Page 33 of Enzo (Redcars #1)

THIRTY-THREE

Robbie

Roman Lowe died on a Friday. Allegedly he was caught up in a gang shootout and subsequent fire, his image was thrown up in the media as an unknown victim, with extensive social coverage that was way more than what some random guy off the street would normally be given, a note saying facial reconstruction was used after wounds made it impossible to identify him.

The victim’s name was announced a few days later. Roman Lowe was lost to the system, lived rough, had not been seen for a long time, and had no family who came forward. There was even a ten-minute segment on children in group homes who slip through the system, and a well-orchestrated social media campaign with Roman Lowe front and center.

Whatever Killian had done to get this out there, whatever strings he’d pulled, I owed him.

I didn’t have to like him much—he was too larger-than-life for me—but I owed him. He sat me and Enzo down to get everything I knew, and told me he had a photographic memory and that he found it hard sometimes to flush his brain. I didn’t explain mine was a compulsion, a need. I didn’t have to because he knew.

Three days later the bounty on me was removed.

Then everything moved so fast, and a week after everyone deemed it safe for me to move, contacts in, I made my first trip outside Redcars, in the back of Rio’s truck, curled up next to Enzo, scared out of my mind.

The surgeon’s office was in this exclusive Beverly Hills medical center, all marble and glass and subtle wealth. Dr. Lukash had a reputation for discretion, for clients who needed work done without questions, or so Killian told us when he visited to explain what happened next. Movie stars wanting to maintain the fiction of natural beauty. Politicians erasing evidence of indiscretions. And now me—someone who needed to become a ghost.

“Mr. Cooper?” The receptionist said, using the fake name Killian had arranged. You can go in.”

My fingers gripped Enzo’s arm so tight I was sure I’d leave bruises. He didn’t complain, simply covered my hand with his.

“It’s okay,” he whispered. “Remember what Killian said? In and out. Minor alterations. Nothing that changes who you are. Keeps you safe from Mitchell and whoever the others are. Yeah?”

I nodded mechanically. The science of becoming someone else while still being yourself. Cheekbones subtly reshaped. Jaw slightly altered. Nose just different enough. Not a complete change, but enough to make facial recognition software fail. Enough that someone who’d seen me once wouldn’t recognize me on the street.

“I’ll be right here when you’re done,” Enzo promised, squeezing my hand before letting go.

The doctor’s office was nothing like I expected. No medical posters, no anatomical diagrams of faces but quite a few weird abstracts on the wall, and a large desk.

Dr. Lukash himself was tall, with silver hair, and his handshake was firm but gentle.

“Mr. Cooper. Please, sit.” He gestured to a chair across from his desk. “I understand your situation is… sensitive.”

“Did Killian explain everything?” My voice sounded small.

“He did.” Dr. Lukash nodded, opening a folder on his desk. “And I’ve reviewed your case thoroughly. I want to assure you that what we’re doing is subtle art, not dramatic transformation. The goal is to create just enough difference that you’ll slip past recognition without losing your essential self.”

He turned his monitor toward me, showing a 3D model of my face. With a few clicks, the image shifted—subtle changes appearing and disappearing as he demonstrated possibilities.

“Your cheekbones here,” he pointed with a stylus, “slightly more pronounced. Your eyes… hmm, nothing we can do about the color unless we… no… contacts will fix that. Okay…jawline softened, just a touch. Bridge of the nose altered by two millimeters.” He glanced up at me. “Small changes that add up to a new visual signature without making you unrecognizable to those who know you well.”

I swallowed hard. “How long will recovery take?”

“Four weeks until the swelling is completely gone. Six weeks until you see the final result.” He leaned back in his chair. “Mr. Cooper, I’ve worked with many clients who needed to disappear. The physical transformation is only part of the process.”

I nodded, remembering Killian’s lengthy briefing. New mannerisms. Different posture and changing how I walked.

“When can we start?” I asked, surprised by the steadiness in my voice.

“Tomorrow morning. Seven a.m.” He handed me a folder. “These are your pre-op instructions. Nothing to eat after midnight. No aspirin or blood thinners. And”—he fixed me with a serious look—”absolutely no one besides your companion can know you’re here, no social posting, no hints, no phone calls to friends.”

I clutched the folder to my chest. “I understand.”

He stood and we shook hands. “All charges are covered. You must be good friends with Killian because this is way off-base for him.”

I wasn’t, I was someone he was helping, but he was dealing with all the money I’d hidden, and I hoped that somehow he’d be digging into that reserve for this.

“Yeah,” I said, just for something to say.

“I’ll see you at seven, sharp, room two-one. I’ve written it on your notes in case you forget.”

Chance would be a fine thing.

Back in the waiting room, Enzo stood. “Okay?”

“Yeah.”

There was a door at the back of reception, which led to luxurious rooms, and then beyond the surgical unit itself. The receptionist showed us through to the room we’d be staying in for a few days, and Enzo placed our bags on the bed.

The suite we’d been given was more like a five-star hotel than a recovery room. Plush carpet in a neutral beige absorbed our footsteps as we moved through the space. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a panoramic view of Beverly Hills, though privacy glass ensured no one could see in. A king-sized bed dominated one area, with white covers and more pillows than any human needed. The sitting area featured a sofa and two matching armchairs arranged around a glass coffee table.

“This is nicer than anywhere I’ve ever lived,” I murmured, running my hand over the marble countertop of the kitchenette.

Enzo whistled low, and glanced down at his jeans and purple T-shirt, “I am way underdressed for this.”

The bathroom was equally impressive—a rainfall shower, jetted tub big enough for two, heated floors, and a vanity stocked with high-end toiletries. Everything screamed money. There was a menu on the desk, with a list of very mundane things like burgers and then other stuff I had no idea about.

“What the hell is Wagyu?” I asked, squinting at the room service menu.

Enzo leaned over my shoulder, his breath on my neck. “Some fancy beef. Costs more than my rent.”

We both laughed, but it faded, the reality of tomorrow morning settling heavy between us. I set the menu down and moved to the window, staring out at the city lights blinking to life as evening approached.

“Are you scared?” Enzo asked, coming to stand beside me.

I nodded. “Not of the surgery. Well, not just that.” I turned to face him. “What if it doesn’t work? What if I go through all this and they still find me?”

“Then we try something else,” he said, as if we were discussing backup plans for a rained-out picnic rather than my continued existence. “But Killian seems to think this is the answer.” Enzo’s confidence was unwavering, and I envied him that. “New face, new identity. Roman Lowe is dead and buried.”

I turned away from the window, unable to look at the sprawling city anymore. Too many people, too many chances to be recognized.

“What if I don’t recognize myself?” The question slipped out before I could stop it.

Enzo’s expression softened. He reached out and placed his hand on my cheek, his palm warm. “You’ll still be you. The parts that matter won’t change.”

I leaned into his touch, closing my eyes. “Promise you’ll tell me if I look weird.”

His laugh was soft. “I promise. Though I doubt that’s possible.”

We ordered room service—burgers, not Wagyu—but when they arrived, I wasn’t hungry. I had something else on my mind, and it wasn’t food.

Enzo picked up on me not eating and placed his burger back on the plate. “Sweetheart?” he asked.

“I brought something with me, something I want to try.”

“What?”

I went over to my backpack, scarlet with mortification, and lifted out the dildo and lube. “Doc said…” I stopped. “I’ve been trying with toys, and I want to… just once before I’m not me, I want you to…” I was lost for words, and Enzo stood to examine the toy, and then picked up the lube.

“You could try it on me, and see?—”

“No, that’s not me. I’m not a top… I want you to… I need…”

He stopped me talking with a kiss, then tugged me into the bathroom. “Take out your contacts,” he whispered, and waited until I’d done that, blinking them out, and then disposing of these ones. I had more waiting for when I got done with surgery—they couldn’t fix my odd colored eyes without extensive surgery, and the side effects were awful. I’d have to live with contacts for the rest of my life, but I could do that if it meant I lived and was with Enzo.

“Shower,” Enzo murmured.

Enzo helped me strip down, his movements gentle but deliberate. The warm water cascaded over us both as he washed me with careful hands, his touch reverent as if I were something precious. I closed my eyes, letting the sensation of being cared for wash over me.

“Are you sure?” he asked when we were dry, standing beside the massive bed. “We don’t have to do this tonight. There’s no rush.”

“I’m sure,” I said, surprised by the steadiness in my voice. “Before everything changes. While I’m still me.”

His smile was soft. “You’ll always be you to me.”

The lights dimmed to a warm glow as Enzo took his time, patient and thorough in a way that made my heart ache. His fingers traced patterns on my skin, learning every curve and plane as if memorizing me before the changes. When he reached for the lube, I was trembling with anticipation rather than fear.

“Just breathe,” he whispered, his voice a calming anchor. “We’ll go slow.”

And he did.

His fingers moved so slowly. I pushed back, craving more, and knocked the toy out of his hand.

“I need you. I want you,” I said in desperation.

“Ro…” Enzo whispered against my lips.

“Please,” I begged.

“Say stop,” he began, and then swallowed. “If you need me to finish this…”

“ Now , Enzo,” I said, channeling all the bossiness I could muster. I felt the plastic of the dildo at my entrance and it was wrong. “Stop!” I said, and to his credit he immediately rolled off me. He petted me and held me and told me it was okay.

“I want you, I don’t want the toy,” I said.

“Rom—Robbie?—”

“ Please .”

The initial tightness and warmth of his fingers shifted to an unexpected pleasure, deeper and more intense than anything I’d felt with the few toys I’d played with. His lips moved to my thighs, exploring every inch, adding to the sensation with every touch and kiss. With every touch I waited to shut down, to give up, to need to lock myself in the bathroom, but it never happened. He was perfect.

“Okay?” he asked, checking in with each new sensation.

“Yes,” I gasped. “More.”

He used so much lube we were a slithering slobbery mess, and he smiled at me and I grinned back, because this was fun and sweet and so damn hot I was going to lose it before he got inside me.

“Do you want to ride me, it can be?—”

“I want your weight on me, I need you to cover me…”

“I love you, sweetheart,” he whispered. He’d stopped calling me by my real name, but that was something we’d decided together. The old Roman was gone, and Robbie was the man he’d fallen in love with, and the man I’d begun to feel fit me.

When he pressed inside me, the fullness was overwhelming. I clutched at his shoulders, my nails digging into his skin as I adjusted to the feeling. Enzo remained still, his forehead pressed to mine, our breaths mingling.

“You’re perfect,” he murmured. “So perfect.”

The words hit something deep inside me—something bruised and hidden. I felt tears prick the corners of my eyes before I could stop them. No one had ever said that to me as if it were true. As though they meant it. And coming from Enzo, it landed with so much love, it almost hurt. We moved together, finding a rhythm that built from slow and gentle to something more urgent. The sensation of fullness gave way to pleasure so intense it made my vision blur, made me cry out his name in a way I never had before. His weight on me was perfect—grounding me, keeping me present when I might have floated away on waves of sensation.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered into my ear, his voice strained with his own need. “Always got you.”

My body tensed, back arching as pleasure crested and broke. Enzo followed moments later, his face buried against my neck, his breaths hot. We stayed like that, connected and breathless, until he pulled away with care and gathered me to his chest.

“Was that okay?” he asked, concern coloring his voice as he brushed sweat-dampened hair from my forehead.

I nodded, unable to find words for a moment. Then I managed, “More than okay.” I touched his face, trying to memorize every feature, every freckle and line. “I wish we could stay here forever.”

“We’ll have forever,” he promised, pressing a kiss to my palm. “Just not in this ridiculously expensive hotel room.”

I laughed, then sobered. “Tomorrow, everything changes.”

“Not everything.” Enzo pulled me closer. “Not us.”

We dozed off tangled together, and for once, I didn’t dream of being hunted. Instead, I dreamed of nothing, a peaceful darkness that felt like safety.

Morning arrived too quickly. I woke to find Enzo, already dressed, pacing by the door.

“You okay?” I asked, my voice still rough with sleep.

He stopped mid-step, turning to me with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Just nervous. For you.”

I glanced at the clock: 6:15a.m. Forty-five minutes until they’d come for me.

“How long have you been up?” I pushed myself to sit, wincing at the unfamiliar soreness.

“Couple hours.” He shrugged, coming to sit beside me on the bed. “Couldn’t sleep.”

I clambered onto his lap and pushed my nose to his throat, inhaling his scent, loving him so hard, our fingers intertwining now. Being held like this—wrapped in the arms of the man who saved me, who saw me, who never once asked me to be anyone else—it meant everything.

“It’s going to be okay,” I said.

“That’s my line,” he said with a weak laugh.

I don’t know how long we sat there, enjoying the peace, when a soft knock at the door made us both jump. Enzo answered to find a nurse in scrubs that looked more like designer clothes than medical wear.

“Mr. Cooper? Time for your pre-op prep,” she said, her voice as soothing as her appearance was immaculate. “Dr. Lukash likes to start on time.”

I nodded. “I’ll just get dressed.”

“The gown is in the bathroom,” she said. “You won’t need anything else.”

When she left, Enzo helped me into the blue hospital gown. “You look sexy in anything,” he joked, but his voice cracked.

“You’ll still be you,” he reminded me, echoing his words from the night before. “The parts that matter won’t change.”

Then I kissed him. “See you on the other side.”

* * *

When I next woke up, I ached like hell, but I was in Enzo’s arms, and the low hum of a movie was in the background. I touched the gauze covering my face, and my head felt heavy and numb at the same time. The medication they’d given me made everything fuzzy around the edges. I couldn’t focus on the TV screen, but the sound of it was comforting.

“Hey there,” Enzo whispered when he felt me stir. “Welcome back.”

I tried to speak, but my jaw felt wired shut. Panic flared until Enzo’s hand found mine.

“It’s okay. Dr. Lukash said your jaw will be stiff for a few days. Don’t try to talk too much.” He reached for a cup with a straw. “Small sips.”

The cool water was heaven on my dry throat. I squeezed his hand twice—to signal my thanks.

“Surgery went perfectly,” he continued, brushing hair from my forehead.

I wanted to see, to know what I looked like now, but they’d covered all the mirrors in the suite. Another squeeze of his hand, this time with a questioning glance.

“No mirrors yet,” Enzo said, reading my mind. “Doctor’s orders. Not until the initial swelling goes down. He says it’s better to see the final result, not the work in progress.”

I gestured toward my face, trying to ask how different I was.

“The bandages cover most of it right now, but…” Enzo studied me, his head tilted. “Your cheekbones are higher. Jaw’s a little different. But your eyes…” His voice softened. “They’re still the same.”

He gathered me close.

“You’re still my Robbie.”