Don't Read in the Closet: Volume Four (90 page)

I don’t believe in fear I believe in the power of love.

Fear has the power to stop me, to control me and lead me to

failure.

Love has the power to guide me over the most difficult of

mountains with a smile on my face and a rush of warmth in my heart.

I’m a writer at heart, I love to tell stories and though most of what

comes out of my imagination can appear a little off the beaten path,

that’s because it is.

I am bringing something different to the table with my stories and

I hope you enjoy them.

Michele L. Montgomery

www.michelelmontgomery.com

http://www.facebook.com/michelelmontgome…

http://top2bottomreviews.wordpress.com/

Don’t Read in the Closet – volume four 544

Zahra Owens – TRUST (Organized Crime)

Genre:
contemporary

Tags:
suits, tattoos, organized crime, casual

Dear Author,

threesome

I’m really a cop who’s

Warnings:
mention of organized crime and

infiltrated a notorious gang.

drug dealing, prostitution, sex with strangers,

This evil mob boss thinks he

some consensual power play

owns me. I’ve been under

cover for so long I’ve

Words:
15,499

forgotten who I really am.

There’s a new guy in the

TRUST

gang who’s always

by Zahra Owens

watching me but for some

reason I think I can trust

I look in the dirty mirror as I wipe my hand

him. Maybe we can bring

through my hair. Everything around me is

down this gang together and

get out with our lives and a

grubby and my reflection is smudged and only

HEA?

visible through a layer of grime. The baths are

[PHOTO: A dark-haired

never the most hygienic place, but the uptown

lightly-bearded man in

ones at least have showers and clean towels. I

business clothes gazes

don’t have the luxury to go there. The chance of

forward confidently, almost

discovery is greater where there’s more light

ignoring intense attention of

the man standing close

and people actually look at you. Here contact is

manhandling him. His dark

purposely limited, so I know I’m fairly safe

eyes shine and a smile

from discovery. There’s little speaking and no

curves his lips, despite the

niceties. It’s all very basic.

ringed and tattooed hands

that grip his neck and turn

I’d come to get fucked so I’d found an

his face. The other man

empty room and lay on the table. It hadn’t taken

frowns, mouth cold and

cruel. From the shadows, a

long for a guy to come in and do his business.

third man watches.]

After he left I’d gotten up and did a cursory

Thanks!

cleanup at the wash basin, wiping my hands on

Love,

a paper towel before getting dressed.

Mandy

I was lucky this time. My top used one of

the condoms I’d laid out like an unspoken

question. He was considerate, yet forceful

enough to get me off. He’d been just what I

needed. Simple physical pleasure. Oblivion.

Don’t Read in the Closet – volume four 545

Twenty minutes to forget how my boss chewed me a new one because

my minion made a mistake. Twenty minutes to forget why I was

doing all the things I would never have done six years ago.

Just before I put on my shirt, I wipe my hand over the Medusa

tattoo on my upper arm and remember the ‘Semper Fi’ that used to be

underneath it. That life is such a distant memory now it might as well

never have happened.

My car will arrive shortly and then life will resume as normal. Or

as close to normal as it can be for a closet case like me.

It’s a two block walk to where I told the driver to pick me up.

Even Family drivers can’t be trusted to pick me up outside the baths,

no matter how much the outside looks like a derelict building. I’m

early so I take my time, although this is not the neighborhood to walk

around in a fancy suit. I try to look like I belong, like I’m supposed to

be there, but I’m hyperaware of my surroundings and any sounds out

of the ordinary. So I’m not taken by surprise when a car stops next to

me and the door opens.

“Get in, Gianetti,” an unfamiliar voice says.

I stop and cautiously look at the nondescript black car with the

tinted windows. Instead of the window rolling down, the back door

nearest to me opens. The hand that holds the door open is a hand I’d

recognize across a crowded room. Elaborate and colorfully tattooed

swirls and letters along with oversized silver rings adorn the fingers.

As his head sticks out of the back door, I see similar ink along his

neck and recognize the face I’d seen the day before at a Family

meeting. At the time he was hovering around Giancarlo Benedetti, our

second-in-command and younger brother to the big cheese, and I

remember thinking he definitely stood out, not just by his tattoos, but

by his flamboyant comportment. Last night I’d been attracted to his

self-confidence, the ease with which he moved among people who

were familiar to me but must have been strangers to him because it

was the first time I’d laid eyes on him, and although I’m not a part of

Don’t Read in the Closet – volume four 546

Giancarlo’s inner circle, I certainly spend enough time among his

entourage to know who belongs and who is new to the troop.

“Are you going to grow roots, or are you coming with me?” He

must read my doubtful face pretty well since he continues, “Your

driver isn’t coming and I sent Carmine to do the drop. Giancarlo

asked me to spend some time with you. Get to know you.”

“Carmine won’t be able to shake down the dealers. He’ll come up

short,” I say in an attempt to make it clear that I don’t appreciate him

telling me what to do or sending my men out to do work they never do

on their own. I leave out the fact that Freddy, who is allowed to call

himself my boss but who’s small fry in the Family himself, won’t

hesitate to make life very hard for me if Carmine screws up again. I

also try to hide how worried I am about my minion. He’s young and

brash and thinks he can handle the drug dealers, but he’s all bravado,

and I’ve kept him from getting killed more times than I care to

remember. Still, I can’t show this big shot how anxious I am, because

in the greater scheme of things, Carmine is expendable. And only

mildly less, so am I.

The occupant of the car smiles at me. “I’ll make sure he doesn’t

get into trouble. I know he’s your pup.”

Although this doesn’t soothe me, I feign disinterest by gazing out

over the deserted street while I weigh my chances. I can either walk

and risk being robbed before I find a cab, or get into the car with

Mister Tattoo and hope he wasn’t ordered to get rid of me. It’s not

like I haven’t taken my chances these past six years working for the

Family. There’s nothing to suggest the man inside has bad intentions,

so I get into the car. He scoots over to the far side to give me space.

“You’re a cautious man, and that’s a good thing,” he says after I

close the door. He turns to his driver. “Marty, take us to the

warehouse. And close the partition.”

I think it’s pretty fancy to have a partition in a car that isn’t a limo,

but I ignore it as he looks at me and doesn’t say anything until he’s

sure the driver can’t hear us. I try not to let his scrutiny worry me and

Don’t Read in the Closet – volume four 547

resume my air of disinterest by looking through the tinted windows at

the deserted streets outside. It’s not easy, though. Although I’m not a

big tattoo fan, he’s the physical type that makes my blood rush south.

Even sitting down, I can tell he’s taller than me and the way he’s

sitting – straight back and his head slightly elevated – gives him a

certain arrogance, as if he’s untouchable. Inwardly I kick myself for

my inability to resist the challenge, but being a closeted gay man with

only occasional chances to get some release makes me weak when an

opportunity presents itself. He also sends out the right vibes,

especially because straight men don’t look at other men that way

unless they’re trying to stare a guy down, and that only works if the

other man doesn’t look away.

From the corner of my eye I see him shift in his seat. My

imagination runs with it and I wonder if he needs to adjust himself,

but then he inhales deliberately and I’m brought back to the present.

“I wanted a word with you, Matteo.”

“It’s Matt,” I reply. “Nobody but my old world grandmother calls

me Matteo.” He doesn’t respond so I turn toward him, using my

smuggest face. “And what do I call you?”

“Nick Castro,” he answers. “But
my
old world grandmother calls

me Nicola.”

I swear he’s flirting with me, so I give him a half-smile. I don’t

want to dismiss him because he’s got the right connections and the

closer I can get to the powers that be the better, but I don’t want to

encourage him either. Keeping people at arm’s length has proven

valuable in these last six years, not least because if they ever found

out what I did in the baths, I’d be given the equivalent of the

Inquisition and my carefully acquired position in the Family would be

more than a little compromised.

“Does your grandmother know what you do in that part of town,

Matt?” Nick asks me casually.

Don’t Read in the Closet – volume four 548

I’m used to staying on my toes, knowing there are always people

yanking my chain for all sorts of reasons, so although there are

warning bells going off in my head, I try to appear calm, as if I have

nothing whatsoever to hide.

“She knows I work for the Family,” I say, purposely staying

vague.

“Only you weren’t working. You were there on your own time.”

I want to swallow, fidget, bite my lip, but I resist all of those

behaviors, knowing I’d give away how uneasy his casual questioning

is making me. So I scratch my goatee, raise an eyebrow, and look at

him sideways. “I didn’t realize I was on the clock.” He doesn’t take

the bait. “You know what it’s like, Nicky,” I say with mock bravado.

“My ass belongs to Daddy and I do what he says. If he tells me to

jump, all I ask is ‘How high?’ So I’m always working, even when I’m

not.”

Nick smiles at my clichéd words, but he seems to mellow a bit.

We’re not at a point where we’ve started to trust each other yet, but at

least he’s taken the knife off the table.

“Giancarlo asked me to pick you up,” he admits. “He wants to talk

to you, so he had me ask your driver where you were. That’s how I

found you. Wandering around the streets. Was your driver late? When

I talked to him, he wasn’t in any hurry to come pick you up.”

“No, I was early. And I like going for a walk. Get some fresh air.”

So the second-in-command wants to talk to me? I wonder what I did