Page 25 of Beautifully Savage Butterfly

And maybe he’s right that his brutality is all that’s standing between this city and a much worse fate than the Morettis. How the fuck should I know? I’m just one man wildly throwing punches to keep my head above water. It’s possible that’s all Elio is doing too.

“I… should probably go.”

His words startle me. It’s not like I expected him to beg to stay the night and cuddle, but we’ve barely caught our breath and he’s already making his escape. I’m sure he’d rather be home in his shiny fucking penthouse than all tangled up in my cheap sheets that might as well be made of sandpaper compared to whatever million thread count bullshit he has on his own bed. I chafe at the thought, battling between the urge to show him the door if he’s so eager to get away, or to pin him down and refuse to let him leave until I’m good and ready.

I grind my teeth and flex my fingers roughly around his wrists before releasing him.

“Yeah,” I grunt, climbing off of him.

Neither of us say a word as he gets dressed. I’m being the petulant brat now, pouting silently as I watch him pull on one piece of clothing at a time, covering up the miles of skin I’ve barely had a chance to explore. He looks up at me as he buttons his shirt, his hands steady now, in contrast to the way they trembled earlier when he fumbled to undo each one. Elio opens his mouth, then closes it again.

“Spit it out,” I demand, my teeth still clenched together.

He shakes his head and finishes with his shirt. I growl under my breath. If he were really mine, I’d grab him by the hair and drag him back to bed, then spank him until whatever words are stuck on his tongue came spilling out. But he’s not. At least… I don’t think he is.

I huff and shake my head, more at myself than at Elio as he silently does up his wrinkled tie, putting himself back together like tonight didn’t even happen.

Maybe it’s a good thing he’s leaving. My head isn’t on straight at all, and it’s not going to get there as long as he’s here, spinning it around over and over. A few hours ago, I thought he was the devil incarnate, and now… now I don’t know what the fuck I think.

Once he’s dressed, I walk him out of my bedroom and back down the short hallway to my door, hoping he isn’t spending too much time looking at the sad state of my apartment. Would he be able to tell that my couch was fished out of the trash just by looking at it? I don’t know, and I don’t really want to find out. The last thing I need is for Elio to think I’m the one who needs to be taken care of.

He stops with his hand on the doorknob, dragging his free hand through his hair and looking back at me over his shoulder.

“Would you meet me somewhere tomorrow?”

“Where?” My shoulders tighten at the thought of another outing like the one we had tonight.

“The Starlight. It’s a bar on—”

“I know where it is,” I cut him off. “I’ll…” I clear my throat. He’s already managed to pull me in deeper than I should have let him. Like quicksand. “I’ll think about it.”

Elio nods. “I’ll be there at six,” he says, before opening the door and slipping out without another word, leaving me alone in my apartment feeling like I’ve been KO’d, with my head swimming and my ears ringing. Am I going to meet him tomorrow?

I have no fucking clue.

Chapter 11

ORION

After a morning spent beating the hell out of the punching bag at the gym and failing to convince anyone to spar with me yet again, my thoughts are no less twisted up than they were last night.

I slept like shit, tossing and turning, ping-ponging between being pissed at Elio for leaving and annoyed at myself for caring. I spent another hour or so before sunrise trying to guess why he would want to meet me at a dive like The Starlight, spinning scenarios in my head that became more and more outlandish the more tired I got, until I eventually crashed and managed a couple hours of sleep.

I take the steps of the care facility two at a time. There have been a million times over the past few years that I wished like hell things were different, for Jack’s sake and for my own selfish reasons. This morning, it’s definitely the latter.

I want to be able to tell my brother about last night. All of it. I want to vomit this confused tangle of emotions at his feet and let him help me sort them out. He was always good at that—talking me down when my emotions got too high, settling me down when my thoughts turned into a tornado. But this situation is so tangled up in shit I can’t tell Jack. Pulling at any of the threads would unravel the whole thing. I’d have to tell him about the loan I took out from the Morettis, about the underground fights and his mounting medical bills.

I push through the door and the familiar smell of antiseptic burns the back of my throat. I force a smile and approach the desk to sign in, but instead of the normal friendly greeting, the blond receptionist grimaces. My heart forces its way into my throat and my limbs go numb in an instant.

“What happened? Is Jack okay?”

She pulls her expression together, turning it into a sympathetic half smile. “He’s fine. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to worry you, I just wasn’t expecting to see you this morning. You didn’t get the voicemail the doctor left you?” She tucks her hair behind her ear and fidgets with her pen, tapping the tip of it on the desk, leaving black dots of ink on the glossy surface.

I shake my head and reach for my phone, pulling it out of my back pocket. “I was at the gym all morning,” I mutter. As promised, there is a voicemail waiting for me. I click on the notification and bring the phone to my ear to listen.

“Good morning, Mr. Barros. This is Doctor Simmons. I’m calling to let you know that we’ve been monitoring a mild cough Jack has had for a few days, and unfortunately, it has progressed into full-blown pneumonia. I know we’ve discussed before how serious pneumonia is for someone in your brother’s condition, so I called for medical transport to move him to Wildcliff General. He’s under the care of Doctor Ross. If you have any questions, feel free to call me back.” The numbness in my limbs spreads through the rest of my body as I listen to Doctor Simmons’s polite, detached voice relaying the information.

When the message ends, I shove my phone back into my pocket and mutter a, “Thanks,” to the receptionist before pivoting back towards the doors I just came through.

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