“Expecting trouble?”
“No. But you know Asa, man. He’s shady as fuck.”
“He’s dumb as fuck. If he wasn’t, you’d be dead already.” Benito hung up, knowing his mole needed the money too much to back out anytime soon.
He dropped the phone on the carpet and flopped onto his bed, tired gaze fixed on the ceiling. If he had any hope of pulling off a raid at an unknown location against who the hell knew how many men, he needed more sleep, but his brain was a buzz of maps and worst-case scenarios. He needed a motor. And a weapon. He’d already dumped the pipe he’d used last time.
Leave it alone.
Benito pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, hard enough to make his skull throb.No.He couldn’t. As risky as the low-yield raid was, he needed every penny, and soon. Asa hadn’t set a limit on his freedom bounty, but Benito knew the game well enough to know it was finite. Or at least a matter of time before the price went up.
I hate that motherfucker.
He didn’t, though.“Remember, Martell, I could’ve left you at the side of the road. Or with a bullet in you, like you did Dante.”
Benito leaned against the wall of the darkened underpass, blood seeping from the slash wound in his ribs. “I didn’t shoot him.”
“You did, though, didn’t you? You went around him and made deals with the Albanians to fuck him over. How long before you do the same to me?”
It wouldn’t have been long. Asa had moved first. It was the only reason it was Benito on his knees instead of him.
It’s the game, man.And if Benito wasn’t gonna play, he had topay.
Eventually, he fell asleep again, sprawled out sideways across the bed, legs hanging off the edge. Sometime later, he woke to a muscle spasm in his back and his phone buzzing under the pillow.
He moved stiffly to retrieve it and answered without opening his eyes or looking at the screen, swallowing a groan. “Yeah?”
“Morning.”
Benito’s eyes flew open, and another unintelligible sound escaped him.
Mickey laughed dryly. “Are you awake? I need to talk to you about your mum’s repayment plan.”
“I—uh. Fuck.” Benito sat up, stretching out the kinks in his spine. “I’m awake.”
“We can do this later if you don’t have time right now.”
“I have time.” Another spasm of pain rocked Benito. He cringed. “Motherfucker.”
“Are you okay?” The concern in Mickey’s rough, northern brogue was hard to miss.
And hard to take. Benito didn’t want his concern. He wanted his kiss, his touch, all the shit he couldn’t have. Mickey had made that clear yesterday. And Benito had accepted it.
Just.
Maybe.
Or perhaps he’d just smoked three joints before he’d gone to sleep last night and briefly forgotten how much it had hurt to walk away from Mickey.
It still hurt. Benito rubbed his chest, coughing. “I’m fine. I just woke up. Sorry.”
“Don’t apologise, mate. Just be okay.”
“Why?”
Mickey sighed. “Because you deserve to be. Isn’t that enough?”
No. “Why are you even on the phone to me right now?”