If The Seas Catch Fire(102)

He closed the footlocker and pushed it back into the closet. From the bottom drawer of his dresser, he took out the kit full of poisons. Immediately, his gaze flicked toward the poison he’d just bought from Katashi. It was supposed to work immediately. Little if any pain. Seconds at the most. One spritz in Dom’s face, and it was all over.

He turned the vial between his fingers. He’d had other plans for this stuff, but he had plenty. There was no reason he couldn’t use it on Dom. Put him out quickly and painlessly. Maybe let him go to sleep first. He’d drift off and never wake up. Peaceful. Painless.

Sergei could count on a bullet to get it done, but just in case, he measured out the dose for Dom’s height and weight, and then put the poison into the spray bottle Katashi’s supplier had included. He slipped it into the top drawer of his nightstand.

When all was said and done, he had weapons strewn strategically around the house, something within easy reach no matter where he was.

Outside, a car door slammed. Sergei looked out the window, and took a deep breath. Oblivious to what he was walking into, Dom came up the path to Sergei’s front door. Sergei’s heart was pounding so hard he almost didn’t hear Dom knock, but he was on the way to the door anyway.

At the door, he paused to compose himself. There was no turning back, no pretending this could end any other way.

I am so sorry, Dom.

Heart pounding, he turned the deadbolt, opened the chain, put on an unassuming smile, and opened the door.

One look at Dom, and Sergei’s breath was gone. Just… gone.

God, I’ve missed you.

Sergei moistened his lips. He stepped aside to let Dom come in. Neither of them said a word until after he’d closed the door, and it was Sergei who softly broke the silence: “Didn’t think I was going to see you again.”

Dom grimaced. He pulled Sergei into his arms. “I’m sorry. For disappearing.”

“It’s okay. You’re here now.” Sergei winced. In the back of his mind, he heard himself a lifetime ago, shakily whispering “You’re here” that night when he’d needed Dom, and Dom had come.

Tonight, Dom needed him, and what was Sergei going to do?

I can’t. I don’t want to. I have to.

“I need you to do something for me,” Dom said.

Sergei gulped. “Okay.”

Dom pulled a thick envelope out of his back pocket. “Take this. Get out of Cape Swan. Get out of California.”

“Take—” As soon as the envelope was pressed into his palm, Sergei knew exactly what it was. “Why are you giving me money? What—”

“Things are about to get really bad in this town. There’s a contract on my head, and…” He shook himself. “Listen, this should be enough to get you out of here and on your feet somewhere.”

“But it’s—”

“Please, Sergei.” Dom kissed his forehead. “And I… I won’t be able to see you again after tonight.”

If you only knew how right you were.

“Then let’s—” Sergei’s voice caught. He dropped the cash on the sofa beside them, and managed a hard-won smile as he said, “Let’s make it count.”

Dom kissed him, and Sergei, despite his conscience tearing him to pieces, put his arms around Dom and let himself be kissed.

They stumbled into the bedroom. Keeping his guard up was his default setting when he was on a job, but tearing off clothes was his default with Dom, and stripping down won. Hungrily, breathlessly, they kissed and groped in between pushing off shirts and kicking off trousers. Every time Dom broke away—to take off a sock, to slip off his boxers—Sergei’s body ached and his skin tingled until those warm broad hands were on him again. As they sank onto the bed, with Sergei on his back and Dom right on top of him, he didn’t feel the least bit unsettled beneath Dom’s larger frame. He clawed at him, pulled at him, tried to bring him down even closer to him, no matter what that might do to his ability to breathe.

They rolled one way. Then the other. Sergei was on the bottom again, and—

Shit.

The .45 and its suppressor were right beneath him. Though they were separated from his flesh by the thick mattress, the shape was undeniably there. Every time he or Dom moved, the pistol dug into the base of his spine. He couldn’t get comfortable. Couldn’t concentrate on anything but that annoying lump beneath his back, like he was the star of a f*cked up version of The Princess and the Pea.

The Stripper Hitman and the Piece.

Even that thought couldn’t amuse him. He tried to put himself in that cold, predatory state of mind where nothing existed except the need to finish a job. The drive to put a bullet through a Mafioso’s brain should’ve been enough to banish the need to make love to a man who was scared and stoic at the same time. He hated Mafiosi. He hated the Maisanos. He was supposed to hate Dom. Combing his fingers through Dom’s hair, though, arching beneath his body and losing his mind despite the gun beneath him, he couldn’t hate anything except the way this thing had to end.

Except it didn’t have to end that way now. Not yet. Not until…

Dom pressed his hips against Sergei’s, unknowingly pushing Sergei harder against the weapon.

What am I doing? I’m supposed to kill him.

He should’ve been hiding the body already.