Page 24 of Explosive Prejudice

Rolling his eyes, he cursed me and then let go. With my hands shoved in my pockets, I watched the guards escort him out of the room and back to prison. Being here always made me feel sick to my stomach. Not only did it remind me of the time I spent in juvie, but it was also a window to my future—a small glimpse of what was waiting for me. As much as I hated to face reality, I knew it wasn’t a question of if but when I’d go to prison.

Shay-Lee

“Look who’s here,” the sexy man I waited for said.

Taking the Negroni the bartender just placed before me, I turned to meet Nero’s dark eyes checking me out from underneath his Gatto mask.

With his back leaning against the bar and his strong arms crossed over his impressive chest, I took a moment to appreciate how hot one man could look. Unlike the other male Gatti in the club, who, when not naked, wore suits, Nero went for a black tank top, which he tucked into slacks of the same color. I loved how the fabric of the pants traveled down his strong legs and suited his long, sculpted muscles.

“Missed me?” I teased with a crooked smile before bringing the crystal glass to my mouth and taking a small sip from my cocktail. Ah, that’s high-quality vermouth.

“Not at all, but I wondered where you’d disappeared to. It’s been three days since you played that little game with Rojo.”

“Rojo?” I gave him a raised eyebrow.

“The Gatto you thought would make me jealous.”

“Oh, yeah, him. Well, it worked, didn’t it?” Picking the orange slice out of my drink, I put it in my mouth and sucked the juice out of it. “Mhmm.” Taking the peel out, I licked my lips clean. “After all, here you are, wondering where I’ve been for the last three days. A bit obsessive for a straight guy, isn’t it?”

“Again with the straight guy?”

“Oh, right.” I rolled my eyes. “Forgot you’re not actually straight. You just have a rule about not sleeping with men. Why is it, by the way? I mean, if watching my dick made you hard, why not give it a try?”

Shifting his position so now one of his hands was on the bar while his big body blocked me from the room, he leaned closer. “Aren’t you snarky?”

Having him this close affected me more than I would like to admit. It wasn’t just his proximity but the heat radiating from his body, the scent of cigarettes I would have hated on anyone else but him, and his confidence. He was so goddamn confident, and it was blowing my mind away.

“I’m always snarky.”

“That’s right, Llorón.” His eyes darted to my mouth. “But that’s part of your charm.”

When a half smirk pulled on his lips, I wanted to punch him in the face. He had no right to be this hot while refusing to fuck me.

“Have you seen Dion? I came here for him.” I made that clear despite it being a complete lie, but knowing how curious Nero was about my relationship with his boss, I decided to provoke him.

“Why do you insist on playing games?”

“’Cause they’re fun.”

“They’re pointless.”

My lips curved mischievously. “Pointless is me having this conversation with you. If you’re not going to fuck me, what’s the point?”

Examining me as if I was some sort of an enigma, he shook his head. “Why is everything about sex with you?”

Rolling my eyes, I put my glass back on the bar. “It’s a fucking sex club. People come here for sex.” Not in the mood to argue, I moved to walk away, but he moved with me, stopping me from taking another step. He could have just grabbed my arm, but he didn’t. It made me notice how, despite standing so close to me, not once did he touch me. The only time he laid a finger on me was that night, when he hooked his thumb underneath my chin and forced me to look up. Other than that, he kept his hands to himself.

“But you’re not like the others who come here.”

It was true. I wasn’t like any other client in this club. But instead of asking him why he thought I was different, I said, “You never touch me.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Right now, you moved your whole body to stop me from walking away when you could have just reached for my arm. And thinking back, I don’t remember you ever touching me. Why?”

“I never asked for your permission.”

His answer, so logical to the point of being a joke, filled me with shame. How damaged could I be that him respecting my body and my boundaries made me doubt him? Maybe because I didn’t have any boundaries, I assumed others didn’t as well. My self-respect was ripped out of me years ago, and receiving it in the last place I expected it confused me.

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