Page 25
“I’ll be back.”
I grab my jacket, pull it on and walk toward the elevator before any of them can say anything, the doors sliding shut on Enzo’s barely concealed grin and Marco’s expression of deep disapproval.
By the time I reach the parking garage, whatever patience I had left has disappeared. I put on my helmet and when I turn the engine, the Diavel wakes with a violent growl beneath my thighs. Cold air tears across my face when I hit the street, but it does nothing to clear the anger pressing hot beneath my skin.
Davide is waiting beside the SUV when I pull up, and the look he gives me as I remove my helmet confirms that nothing has changed since his last message. I hand him my helmet and walk to the front door. I knock and nobody answers at first, then I knock harder. I hear movement inside before the opens and one of his roommates, Dylan, who I remember from the information Davide gathered, stands there.
His eyes widen when he sees me, then he looks over his shoulder. “Uhhh. Alexxxx.”
I step past him.
“Hey, wait,” he calls after me, but i ignore him.
The apartment is small, cluttered without being dirty, with books stacked beneath the coffee table, mismatched furniture, and several mugs abandoned around the living room. I follow the sound of typing coming from somewhere down the hall.
Alexander is sitting at a desk inside his bedroom, blond hair falling messily over his forehead, one sleeve of his sweater pushed halfway up his forearm while his glasses reflect the light from his laptop. Papers cover most of his desk, several books are open beside him, a bag of half-eaten Cheetos is beside his pen holder, and his fingers are moving quickly over the keyboard.
He turns when he hears my footsteps and his entire body goes still. “Antonio?”
I cross the distance between us before he can get out another word, one arm going around the backs of his thighs, and I lift him straight out of the chair, ignoring the startled shout that follows as I throw him over my shoulder. He twists in my arms, grabbing at my jacket while one of his slippers falls to the floor.
“Put me down,” he shrieks.
His hands slap against my back while his legs kick behind me, but I tighten my arm across them and walk out of the bedroom. His voice follows me through the apartment while I carry him past Dylan, who watches us with his mouth hanging open.
Alexander’s arms tighten around my shoulders automatically when I start down the stairs, despite the fact that he is still muttering obscenities beneath his breath. By the time we reach the sidewalk, his face is red with anger. I set him on the Diavel and Davide helps him into a leather jacket before removing his glasses and placing his helmet on his head.
Alexander glares at me through the visor as I swing my legs over the motorcycle. The ride back is faster than the one before, the motorcycle cutting through the night while Alexander holds onto me tightly. By the time the towers of Manhattan rise ahead of us again, I know exactly how to discipline Alexander.
When we reach the penthouse’s underground parking garage, I kill the engine and get off first and Alexander removes his helmet the moment I unfasten it. Then I lift Alexander again, and he’s still not cooperative as I carry him into the elevator. When the elevator opens into the penthouse, all four men look over. Enzo is the first to notice Alexander hanging over my shoulder, and the corner of his mouth twitches before he raises his whiskey to hide it. Carmine shakes his head slowly. Raffaele looks from Alexander to me and exhales through his nose, while Marco simply watches us pass.
I carry Alexander straight through the living room without breaking stride while he mutters several things against my back that would get most men killed for saying them to me. I take him inside his room and set him in the middle of the bed, keeping one hand on his shoulder when he tries to stand. I reach into the drawer beside the bed and the zip ties there.
The scowl on his face disappears when he sees the zip ties. “Please,” he whispers. “I’m sorry.”
He’s a deceitful little thing. I shrug his jacket off and secure his wrists together in front of him, making sure the plastic bites into his skin, his fingers curling anxiously against one another. When I reach for his ankles, Alexander tries to draw his legs back, but one look from me stops him, and after a brief hesitation he lets me take them.
“Please,” he says again, softer this time.
I fasten his ankles together and check both restraints before straightening. He remains sitting in the middle of the bed with his bound hands resting in his lap, his eyes lowered behind his glasses.
I leave the room and close the door behind me and when I return to the living room, Enzo speaks first.
“I’ve seen you break someone’s hands because they touched you briefly, but you’re comfortable with your tutor clinging to you?” He grins. “That’s one for the books.”
“True,” Carmine adds. “You loathe physical touch.”
They are right, I let Alexander get away with everything, but that changes from today.
“He’s in love,” Marco says. “Leave him alone.”
I glare at him. “I’m not in love,” I say through gritted teeth.
“We believe you,” they chorus.
Chapter
Twelve
