Total pages in book: 33
Estimated words: 30151 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 151(@200wpm)___ 121(@250wpm)___ 101(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 30151 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 151(@200wpm)___ 121(@250wpm)___ 101(@300wpm)
“Once I’ve got Bento out of here and he’s settled at home, we’ll begin questioning,” I told Alfonzo. “So be prepared. I want you in the room with me.”
He scoffed. “As if I’d miss that opportunity. Take care of your man, Niran. I’ll hold down everything here. Rico is trying to coordinate time off for you.”
I sighed, glancing over at Bento, who was still sleeping peacefully, the drugs no doubt keeping him out of it. “Nothing slips by him, does it?”
“Nope,” Alfonzo said, popping the P. And then, he was gone, hanging up on me without another word.
10
Bento
When I came to, my head was pounding, and I felt like I’d been run over by a fucking semi-truck. Every muscle in my body ached, and my shoulder burned something fierce. Slowly, I peeled my eyes open, staring up at the ceiling above me. It was white and speckled with dark spots like the typical hospital ceiling tiles. Or any business, really. And they seemed oddly familiar, like I’d seen them before.
I shifted, groaning in pain and immediately stilling afterward. I looked to the IV drip running to my arm and scowled. “Where the fuck are the drugs?” I rasped. If I had an IV drip going, why the fuck was I still in pain?
“The doctor took you off morphine so he could discharge you once you’d woken up,” Niran drawled from the other side of me. I slowly turned my head, drinking him in, suddenly remembering I had seen those ceiling tiles before. I’d woken up at some point and had seen him. He’d run his fingers through my hair and lulled me back to sleep—
He’d run his fucking fingers through my hair.
What. The. Fuck.
I’d landed in some alternate universe for sure. Not only had Niran come to my rescue with guns fucking blazing, saying things like I was his, that no one got to take me from him, but he’d soothed me. My head spun like a fucking merry-go-round. Because while this was everything I’d ever wanted from the cold-hearted son of a bitch, Niran had always given me the cold shoulder.
What the fuck was even happening?
“You look confused,” the man in question mused, cocking his head to the side the slightest bit. Dark stubble colored his jawline, and he looked like he hadn’t slept a wink in at least a couple of days. His usually pristine, tailored suit was wrinkled. He’d lost his suit jacket at some point, and the top two buttons of his white button-down shirt were undone, revealing the tiniest glimpse of his slightly pale skin and the muscles there.
“I am confused,” I croaked.
He stood and grabbed a Styrofoam cup. After filling it with water from the sink, he stabbed a straw through the lid and held the straw to my lips. I greedily gulped down every drop, my throat parched. Once it made that sucking sound indicating the cup was empty, Niran set the cup aside and leaned over me, bracing a hand on either side of my head. My heart skipped a beat, and my breath stalled in my lungs.
This close, I could smell him—the scent that was uniquely him—and it intoxicated me. Drugged me better than anything the doctor could have given me.
“You want to know what I am?” he asked. I frowned, blinking as I came back to the present. “I’m pissed the fuck off, Bento. Instead of even attempting to save yourself, you taunted the mother fuckers. You were trying to get them to kill you. Khuṇ s̄eīy s̄ti pị læ̂w,” he bit out, surprising me by speaking his native tongue. He never spoke in Thai, not in the ten years I’d known him. “If you’d died, Perez, I was going to bring you back from the dead and slaughter you myself.”
My frown deepened, even while my heart slammed against my chest bone with every hard, quick beat. His words sent the zoo loose in my stomach, and the possessiveness, the obsession lacing his words had my dick perking up beneath the thin blue hospital gown I was wearing.
“Where the hell is this coming from?” I demanded. I winced when I shifted, trying to create some distance between us. And even if I could move, apparently Niran was having none of that. He lifted his left hand latched his fingers around my bruised and cut up jaw, pinning my gaze on his. I winced, but he didn’t loosen his grip, not that I expected him to. He just wasn’t the kind of man to be compassionate about my discomfort.
“I have been trying to keep my distance from you for ten fucking years, Bento. Ten long painful years. I go through enough whiskey to fuel an army just to tolerate your presence without coming out of my fucking skin with my obsession for you. My supplier now sends me a bottle without me even having to reach out. You know how long it’s been since I’ve had to call and ask for a bottle to be sent to me, Bento?” When I remained silent, he spat, “Seven fucking years.”