Page 3 of Confession
He was the reason my brother vanished for four years. My uncle saw me and Roman together as a threat, so he drugged and captured Roman and sold him to a sadistic fighting ring in Eastern Europe. I still can’t believe he betrayed Roman like that, betrayed us both.
I still can’t believe I never fucking saw it.
When I need a break from the tedium of accounting, I switch over to Eclipse’s security feed. I check the exterior and doors, the chaotic dancefloor, and the quieter VIP mezzanine with its smaller bar.
Then I bring up the main bar.
Sandwiched between Keith and Alesha, Quinn is mixing three drinks. The young woman ordering is leaning on the bar, clearly flirting with him. That’s pretty much what I expected.
What I didnotexpect was the sight of Quinn flirting back.
I can’t believe my goddamn eyes.
Before we left the house, Quinn traded out his green plaid for a closefitting black button down. The top few buttons are open to offer a glimpse of his chest. Was it like that on the way here? I don’t think so. Another difference is that at home he keeps his sleeves rolled up, but now he’s got them down and buttoned to cover his scars, keeping the attention on his build and his face.
I frown. When did he cut his hair? I hadn’t noticed it trimmed up like that in the back, but I notice it now. It looks good. It shows off the structure of his face.
Jesus, he’s smiling at this girl, fuckingsmiling. It’s a small smile, but still. What the hell. I thought he was gay. I’msurehe’s gay. Iknowhe’s gay. And Quinn doesn’tflirt. Did he used to when he worked here? I can’t remember. I didn’t pay as much attention back then.
Why am I paying attention now?
I don’t know. I really fucking don’t.
I close the window, irritated. I pull up the accounting program and try to focus on the numbers. Where was I?
God, I need a drink.
I glance at the side table crowded with liquor bottles. I could make something up here. I could.
TWO
Quinn
I hate working the bar. It exhausts me to interact with people like this, but being in this role again switched me into this character I used to play. Compared to Alesha and Keith, I’m not actually being that friendly, but it still feels like an over-the-top performance to me.
“Enjoy,” I say as I slide a Cosmo across the bar to a young woman in a pink mesh top. I give her a wink and she gives me a twenty-dollar tip. “Thanks, darlin’.”
She eats it the fuck up. I swear to god, straight men are so dumb. They have it so easy with women. It’s a lot harder to impress a man.
Of course, it would help if the man I’m in love with was actually gay. But I’m a glutton for punishment.
Speaking of which.
Vitali appears at the top of the steps leading from the mezzanine to the ground floor. Given the noise, crowd, and general chaos, I shouldn’t have noticed him, but I’m always acutely aware of him.
I don’t make it obvious, but I watch from the corner of my eye as he descends the steps. He’s wearing a fitted white dress shirt with his black pinstripe pants and waistcoat, no tie. The black tattoos that heavily mark his shoulders and chest hook up along his neck at his collar. He’s arrogant as fuck, moving with an unmistakable I-own-the-place energy. I don’t know why that makes my dick so hard, but it does. Always has.
I think I hide it pretty well.
Of course, I hide a lot of things. Practice makes perfect and all that. So why the hell is it getting harder instead of easier?
I’m busy making drinks for a table but still offer a what-can-I-get-you nod to a redhead in a white crop top.
She orders a mojito. “Good choice,” I tell her automatically, but I’m groaning inside. It’ll take me a minute to get that done, which means I’ll have to draw out our interaction.
“I’ll do it.”
Vitali’s smooth, dark voice lifts the hair on the back of my neck as he crowds in beside me. I give him a glance of acknowledgment before focusing on the White Russian I’m making.
