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Yeah, Angelo Toscano would kick Marco's ass if he traded a source of money for a fuck…
Even if it might be worth it.
"I'm not the one that got you into this mess," Marco said, looking away. He shifted gears as they sped down the highway. "I'm just cleaning up your daddy's mess. Don't blame the messenger. For now, just sit back and enjoy the ride."
As the cityscape faded into darkness, Marco couldn't help but steal another glance at Joey. He knew he shouldn't be attracted to him—after all, this kid was just a gear in the Family's machine. But there was something about him that drew Marco in.
He'd just found out that his father had used him as a gambling chip. He'd just been torn from the life he knew and told that he was to pay off a debt that he hadn't even heard of.
And yet, Joey wasn't acting like anyone else that Marco had dealt with. He wasn't begging, or crying, or pleading for mercy.
Instead, that pretty mouth was set in an unreadable line, those green eyes giving nothing away.
Interesting. Marco drummed his fingers on the wheel.
In not too long, they pulled up to a nondescript club in a shady part of town. Marco turned off the engine and turned to face Joey, an arrogant smirk playing on his lips. "Welcome to your new home," Marco announced.
Chapter three
Joey
Joey'sjawtightenedashe stared out the window, trying to ignore the unsettling feeling in his stomach. The club they'd pulled up loomed ominously over them, and he knew that whatever awaited him inside couldn't be good.
Swallowing hard, he forced himself to focus on the problem at hand: paying off his father's debt.
When Marco had told Joey that he was going to pay it off, his first thought had beenwith his body. It wasn't like the Mafia needed baristas, after all.
When Marco had turned him down, it had almost stung. If that was what Joey had to do to pay off the debt… he'd find a way to get through it.
Even if Marco was a scummy, cocky asshole.
And now Joey still didn't know what he was supposed to be doing, and they were at a strip joint. He climbed out of the car, and stared at the building.
It wasn't like Joey was an expert on strip clubs, but from the sticky thump of the bass that was leaking out from the club, and the sign in the window advertising private dances, it didn't exactly take Sherlock Holmes to put two and two together here.
In a giddy burst of adrenaline, Joey had to fight the urge to giggle. "A strip club? You're not going to get your money's worth sending me here. No-one's going to pay for a dance from a skinny nerd with two left feet. Just thinking about stripper heels is making my ankles hurt. Unless the clients here really need a good latte?"
Marco crossed his arms over his chest. The motion made Joey stare: they were big arms, and it was a big chest. Marco cocked his head at Joey's rambling, clearly waiting for him to stop. "In," was all he said, and then he opened the door.
Joey's heart sank. "Look," he began, turning away from the door and back to Marco. "There has to be a normal way to settle my dad's debt. What if… what if I get another job? Or sell some of our stuff? There must be other ways I can pay it off."
Marco chuckled darkly. The sound sent a shiver down Joey's spine. "You think it's that simple, huh?" He shook his head, a wry smirk never leaving his face. "Your old man owes us more money than you could ever dream of making, kid—and the interest only gets higher every day. Pawning shit isn't going to make a dent."
"Then I can work for you," Joey insisted, clenching his hands into fists again. "Somewhere else. Not here. Crime stuff. Whatever it is you do, I'll do it."
The amusement left Marco's voice. He grabbed Joey's arm, holding him—tight, but not painful. "Kid," he said, "you don't even know what you're asking. Trust me when I say that's not something a boy like you wants to get involved in."
"Butthisis?!" Joey demanded, desperation creeping into his voice.
His mind raced. He had to get out of this, but how…?
In the car, Joey had caught Marco eyeing him. But somehow, it was nothing like the way that Tom eyed him, sleazy and desperate.
When Marco's gray eyes ran Joey up and down, there was power in his gaze. Joey had fought the urge to shiver.
Marco was still holding his arm, both of them barely a handspan apart. Joey could feel the heat of Marco's body, smell his cologne and the underlying scent of him.
As the weight of his situation settled upon him, Joey's desperation reached its peak. He looked up at Marco, his eyes pleading and vulnerable. He swallowed. "What if... what if I can offer you something else?"
