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)
I swore America handed out driver’s licenses like grandparents gave candy to little kids.
“Welcome back to the land of the living,” I told him as I eased the vehicle to a stop inside the massive garage. Switching off the ignition, I looked over at him. “Stay there until I come around to help you out.” I feared if he tried getting out on his own, he’d fall and bust his face open worse than it already was. With his injuries, he could hardly walk as it was. Add in whatever the fuck Rico had him on and Bento was damn near incapable of doing a damn thing on his own.
Bento grunted and reached across him, fumbling with the seatbelt latch. “I can get out on my own,” he muttered, his words heavily slurred. Whatever Rico had given him had obviously been some good shit. Bento was completely out of it. When he sobered up some, he probably wouldn’t even remember how he got home.
I snorted as I watched him fumble with the simple red button that would release him from the seatbelt. “Right.”
Pushing open my door, I slid out, then strode around the front of the SUV to get to the passenger side. Bento had just managed to get the seatbelt off when I opened his door. He looked at me through heavy-lidded eyes, huffing in annoyance. I couldn’t help it. I grinned. He was fucking adorable when he was high and annoyed with me.
“I said I could do it on my own,” he snapped before turning to angle out of the truck. Only when he moved to step out, he miscalculated putting his foot on the step bar and tumbled out into my arms. I quickly caught him, wrapping my arms around him. My chest rumbled with laughter.
“You can do it on your own, huh, kon-dii?” I teased, my lips pressed to his ear.
He groaned and weakly smacked my back, but it was sloppy and more of a rub than a smack. Turning his head, he tucked his face into the side of my neck. “It’s not cool to make fun of the injured, Niran.” Suddenly tipping his head back, he blurted, “What does kon-dii mean?”
“It means ‘good one’,” I informed him as I helped him straighten up to his full height.
“Good one?” He pursed his lips, like he was trying to figure out how he felt about that. I wrapped my arm around his waist and hooked his arm over my shoulder before slowly leading him into the house. “I’m not good though, Niran. Anurak almost got kidnapped because of me. And I’m not a good man.”
Somehow, I knew what had happened would weigh on his conscious. I also knew that if he were sober, he’d never admit it out loud. Bento didn’t like to admit he had weaknesses or that he felt guilt. But I knew Bento was one of the most emotional men I’d ever met in my life, even if he kept most of those emotions under lock and key so others didn’t notice.
“But he didn’t,” I reminded him. “Because you put your life on the line to save his. And it doesn’t matter what you did in your past, Bento. What matters is who you are now. And now, you’re mine. And if I want you to be my good one, that’s who you’ll be.”
Alfonzo, who’d just emerged from the kitchen with a sandwich in one hand and a can of soda in the other, arched a questioning brow at us. “Are we feeling sentimental now or something?” he questioned before taking a bite out of his sandwich that was honestly big enough to make a quarter of the damn thing disappear.
“Fuck you, Alfonzo,” Bento slurred, leaning heavily against me now as his eyelids began to droop. “I hope you choke on your food.”
Alfonzo snickered and headed off toward his office. I tucked Bento closer to me, being careful of the injuries lining his torso, though I knew he likely wouldn’t feel shit anyway if I pressed on them. “Come on, kon-dii. You need to go to bed.”
He huffed but followed me on feet that grew slower and slower with every step. As soon as I got him into my room, I kicked the door shut, then led him over to my bed. He toppled onto it with little fanfare, his limbs askew as he buried his face in my pillow. “This bed smells like you,” he said, his voice muffled.
I began tugging off his shoes. “Because you’re in my bed.” I slid his socks off next, then rolled him to his back so I could get him out of his jeans. I knew he hated sleeping with clothes on, but regardless of him being mine or not, I wouldn’t strip him completely bare without his sober consent. I was a monster, but even I had my limits. “I need to get these jeans off.”