Page 1 of Desperately Delicate Viper

Chapter 1

LUCA

Therearetwosidesto any city. There are the blocks lined with expensive chain restaurants and shops, skyscrapers housing generic businesses, and busloads of tourists snapping pictures of shit they’ll never bother to look at again. And then there are streets like this one.

There’s an air of confidence and purpose in my stride that’s completely at odds with my surroundings. The brick buildings on either side of the street have all been tagged with graffiti, from simple gang signs to elaborate artwork. Not that you’d know it in the dark like this, with half the streetlamps burned out and the other half dull or flickering. The apartment buildings all have their curtains drawn tight, and all the businesses have bars over the windows. I twist my lips into a wry smile at the way the neon sign up ahead illuminates the dark, foggy night that’s been closing in around me for blocks now.

Being on the lowest rung of the Moretti Crime Family has its advantages, the main one being that I can go out without most people recognizing me and pissing their pants the way they dowhen they see Xaviaro or Elio or, god forbid, Lorenzo. Criminals and low lives in Wildcliff might call Xaviaro the Ice Man or the Grim Reaper behind his back—and sometimes to his face—but that’s nothing compared to their fear of the rarely seen boss of the Moretti Mafia himself.

I shake off thoughts of my extended family and the extremely lucrative profession of keeping one hand around the throat of every criminal and business in Wildcliff. I’m close enough now that I can feel the thump of the bass coming from inside the club. The smell of weed, cigarette smoke, and cheap cologne hangs heavy in the air as I stride past the line of people queuing to get inside, most of the women barely dressed while the men have donned their most impressive clearance-rack suits, hoping to convince someone that they’re rich and sophisticated, if only for an hour or so.

I pull my hands out of my pockets, my mouth already watering for a drink and my dick perking up at the promise of a debauched night waiting right on the other side of the thick double doors.

The word Wonderlandis written in script and humming like a beacon in the night, calling all would-be sinners like a siren tempting sailors out to sea. The colorful neon of the sign casts an eerie glow over the bouncer, giving his stark white hair an unnatural rainbow of too-bright hues. He’s a beast of a man, towering over me by at least a head and twice as wide. He’s in a leather vest and a pair of holey jeans, tattoos covering his skin in a tapestry of images that range from classic pin-up poses featuring grinning twinks to a white rabbit taking up the majority of his right bicep.

A slow grin spreads over his face, and he looks me up and down with a predatory glint in his eyes. I arch an eyebrow in amusement and give him a subtle shake of my head. We’ve been through this before. He’s not my type, even if he does have quitethe reputation for making even sane men crazy by the time he’s finished with them.

“Alright, Luca?” he says in a gruff voice, ignoring the grumbling coming from the line I just skipped to the head of.

“I will be once I have a couple of drinks in me and a pretty little twink in my lap.”

“You and me both, man.” He chuckles, his laughter filled with just as much gravel as his voice, and tilts his head towards the door, gesturing for me to go ahead inside. “Have a good night.”

“You too, Rabbit.” I clap him on the shoulder and skirt past him.

Whatever small taste of hedonism has seeped out onto the sidewalk beyond the doors is nothing compared to stepping inside Wonderland. If the second circle of hell is where all the lustful sinners go, then Wonderland is what happens when the doors are flung open and the damned are returned to Earth.

My cock swells as I make my way through the writhing sea of bodies, sparing lingering glances for a couple of men and women who catch my eye, but aren’t enough to stop me in my tracks. There are several cages on elevated platforms around the open dance floor, and strobe lights illuminating the mass of bodies in the middle of it all, moving to the beat of the music as one when they’re not caught up in hungry mouths and wandering hands.

There’s an itch under my skin tonight, and I know exactly what I need to scratch it. The question is, will I find what I’m looking for here? Only time will tell.

I reach the bar just in time to snag an empty stool. I slide onto it, unbuttoning my cuffs and the collar of my shirt to get a little more comfortable while I wait for a bartender to notice me. There are three of them hurrying back and forth, making drinks and pausing to shoot flirty comments and winks at customers as they work their way from one to the next under the eerie,colorful lights that have a way of making this whole club feel like a drug haze or a fever dream.

The biggest of the three bartenders stops in front of me, bracing his hands on the bar. There’s a rolled joint dangling from between his lips, and he inhales as he studies me for half a second, exhaling a cloud of skunky smoke through his nose. It lingers in the air momentarily, hanging like a ring around his head, illuminated by the green light behind him. He arches one of his thick, caterpillar eyebrows.

“The Queen has already left for the night,” he grunts. “If you’re here to collect, you’re going to have to swing back in the morning.”

“I’m just here for a drink,” I answer smoothly without raising my voice over the din of the club. He seems to hear me just fine though, the cherry on his joint glowing brighter orange with his next inhale before he nods. “Whiskey,” I respond to the implied question in his silence.

While he turns to busy himself pouring my drink, I glance up and down the length of the bar top. It’s mostly lined with people who are ignoring the chaos around them in favor of staring into their own drinks. A man down at the end manages to catch my interest though.

He’s surrounded by a few other men, all dressed in nice suits, eyeing him like he’s their favorite dessert. He’s petite, with dark hair and blue eyes, everything about him reading as sweet and innocent, but there’s something about the way he holds himself that tells a different story. Maybe it’s the sharpness in his gaze, like he’s seconds away from showing the lions huddled around him that he’s therealpredator. He’s like a viper, coiled and poised to strike.

The song that’s playing changes from an electronic dance mix to something with more sultry overtones. The pretty little viper shoos two men off the stools on either side of him and hoistshimself onto the bar, plopping his ass on the sticky wood and planting his feet on the stools.

Heat prickles under my skin and my cock thickens against my thigh. I can read the suggestive words of the song on his lips as he sings along and puts on a little show, whipping his head around and swaying his body to the mesmerizing beat of the music. He toys with the men, grabbing one by the tie and dragging him close, bringing their lips a hairsbreadth apart before giving a wicked smile and shoving him back. The lights dance over his skin as he throws his head back and runs his hands between his own legs, making his gaggle of horny admirers hold their breath. Mine catches in my throat too.

The sound of a glass being set down hard manages to jerk my attention away from the little show for just a few seconds. I glance back at Caterpillar and pick up my whiskey to take a sip, savoring the burn of it on my tongue and all the way down my throat. I look back at the pretty viper and tilt my head towards him.

“You know him?” I ask, licking my lips and dragging my gaze over the length of the bare leg the pretty twink has thrust out, planting his foot in the middle of one particularly grabby man’s chest to push him back with a smirk and a shake of his head.

“No more than anyone else,” Caterpillar answers unhelpfully.

I chuckle and take another sip of my drink. The grabby man says something and the twink holds his hand up, rubbing his thumb and two forefingers together in an unmistakable gesture. My pulse spikes again and I grin against the rim of my glass before downing the remainder of it.

If money is all it takes to get his attention for tonight, I’ll happily drain my bank account. I set my empty glass down and reach into my pocket to pull a few bills out of my wallet, tossing them onto the bar.

The song changes again and the viper’s little show ends, but he doesn’t slide off the bar. If Caterpillar or any of the other bartenders mind him taking up space while he trolls for clients, they don’t show it. Maybe it’s good for business. Or maybe, after years of working at Wonderland, they’ve learned to look the other way and let people do whatever the hell they want as long as it doesn’t end in bloodshed or a visit from my family.

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