Page 4 of Surrender

I’ve dealt with worse, I remind myself. This is… cuts, bruises, some first- or second-degree burns. But I’ve already been “patched up,” judging by the neat bandages wrapped around my hand and chest.

I automatically say, “Thank you,” but a few seconds after the words are out of my mouth, I realize I’m not at home, my hands are fucking chained to the headboard, and it’s not Corbin sitting on the chair next to the bed. No, the man next to me is far more handsome, with dark blond hair, a well-maintained beard, and deep blue eyes.

It’s my mark, Cristiano Fiore.

He looks a lot better off than I feel, despite all the explosions and shooting. I’m still pissed at myself that I didn’t manage to off him. He slowed his gait unexpectedly, or the line of sight was bad, or…

Yeah, excuses. Corbin would beat me for a mistake like that.

“You have manners,” Fiore says, a smirk quirking onto his lips. “That’s new.”

“Fuck you.” I test the manacles around my wrists, but they don’t have any give, and I can’t quite reach the buckles.

Not with Fiore watching, anyway.

After a few attempts, I give up and look at him again. “So, what’s on the agenda? An interrogation?”

“That does seem to be the logical next step,” Fiore says, his voice a pleasant, rich sound—or at least, it would be pleasant if it wasn’t for that fucking amusement in it. “I don’t suppose you’re going to just tell me what I need to know so we can move on with our lives?”

“Sure,” I say, pasting on a smile. “Somebody wanted you dead. Who is that somebody? No clue. You know how things are in this business. Proxies upon proxies.”

“Oh, I know how things are in this business, all right, little fox,” Fiore says. “And smart little would-be assassins find out as much information as they can about their clients despite those supposed boundaries for their own safety. Are you a smart would-be assassin?”

Even if I knew, I wouldn’t tell Fiore anything. I do have a reputation to uphold, and nobody hires an assassin who sells out their clients. It’s just bad for business.

But right now, I wish I did know. Not to share with Fiore, but because those fucking explosions were not planned. Either my client had hired a second person to do my job, or, even worse… I was the intended target of at least one of those bombs.

I need to get back to Corbin to see if he knows anything.

“Sure. My client is connected to the underground. Another arms dealer? A jealous mafia rival? Or maybe it’s actually one of your exes. Y’know, the one with the big tits.” I laugh, although the movement tears something in my back and sends pain flaring across my body.

Fuck, I might be more injured than I thought.

“That’s extraordinarily helpful,” Fiore drawls, but something flickers across his expression. “Lie still. You have stitches in your back that you won’t want to upset unless you’re a masochist. And if you are… Well, we could have a lot more fun during this interrogation.”

“You already have me chained to your bed. Not like I can stop you from doing anything.” I snap my teeth at him. “But I do bite.”

My eyes wander down to his fly. It’s hard to tell with the nice suit he’s wearing and sitting as he is what he’s got underneath there. Probably the same average, dirty cock as most straight men. I should know—I’ve sucked enough cocks from guys who insisted they were completely straight, honest, they were just very hard-up.

“I’m terrified,” he says, deadpan. He shifts in his chair to give me a better look at his crotch with a knowing smirk on his lips. “Don’t worry, little fox. I know just how to handle naughty boys who don’t want to tell the truth.”

I’m caught off-guard by the banter. I had expected a homophobic rebuke, not… flirtation? I meet his gaze, wondering if he’s being serious or if he’s one of the few gangsters who is actually secure enough in his heterosexuality to tease a man like this. Most of them would have flipped out at a man hitting on them, as if that alone would turn them gay.

“Ooh, how scary,” I answer blithely. “How fortunate that I am telling the truth. Somebody wants you dead. If you want to know more than that, you have to trace your own enemies.” I shift to get more comfortable and notice another problem on top of the pain. “What’s your bathroom situation, by the way? Do you take me out for walkies? Gonna make me pee in a bottle?”

“It’s so adorable, how you think you can bait me into making a mistake with you. Foxes might be small, but they’re clever. So, alas, it’s a bottle or a catheter. I’ll even allow you the choice,” Fiore says, with a smile that could also be charming on his lips if it wasn’t for the fact that he’s being a dick. A charming dick, maybe, but still a dick.

I shrug as best I can. “Bottle, then. You’ll have to get my cock out for me though. I can’t exactly hold it on my own.”

I really don’t need to experience a catheter again.

“This is where you say, ‘pretty please, Mr. Fiore,’” he says. He’s enjoying this entirely too much. What happened to the hardened professional I’d been sent to kill? This man is nothing like what I’d expected.

“Want me to throw a daddy in there too?” I joke. “Oh, please, Daddy, help me not piss myself.”

Only as soon as I say it, I regret the words. My heart is beating a little faster, and a thrum of arousal has my cock throbbing.

Fuck.

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