Page 2 of He Should Be Mine

His penthouse at the top of the building is not much better. Bigger and even more garish, but still of no quality. And he chose it. Out of all the beautiful places in London, he chose a tacky, soulless penthouse.

Putting Molly in one of the faceless apartments below, was pretty clever. I’ll give Riccardo that. It’s easy enough to slink down a couple of floors from his penthouse. And anyone keeping tabs on him will see him coming and going from the building he lives in.

No one is going to find out that the Ajello heir is gay. I’m the only person who knows and damn, do I know it is probably my death sentence. Riccardo’s way of getting rid of me.

And fucking Molly goes and hands Riccardo even more excuses, fucking hands him a reason to kill me on a plate. All because the little shit is bored. The boy is literally going to be the death of me.

I whine and whinge about the day Riccardo is going to tire of Molly. As if the denial is going to keep me sane. When, deep down, I know Molly’s last day, could very well be my last too.

Unless I manage to convince Riccardo that I’m loyal and competent enough to keep around. Which means finding his little boy toy before his escape is noticed.

I throw on some clothes, grab my gun and holster, and hop into my shoes.

The hallway is dark too. The fake marble floor makes my shoes clack like high heels. I fish my car keys out of the bowl on the side table. It seems Molly does have a littlesense, after all. If he had taken my car, I really would have killed him.

My gaze falls to the home security control panel. I set it before I went to bed, with the pin that only I know. As soon as Molly opened the door, it should have gone off.

I should have known that the blasted thing was not a match for Molly’s ingenious and resourceful intelligence. He figured out a way to disable the last one. The boy is far too smart. He should be at MIT, not making a living from his ass.

With one last disapproving glare, I stalk out of the apartment. I prowl carefully down to the basement parking lot. It would be just my damn luck to run into someone on their way to the penthouse. Even though Riccardo is out of town.

But I make it safely. I don’t see a soul.

The concrete underground parking lot is well lit. My car beeps softly as I unlock it. I slide into the leather seat and let out a little sigh. Inside this car, is the only place that’s truly mine. The only place that feels like home.

It also feels damn good to get the weight off my knee. But that’s not something I like to think about, and tonight is no exception. It’s a stupid fucking time to get a flare-up. Damn inconvenient. So I push it from my mind.

I lean to the side and rummage through the glove compartment, searching for the right phone. I find it and sit up straight as I turn it on.

The phone screen lights up with inane cheer, and I scroll through to the right app. Then I glare at it. All the frigging Airtags I hid in Molly’s clothes are showing as being upstairs. The little shit really is too clever for his own good.

Scowling, I scroll down. Then I blink to make sure I’m not seeing things. The tag I painstakingly hid in the heel of his Louboutin’s is showing a location two miles away.

A grin stretches across my face. Gotcha. Classic Molly, not wanting to risk ruining his slut-boots to check for tracking devices.

My car purrs to life. We ease out of the parking lot and out onto the city streets. Even at three a.m, there is enough traffic to frustrate me. I weave through it with gritty determination and manage to make good progress.

The destination turns out to be a seedy looking club. My teeth grind. Molly is better than this. But then again, he knows I’ll find him in his usual haunts.

The bouncer looks like he wants to stop me. It’s a fleeting look that he soon thinks better of.

I stalk inside. The lighting is dim. It’s busy. Sweaty bodies in the dark. The smell of broken dreams and bad decisions. Awful music is pounding out.

It’s going to be hard to find the little shit in this crowd. My eyes glance up at the stage and I freeze. My feet take root on the sticky floor. My heart pounds against my ribcage. My mouth and throat go dry.

Molly is not being discreet at all. He is on the stage. All the lights are on him and all the attention. He is dancing. Undulating around a pole. I didn’t know he could dance. Not like this. All fluid movements and grace. Perfect poise and control. I’d love to see him do ballet, he’d clearly excel.

But instead, I get to watch him make love to a pole while making everyone in the room want him. He is damn good at it. Molly is damn good at everything.

He is wearing a black sequined crop-top that barely covers his nipples. Paired with impossibly tight and tinyblack shorts. And his Louboutin’s. Nothing else. The rest of his pale, creamy, perfect skin is naked for everyone to see.

I can fucking smell the lust pouring off the crowd watching him.

Molly spins around the pole one more time. He stops with his back to the crowd. He bends. Lower and lower. All the way down until his pert ass is on full display.

I blink. Sequined letters across his ass wink at me, flashing in the lights.

‘Psychoanalyze Me.’