Page 64 of Seth

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After giving himan antibiotic shot,the young doctor whose name Gustavo instantly forgot, seemingly did everything to make closing the wound as painful as possible. The bloody shirt lay by his feet as Gustavo sat on the couch, bare-chested.

Diego and Rafael propped the wall on either side of the door. Standing in similar positions and wearing identical grins, they resembled creepy statues from a wax museum.

“Is it the right time to say, “I told you so”?” Diego said as the doctor pressed the wound hard enough for Gustavo to draw air through his teeth.

“¡Cuidado, cabrón!1” Gustavo slapped the leather surface of the couch, subconsciously slipping into his native language.

“Please, speak German,” the doctor replied, gluing a Steri-Strip to his neck. “I don’t speak… what is it, Spanish?”

“Where did you find him?” Gustavo mouthed to Diego, finger drawing a question mark in the air.

Diego’s grin turned all teeth; he tapped his watch with his index finger, then shrugged. Turning his attention away from his boss, he stretched an open palm to Rafael.

“He didn’t die,” Rafael uttered; his expression tightened. With his arms folded over his chest, he stared at Diego with a hard challenge.

“The bet was that Loco would slice his throat. We never mentioned if Gustavo would die or not,” Diego argued. His black jacket tightened around his shoulders as he squinted at the bodyguard, accepting the challenge.

The silence condensed.

After what felt like forever, Rafael sighed. Unwillingly, he took out a twenty and slapped the bill against Diego’s palm.

“Muchas gracias.2”

“De nada3,” Rafael snarled.

“Twenty?” Gustavo stirred, slapped the doctor’s hands away from his neck, and got up. “You bet twenty on my fucking life? This is insulting. You’re both fired.”

“How’s that my fault? Rafa is super stingy with money.” Diego protested.

Coming to the door, Gustavo snatched the bill out of Diego’s grip. “I’m taking this!”

Diego gaped, then growled, “Give it back.”

“I refuse.” Gustavo lifted his chin. “This is my moral compensation. As a victim, I reserve the right to keep all the profit earned from my misery.”

Rafael laughed. Diego glared. Hans, who silently stood at the farthest corner of the office, huffed. His feet pressed against the wall, revealing a perfect bend of his leg covered with soft, light hair. His arms crossed in front of his naked chest as he drilled Gustavo with his glare.

Noticing his distress, Gustavo came over. His palm slapped against the wall, inches away from Hans’ ear. “Could it be you are jealous?”

“Over whom? A mad dog? Don’t make me laugh!” Slapping Gustavo’s hand away, he tried to squeeze toward the door. Gustavo blocked his way with his shoulder.

Gustavo’s phone chimed. Breaking eye contact with Hans for a brief second, he fished the device out of his pocket and forwarded the email to Diego without looking at it.

Another phone chimed. Gustavo raised his eye on the pissed-off face of his lover. An uncomfortable silence filled the room, followed by a rustle and the sound of the door closing.

“Why not?”

“You are sick if you ask this.” Annoyance dripped from Hans’ every pore; he pushed Gustavo’s chest with both hands. “Maybe you should go and fuck him then if he interests you more than a night with me.”

“Are you trying to seduce me?” Gustavo couldn’t suppress his grin and instantly received a punch in the chest.

“No, I’m not. He could have killed you,” Hans pushed through gritted teeth, and his clean-cut jaw bulged with pressure.

“He didn’t.”

“He could have,” Hans insisted. “And over what? What is it, Gustavo, a mid-life crisis? Or maybe I am not enough? Not crazy? Not dangerous? Should I slit your throat to make you interested?”