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He has on a pair of tight black leggings that hug his frame, and a white crop top—I’ve noticed he loves those—showing off his flat stomach. He has on a pair of strappy red heels that make his short legs look a mile long, and I wonder what those legs would feel like wrapped around me. The red, flowing, hooded cardigan he has on matches his heels and complements the look. I wish I could see how his ample ass looks in those leggings.
“So, that’s why you have to go to school and do the best you can,” he saying to Adam. “You can be a software developer, too. Well, that’s what I hope to be.” His voice is soft and warm when he’s talking to Adam, a small smile playing across his lips.
Adam swings their arms and tells Abel in an excitable voice, “Then I can work with you! We can work at the same place. That would be fun, right? You would think it’s fun, right?”
Abel lets out a light laugh, a laugh that lights up his face and I feel a pang in my chest that he’s been here for this long and it’s the first time I’ve heard it. “Yes, little man. I would love that. We could throw parties every day.”
“Yeah!” Adam is really excited, and I love that Abel can bring that out of him.
They stop in the foyer and Adam runs over to his mother, wrapping his arms around her middle. “Did you hear, Mom? Abel and I are going to work together. And he wants to work with me, right, Abel? He’s going to teach me how to do the develop thing he does, right, Abel?” He keeps talking, not worried about if Abel answers his questions or not.
Janet gives us a kind smile, then directs Adam to the door—with him still talking about what Abel is going to teach him—waving over her shoulder, saying she’ll see us on Monday. Abel looks after them, the smile still on his lips, showing he really enjoys talking to Adam.
He must feel my eyes on him because Abel turns to look at me. He has eyeliner on that makes his eyes look bigger and the mascara makes him look more youthful than he already does. He has some shimmery shit on his cheeks that makes him look like he’s glowing, and the makeup over his eyes is a soft pink. There is no lipstick on his lips—just gloss. His makeup is light, and he looks amazing. He looks good with no makeup, but he looks radiant right now.
Tilting his head to the side, Abel puts his hands on his hips. “Why are you staring at me?”
I look him up and down, admiring him, but try to keep the scowl on my face, though I’m not sure why. I want to get to know him and talk to him, but I don’t know how to do that. My defense mechanism is to put up a wall because I’ve been burned before. “Why are you dressed like that?” I ask in a hard voice.
His face drops a little, but he covers it quickly. “I’m going to a costume party tonight.”
“And you’re dressed as?”
Rolling his eyes, Abel looks at Quin. “Who am I?”
Quin’s lips tug up a little, then he answers with a smile in his voice, making me feel embarrassed and a little irritated that I didn’t know. “Little Red Riding Hood.”
Abel smiles at him and pokes him in the chest. “You get a gold star, mister.”
The laugh Quin barks out sounds like it’s as unexpected to him as it is to me. I’ve never heard him laugh like that. Looks like Abel is getting under his skin, too.
“You’re not going anywhere,” I bark.
Abel freezes, then turns to me slowly. “I don’t remember asking you if I could go. Iamgoing.” He tries to stomp off, but I grab his arm. He attempts to shake me off, but I grab on tighter. “Let me go,” he grumbles through clenched teeth, without an ounce of fear in his tone or eyes. Guess Quin was right about him not being afraid of me. I wonder if it’s because he might actually enjoy me a little, has a great poker face, or if he has a death wish. I really hope it’s the first option.
“No. It’s not safe to go out at night. You will stay here.”
“Or. What?”
I let him go and take a step back. “If you leave this house, you will find out.” I nod to Quin, and we walk out the door. I hear an ‘ugh’ from behind me and turn around in time to watch Abel stomp up the stairs. Not sure how he managed that with those heels on.
Maybe I should have told him why it’s not safe. I mean, no one knows Abel. And no one knows he’s here with me, so it should be fine if I send Michael with him. Right? But what if my enemiesdoknow about him and try to hurt him? Even if we don’t speak like two adults should, I don’t want anything to happen to him. It would fuck me up. Namely because people are afterme, not him and because, despite how I speak to him, I enjoy him. And not just his mouth on my dick. The back and forth we have going on is … fun. Entertaining. Not something I have a lot of these days. Or ever, for that matter.
We walk down the stairs to the car parked in front of the house, Quin sliding in the front while I fold myself into the back. It’s inconvenient to have a car when we’re both over six feet tall, but we both had an unpleasant experience in SUVs. And this car is bulletproof and has a few other tricks that were easier to add on to a mid-sized car. Cost a fucking fortune.
I see Quin glancing at me in the rearview mirror, and I know he’s about to give me a lecture. “Yes, my conscience?” I ask dryly.
That makes him chuckle. “You could have told him what’s going on.”
“No. He doesn’t need to worry. Michael is on him. I don’t want him to think he’s in any danger.”
“He might be. Michael has been with you for years. If anyone knows who he is, they’ll see Abel with him. Why not let him know what he’s up against?”
Sighing and rubbing my eyes, I tell Quin in a tight voice, “Just drop it. I’ll tell him if I have to, but not right now.”
I really should tell him. I’m a Benavelli, so it’s safe to assume Abel knows I’m not always in legal dealings. My enemies haven’t been a threat lately, so maybe I can hold off on telling Abel what he might be involved in because he’s with me.
The Russians have been quiet for about a year now. My intel tells me they’re making money hand over fist with their own gun running and drug dealings, so they can see there’s enough territory for both of us. I have regular customers, the ones that have been working with Benavellis for generations. Most of the newer guys wanting to get mass product go to the Russians because they’re more accessible.
