Page 8

LUCA

Rabbit looks me up and down curiously as I approach Wonderland for the second night in a row.

I woke up this morning wondering if last night was nothing more than a wet dream requiring the expertise of a trained mental health professional.

Not the kinky sex part, obviously, but the part where I got rolled for my watch and wallet and it somehow made me like Anders even more.

I’m not sure how long I spent looking over my shoulder at the reflection of my back, prodding the mouth-shaped bruises marring my shoulders, neck, and ass cheeks, reliving every hot, shivery moment of being taken apart the way I’ve always wanted, reassuring myself that it was real.

That Anders was real. And then I spent the rest of the day on autopilot, going through the motions as I made my collection rounds and checked in on the laundromats that serve as a front—among other businesses—for the Moretti fortune.

But this is where my mind has been since I left Uncle Sal’s in the wee hours of this morning—right here at Wonderland.

It seemed like a good place to start. Anders was comfortable enough here that he must be a regular, even if he doesn’t come every night.

The thought that he might not be here tonight makes my jaw clench involuntarily and my fingers coil in frustration.

I reach up to straighten my tie reflexively, more to give myself something to do than anything else.

I slow my steps as I near Rabbit, and he hesitates for just a fraction of a second before nodding and letting me through.

“Good man,” I mutter, slipping a folded bill into his hand as I pass.

It’s even more crowded inside than it was last night. The air is sticky and humid with the heavy breathing and sweaty, writhing bodies that pack the space. My heart picks up speed in time with the fast, sensual beat of the song that’s blaring through the man speakers.

Tonight, scantily clad men and women dance inside the cages on the edges of the dance floor.

Colored strobe lights illuminate each of them as they swivel their hips and tempt patrons to toss money at their feet with nothing but the movements of their bodies and a few well-placed smiles.

I’ve been one of those panting customers before, shoving money at them and hoping they’ll look in my direction.

But now that I’ve had a taste of what I really want, there’s only one man on my mind.

Maybe it’s possessive or unhinged to spend one night with a man and decide he’s mine. I don’t care if it is. Anders is mine, and I’ll do whatever it takes to convince him of that. But first, I need to find him.

There aren’t any open seats at the bar tonight, which is fine because I’m too keyed up to sit down anyway.

I eye the bartenders who are working tonight, trying to decide who’s most likely to know Anders and be willing to give me information.

Obviously, I don’t need any more of Caterpillar’s cryptic bullshit.

I quickly dismiss the blond with big blue eyes I’ve never seen before as well, because something about the dazed, in-over-his-head expression screams “newbie.” Which leaves just one option.

I sidle up to the bar, forcing my way between a couple of customers, meeting their squawks of protest with a menacing glare that has their mouths snapping shut instantly.

While I wait to catch the bartender’s attention, I scan the length of the bar just to make sure I’m not so focused on tracking Anders down that I miss him altogether. But he’s not here. At least, not yet.

The bartender I need is wearing an off-kilter top hat, which he does most nights, tilting it to accept tips from customers as he hustles up and down the length of the bar.

There’s a wild air about him—something about the look in his eyes.

Or maybe it’s his messy, dark hair that sticks up in all directions whenever he pulls the hat off.

He’s tall and slender, both his arms covered in colorful ink from wrist to shoulder.

Among the kaleidoscope of color is a Sleepless Reapers tattoo that’s barely visible, obscured by the rest like he’s tried to have it covered up, but nothing can quite erase that piece of his past, no matter how hard he tries.

Mads, which is the name scrawled messily on his nametag, finally spots me and practically skips down to greet me with a lopsided smile and a tilt of his head.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t Luca Moretti here for a second night in a row. Meeting someone?” He arches his eyebrows and then waggles them.

“I would think you lot have better things to gossip about than my comings and goings,” I mutter.

Mads leans across the bar towards me. “It’s not that we’re so interested in the goings .” He winks. “Now, what are you drinking?”

“Nothing tonight. I’m looking for someone, actually.”

“Aren’t we all,” he says with a chuckle. I huff, trying my damnedest to hold on to my patience. If I wanted riddles, I would have just asked Caterpillar about Anders again.

“Someone specific,” I clarify. “He was here last night. His name is Anders and he’s… he picks up clients here. I’m assuming he’s a regular.” I give him a meaningful look and the jovial expression on Mads’s face hardens into a careful mask.

“I don’t know, man. We get a lot of people in here.

All kinds of people who come in for all kinds of reasons.

” He shrugs, already taking a step back and angling his body away like he’s about to make a quick escape.

“And if you’re not going to order a drink, I really need to keep moving.

The Red Queen will have my head if he peeks out of his office and sees me standing around chatting. ”

I’ve always prided myself on being a fairly levelheaded guy, but tonight my patience is hanging on by a thread.

Unfortunately for Mads, he has the misfortune of being the one to make it snap.

I put both hands on the bar top and vault over it, the momentum carrying me.

As soon as my feet touch the ground, I close the space between us and gather the front of his shirt in two fists.

The shelf of half-full bottles lining the back wall rattles as I shove him up against it.

His top hat tumbles off and falls to the floor by our feet, spilling crumpled cash and a few random odds and ends.

“I’m not fucking playing, Mads. I just need to know how often he usually comes in.”

The color drains from his face, making him look sickly under the green light shining directly above us.

“Calm your fucking tits, Moretti,” he says with more bravado than is written on his face. “What do you want with Anders anyway?”

“None of your damn business,” I growl, my frustration mounting.

“Problem?” A familiar, drawling voice asks. I glance over my shoulder to see Caterpillar with a baseball bat in one hand, his usual joint hanging from his lips and one of his bushy eyebrows raised in my direction.

“Not if Mads will answer my fucking question.” I tighten my grip and shove him against the shelves again, sending a bottle of vodka tumbling from its spot to shatter on the floor, soaking our feet and a good portion of his money.

I’m not sure how I hear it over the music and the drone of voices, but a sharp gasp has me jerking my head to the other side just in time to see Anders standing a few feet away, his eyes wide with unmistakable terror.

I drop Mads immediately and he stumbles to the side. Whether he regains his balance is of no interest to me. I have one singular focus, and that’s the angel-faced viper standing just on the other side of the bar.

“Anders,” I bark his name with relief, my feet carrying me towards him without conscious thought.

His lips part on what looks like another startled inhale, and before I can hop back over the bar, he bolts.

ANDERS

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck .

I chant the curse in my head as I duck and weave my way through the crowd of sweaty bodies.

I knew I shouldn’t have come back here tonight, but the only alternative would have been to find a corner in the warehouse district like everyone else, and that’s always a last resort.

Anyone who’s sold sex knows the street is fucking dangerous.

I’m just as likely to get beaten up and stiffed for payment as I am to have everything go well, and I don’t like those odds.

And forget charging like I do. Not when there’s someone standing five feet away willing to do the same job for twenty bucks to cover their next fix.

That’s Tomorrow Anders’s problem though, assuming I live to see another day.

It’s not looking all that promising at the moment.

I don’t check behind me to see if he’s coming, because I’m positive he is.

And if I’m about to die, I really wish my first thought when I spotted Luca hadn’t been how fucking hot he looked threatening poor Mads.

Like, really, Anders, have enough self-respect to not get a boner over your own damn murderer.

I’m hoping my height is working in my favor, helping me get lost in the crowd.

Instead of heading for the main door, I make a beeline for the emergency exit with the disabled alarm.

It’s half hidden by the shadow of the staircase and I’ve never seen anyone other than staff use it before, so I figure it’s my best chance to lose Luca.

Then what? I’m not sure. Take my chances and get the hell out of here a few weeks early?

I don’t think I can risk it. Spend the next nineteen days looking over my shoulder and sleeping with one eye open?

I mean, I pretty much do that anyway, so it’s doable but not ideal.

I bite back a growl of frustration at my own bad luck for what has to be the dozenth time since last night. From now on, I’m going to adopt a policy of checking someone’s ID before I rob them. Again, assuming I live that long.

I burst through the door, leaving the heat of the club behind in favor of the mild evening.

The heavy door swings shut behind me and the stench of garbage hits me.

I slap a hand over my mouth and nose to stifle the smell and look both ways down the alley to orient myself.

To the left, I can see the faint glow of the neon sign that hangs at the front of the club, so I pivot to the right.

Before I can take a single step, the door flies open behind me and a pair of arms wrap around my middle. I shriek and flail, kicking my legs and windmilling my arms as my heart goes wild inside my chest.

“Goddamn, I love that fight in you,” Luca’s smooth voice whispers near my ear. The purr of adoration in his tone sends a wave of molten heat through me. It has to be a trap though. He’s trying to get me to let my guard down so he can kill me.

I fight harder, bucking in his grasp, screaming until my throat is sore.

Of course, on this side of town, I don’t expect anyone to come running to my rescue.

I don’t expect much of anything. But if I’m going to die, I refuse to do it quietly.

I won’t make it easy for Luca. I’ll leave bruises.

I’ll make sure there’s a permanent ringing in his ears that will remind him of me until his dying day.

His arms loosen around me and my feet hit the ground again.

Before I can get my balance, let alone make a run for it, Luca’s hand wraps around my forearm, surprisingly gently, and he shoves me up against the building.

The rough brick bites into my back through my thin t-shirt.

I drag in another deep breath to renew my screaming, and his hand comes down over my mouth.

His hands are as smooth as they looked last night, pleasantly warm and without a single callus that I can feel.

He never touched me last night. Not once.

It’s an odd thought to have right before I die, but it’s there anyway.

He wanted me to be rough with him, to hurt him just a little, but even now, pinning me up against the wall and covering my mouth, there’s no roughness in return.

A manic laugh tightens in my throat. He’s a fucking Moretti . He doesn’t need to beat the shit out of me to kill me. No, brutish shit like that is for motorcycle gangs like the Sleepless Reapers. Mafiosos are far too classy to walk around with bruised and bloodied knuckles.

My chest heaves with every breath I drag in through my nose as Luca looms over me in the moonlight.

A strand of his hair falls forward over his forehead and I have the insane urge to reach up and brush it back for him.

Jesus, is this dissociation? Depersonalization?

My brain going absolutely fucking batshit as a way to protect me from what’s about to happen?

A slow smile spreads over Luca’s lips.

“There,” he says now that I’ve stopped screaming. “No need to have Rabbit rushing over here on some misguided mission to protect you. He’s a good guy, I’d hate to have to kill him.”

My heart rate spikes again, and I return to flailing, gnashing my teeth in an attempt to get purchase against the palm of his hand and doing everything I can to get him off of me.

Luca responds by pressing himself harder against me, flattening his body over mine and clamping his hand tighter to my face.

“Shhh, little viper. As much as I love your venom, I need you to calm down and listen to me,” he whispers, dragging his nose along the side of my face like we’re lovers. Goose bumps rise all over my skin and my cock chooses this moment to perk up and take notice. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

I huff out a laugh against his hand. Not going to hurt me?

Right, I’m sure that after being tied up, robbed, and humiliated, mafiosos routinely hunt down the perpetrators just to talk.

Totally legit. I play along anyway, forcing my body to still and widening my eyes with faux innocence.

I nod agreeably, and Luca loosens his hand.

“Good. I’m not going to hurt you,” Luca says again, and some very stupid part of me almost believes him. Almost .

With a deep breath through my nose and a silent prayer to a god I don’t believe in, I bring my knee up sharply between us and drive it hard into his balls. Luca gasps, and a look that could almost be mistaken for reverence flickers over his face before he stumbles back.

I don’t hesitate this time, but for some fucking reason I do mutter “Sorry” for the second time in twenty-four hours before bolting down the alley and leaving Luca Moretti behind.