, steadying hand like he’d provided just after the attack from the Russians. He seemed distanced and blasé. His brother. That was still because of Franco. Silvio was hurting, and this was his way to hide it.

“I’m sorry. I’m having a bad day.” Entry for Understatement of the Fucking Century.

“Your wife got upset.”

“That’s putting it mildly.” Stefano sat down heavily in the chair.

“She’s convinced I have a mistress.”

Silvio shrugged. “Tried to tell her it’s just sex?”

“No! No.”
And it’s not “just sex,” either.
“I just denied it.”

“Then work out why she thinks you’re cheating. If she’s unsure of your marriage, then work on the reason, not the symptom.” Sounded like something Falchi might say. He might have said it, once, and Silvio was just parroting it now.

“The reason why she thinks I’m cheating is because I
am
cheating.”

Silvio leaned forward. “So this is the ‘get the fuck out of my life’

moment?” His eyes were downright scary now. Blackened glass.

That would be easy. Lie to him, too. Get rid of both of them.

Stefano rubbed his face. “No.” He looked up, studied Silvio, as infuriating, beautiful, threatening as he was. “I need to know what it all means. I have to make some decisions.”

“Text me when you’re done.” Silvio stood.

Fucking asshole.
“Where do you think you’re going?”

Silvio cast an ironic glance over his shoulder. “Can I fuck a couple guys who are not cops while you work out whether you’re straight or gay? Or whether you’re feeling so guilty about it all that you can’t get it up while I’m in the room.”

Stefano stood too, anger throbbing in his throat. “What the fuck is wrong with you? My fucking
life’s
fal ing apart and you . . .”
Try to
push me away. That’s it. Bitch’s playing with me.

The way Silvio watched him, cautiously rather than mocking, gave it away.

“Oh, nicely played,” Stefano said, and closed the distance. Silvio didn’t cringe, didn’t jump when Stefano closed his hand around Silvio’s throat and pulled him so close he could smell him. “No, Mister Spadaro, you’re not getting your will. Your brother leaves you, and the first thing that comes into your pretty head is to fuck it out of your system, right? The bigger and badder, the better. The better chance you’ll get at whatever the hell it is you’re doing. Self-punishment? Self-destruction? Fucking
cops
while you’re on the run from the police? Really, Silvio?” He grabbed him harder, surprised that Silvio didn’t fight at al . “You’re an adrenaline junkie, a thrill seeker, but fucking cops is stupid. They see the scar on your body, check you out, and they’ll know exactly what kind of bird you are.