Page 21 of Stabby Little

GRANT

“You need a break.”

The dim lights of the private bar dance across the marble floor as I accept a gin and tonic from my friend. I'm with Constantine Ferrari who I met in the scene ten years ago. He's a Daddy to a sweet baby boy named Arlo and he also has rumored connections to the underworld.

Constantine's encouraging me to come to the Little Bunny Club next Saturday night to destress. It's not the best idea.

Taking a sip of my drink, I let the gin burn my throat. It singes my esophagus, but after the week I've had, I don't give a fuck.

“I can't afford a break.” Clenching my fists, I try not to focus on the shit Michael said to me. I'm livid he accused me of misinterpreting his words. I've never fucked up a command, not even a passing order to rough up one of his soldiers. Competence is my greatest strength and I resent the fact that he painted me as a fool. “Not after this past week.”

“What happened?” Constantine pours himself a scotch on the rocks and settles into the seat next to me. He places his palm on my wrist. “You can tell me.”

I shake my head. “No.”

“How many times have we played together in the Little Bunny Club? I've kept my clients' secrets for years. I've never let you down.”

Constantine and I never discuss business. We operate under a strictdon't ask, don't tellpolicy that we enforce at every interaction. In fact, that's the Little Bunny Club's protocol to which they require all prospective members to adhere before they join.

He kept my secret play nights with Linda under wrap for a decade. Before she left me, we frequented the club, engaging in power exchange role play with third parties. She loved involving other men in our fun, but one thing turned her on more than anything: when I played with boys.

She got off on the sight of me sucking another man's cock while I took her from the front, plowing her well-maintained body that she slaved over in the gym. When I swallowed my partner's cum, it turned her on even more.

There are also rumors Constantine and his brothers are involved in the Italian Mafia. That's the primary reason I never discuss business with him. I'm reluctant to disclose anything about Michael or the dirty work I do for a living for my safety. I don't doubt Constantine's in the same position.

Constantine massages my wrist. “Is that your son's friend?”

“Yes.” I stare at the pristinely cleaned floor. There's not a speck of dust. “It's been seven years.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Everyone gave up on this poor boy and I refuse to. Maybe I'm fucking naïve. He deserves to have competent adults search for him. Not fucking alphabet agencies that throw in the towel at the slightest difficulty.”

I shared this information with Constantine two years after Ollie's disappearance. I didn't give Ollie's name, because everyone presumed him dead. I'd run into enough fucking judgment from people who wondered why I was obsessed with my son's missing friend, especially Linda's entire family.

“It was shitty of your wife to abandon you over that boy.” Constantine doesn't beat around the bush.

“Thank you for saying that.” I swirl my gin and tonic around my glass. “Miles told me to forget about him, too.”

“That's not fair.” A troubled expression forms on Constantine's face. “That's his former best friend. He should be thrilled you're still searching for him.”

“I'm the only man who hasn't given up on him. The only person in New York who refuses to pretend he's dead.”

“You ever wonder if he's dead?”

“I have moments where I think so,” I begin, “then moments where I chastise myself for entertaining the notion.”

“I know the feeling. When Arlo disappeared on my last mission, I thought I'd lost him forever. If he'd died, no one could've convinced me of it. Not a single fucking person on this earth. I would've gone to the ends of the world to find him.”

Arlo and two of his friends had a close brush with death. Constantine hasn't told me anything beyond that—he hasn't even revealed his partner's friends' names—but it was traumatic. That much is clear.

“I'm sorry Arlo went through that.” Taking a sip of my drink, I set my glass down and turn to Constantine. “How old is he?”

“Twenty.”

“He's too young to go through that shit.”

“I never should've let him out of my sight.” Constantine's fingers curl into fists. “Did I tell you how we first met?”

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