Page 81 of The Club

The Collector.

The man who sold Rafael to the Island.

Except for his time on the Island, I don’t know a lot about Rafael’s past. I know a few facts, though not from him. The kind of things that people in my circles know. And yeah, I might’ve asked a few questions over the years.

I know his father was bringing cocaine in from Puerto Rico. I know he set up business in the wrong places, stepped on the wrong toes. He got himself and his wife killed by one of the big crime families. It was an ugly killing from what I heard, done as an example for others who might think about encroaching on Italian territory.

What I don’t know is where Rafael was in all of that. I don’t know what happened between that moment and Rafael ending up on the Island. It’s not hard to guess that those events are connected.

Rafael is a little younger than I am. With his parents dead and his father’s entire organization taken out, he would’ve had no protection from opportunists like the Collector.

When my pepperoni pizza comes out, I can’t make myself eat any of it. I ask for the check. I pay. I leave my number.

And somehow I get out of there without shooting or stabbing anyone.

Rocco glances at me on the way to the car, but he doesn’t say anything. As I settle in the back seat, I get out my phone and send a text to Noah. It’s just a thumbs up, as agreed, but something about the little yellow symbol almost makes me throw my phone.

I put it back in my pocket.

Rocco says something to me, but I can’t hear it over the screaming in my head.

TWENTY-FIVE

Rafael

I’m in Dominic’s living room working on my laptop, or at least trying to, when he walks in. I get up from the couch and walk to the edge of the living room area, but I don’t try to approach him. He looks angry, but I don’t think that’s quite it.

He doesn’t say anything as he walks up to me. I brace myself for violence, but when grabs me, he pulls me into a fierce, desperate hug. His arms squeeze so tight that I can’t breathe, and mine wrap around him with equal ferocity. His face presses hard into my shoulder. Mine presses hard into his.

Even though he’s upset, even though I’m upset, some of the noise in my head quiets down. It’s been a rough hour waiting for him. Noah already texted me that Dominic was out and unharmed, but I don’t like that I was waiting here, sitting out. I don’t like that we were apart.

I put one hand on the back of his head, trying to tell him that it’s okay, that I’m here, that he can take his time. That I love him.

Fuck, I really do. I fucking love him.

He relaxes into the hug and eventually draws back. He doesn’t look at me, but that’s okay. I don’t let him get out of contact with me though. I touch his elbow, his hip, anything I can.

“I want to shower,” he says.

“Alone?”

“No.”

A warm feeling blooms in my chest. I take his hand. “Come on.”

We don’t talk much in the shower. We both get a little hard as we wash each other. It’s impossible not to with our hands sliding over each other’s bodies. We end up in another embrace under the rain of warm water. Our cocks are brushing, thickening against each other. It feels weirdly good to let my body respond to him, to feel his respond to me, and to not feel like we have to do anything about it.

I wince when his fingers brush my ass, which is already stinging from the water. He draws back and turns me to look at the red stripes. I dread hearing him say he’s sorry or that he went too far. I don’t want him to ever hold back when I need something, or when he does.

But he’s only looking. And when he speaks it’s to ask, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” I turn to face him and look in his dark eyes. “Are you?”

“It was harder than I expected. But, yeah. I’m okay. Now.”

“So we just wait?” I ask.

“We just wait.”

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