Fuck.Benito sank to a crouch, his free hand flying to his head as a belated lightbulb illuminated his tired brain.Seriously? No. He had to be wrong. Asa’s torch for Luis Pope had been plain to see foryearsto anyone who’d cared enough to look, and it had been a weak spot Benito had exploited time and time again to keep Asa down.
And Asa knew it. There was no logical reason for him to expose himself again, unless...
This is it. He doesn’t care about business. Only his soft fucking heart.
Benito fell forward to his knees, sinking into the damp earth. Hope and cynicism warred hot and fast in his gut. He couldn’t bear it. “What do you want from me?”
“Can we meet?”
“Why?”
“Because I want my money back. What happens after that is up to you.”
Asa rattled off a time and place—a public place—for them to meet after the weekend. He hung up without waiting for Benito’s reply, leaving Benito to stagger to his feet and continue back to his car.
Benito drove home on autopilot, thoughts whirling so fast he couldn’t keep up. His bones vibrated with a heady mix of elation, fear, and exhaustion. It imprisoned him in his own mind. He craved release. In the past, he might’ve gone to the club, but he could only think of Mickey.
He parked his car outside his flat and dug his legitimate phone from the glove box, the burner left in pieces in a storm drain. His shaking fingers flew over the screen.
Benito:Home. Can’t wait to see you.
A reply pinged back seconds later.
Mickey:conting the fking hrs.