Chapter 8

I got up a while later to use the bathroom and turn off the lights. Petter went to the bathroom, too. Despite our conversation, I almost expected him to put his clothes on and leave, but he slid under the covers beside me and stretched out on his back. I turned to face him and slid my arm under his neck. A slight smile pulled his lips up at the corners.

"Who'd have thought Davor Mimica would be a cuddler?"

"I'm not."

"I beg to differ." His grin stretched wider.

"I don't hear you complaining."

"It's easy to forget who we are right now." His smile slipped.

"Yes, I know."

"I didn't expect any of this. Where do we go from here?"

"I didn't plan it. Well, the first time maybe. I had the hots for you and I kept playing out these fantasy scenarios in my head until it just about drove me crazy."

I hadn't meant to admit to that. Petter laughed. "I knew you'd been fantasising about me. You know, you could have asked me to have sex with you, instead of kidnapping me."

"Would you have?"

"Probably not, no. I can't say I haven't thought about it once or twice in the past, though."

I propped myself up a little and rested my hand on his chest. I didn't like laying my cards out, but it would be too easy for him to walk away, and as much as it would make sense for me to do the same, I didn't want to. "I want more of this, if you do."

"I almost didn't come looking for you tonight." He paused. "I thought I'd be asking for trouble. I spent the last few days trying to talk myself out of it."

"And how did that go for you?"

He barked out a laugh. "Not well. Obviously. So, yeah. I want more of this."

"Good. We're on the same page."

"I just don't see it going anywhere. We can't change the way we do things. It'll arouse suspicion."

"We still need to talk business. At least we'll have an excuse to see each other for that."

"I guess. Do your family know about you? That you're gay."

"No. My parents made no secret of the fact they hated gays when I was a kid. My father died in Croatia, in the war. There's only my mother now—Dubravka. She never changes her mind about anything once she's made it up. She would never accept me. The only person who knows is Christian. He got me out of that situation I got into."

"He works for you?"

"Yes, in the restaurant, and other stuff. He drives me around sometimes. Markus turned up at the restaurant one day."

"Markus?" Petter glanced at me. "He was your boyfriend? The one who spiked your drink, right?"

"Yeah. He was out and proud, and he didn't understand me hiding myself. So, he was sitting there looking at the menu and I almost shit myself. I told Christian to get him out of there and take him home."

"Fucker," Petter growled suddenly. "He could have outed you to your entire family and staff."

"I know. He understood my position better after that day. And luckily for me, Christian remembered his address from dropping him off. Then when I disappeared three months ago, and the Family were going crazy thinking something had happened to me, the first thing he did was go to see Markus. He told Christian what he knew about the leader of that gang and where he thought they operated from. Christian got me out. Shot the leader, too, he said."

"Sounds like a good guy."

"Yeah." Christian didn't know I knew his secret and that wasn't something I intended to tell Petter, or anyone else, until I had to. For the moment, I just watched Christian and let him find out only what I wanted him to know.

"My parents were the same in their views," Petter said.

"Did they know about you?"

"Yes. I made the mistake of coming out to them when I was sixteen. My father beat me half to death, then threw me out in the street with nothing but the clothes I was wearing."

"Oh, shit." I pressed closer against him. "That's terrible. I'm sorry. You said 'were.' Aren't they around anymore?"

"No. I'm originally from Gothenburg. I hitched a ride here and found a job. When I was eighteen, I got in with another kid who'd just joined the Mobsters and he vouched for me as a prospect. A year later I married Monica, and took her back home to meet my parents. I thought it might settle things. I found out they'd both been killed the year before in a train wreck."

"Did you only marry her for appearances?"

"Not only that. I did it for me. For peace of mind. Wherever I lived, or worked, I never found acceptance, so I hid who I am. I mean, can you imagine what the Mobsters would have done to me if they knew? I wouldn't be their fucking president, that's for sure." He chuckled.

"We have that in common, then." I nuzzled his ear. "You ever wish things were different?"

"You mean, me not be who I am? Sure, I had doubts about it. I didn't know if I even wanted to be president. The others wanted me to be, and practically forced me into it when I couldn't make my mind up." He rolled away from me and indicated the back of his shoulder, where the Mobsters president tattoo was. He turned back again. "Some of them pinned me down and inked that on me. I had no choice then."

"If you didn't want to step into that role, why did you kill Ulrik?"

Petter stiffened. "It was in the heat of the moment. He can be so stubborn. He didn't want a deal with you. He was hell bent on us going it alone, but we're not strong enough. I know that. You know that. We'll get pushed out if we don't get those fucking Delincuentas out of the picture. I was mad as hell, and I didn't even think about what I was doing. Then it was too late."

"We'll talk about it soon, okay? The business. Tomorrow maybe. Finalise things."

"Yeah. That'd be good."

"I sometimes wish I could walk away from the Family." I changed the subject again. "Live my own life the way I want."

"You could. You have enough money, I'm sure. You could walk out the door and never go back. Set up your own restaurant somewhere. Another city. Another country, even."

"Don't give me ideas." I grinned wistfully. "Maybe one day."

We stopped talking then and lay together in silence. Eventually, I drifted into sleep and when I opened my eyes, it was daylight. Petter was still with me, his back to my chest, my arm around him and his hand gripping my wrist. I turned my face into his neck and breathed in the scent of him. He felt so good, and I didn't want the moment to end. I was hard and I needed to piss, but I stayed still until his breathing changed and he moved a little.

"You awake?" I murmured.

"Yes."

"Give me a minute." I pulled away from him and went to the bathroom. When I returned, he was sitting on the edge of the bed. He got up without looking at me, and took his turn in the bathroom. I got back into the bed and waited for him.

Petter came back into the room and immediately looked around for his clothes. He avoided my eyes, and I knew he was about to bolt. I sat up and watched him, forcing myself to keep my mouth shut and wait for him to speak. He didn't say a word as he put on his underwear and tee shirt. He had his back to me, and I watched every move he made, studying his body language. His hands shook a little. He was tense and nervous, anxious to get away, but at the same time reluctant. He kept pausing, huffing out impatient breaths as if he were arguing with himself. He picked up his leather trousers, but then stood still. His shoulders slumped and he dropped the garment back on the floor and turned around.

Three strides and he reached the bed, kneeled on the mattress, and gripped my shoulders. Then his mouth covered mine. I closed my eyes and slid my arms around him. When we parted to breathe, he groaned and rested his forehead against mine.

"I need to go," he said huskily.

"Then go." I ran my hands over his back. Blunt nails dug into my shoulders, and he didn't move away. "Petter?"

"Can't. Fuck it." He let go of me, peeled off his tee shirt, and threw it across the room.