If The Seas Catch Fire(76)

They’d left the hotel room before dawn, after Dom’s doctor friend had come back one last time and decided Sergei had recovered enough to be on his own. Now Sergei was drinking coffee in the silence of his apartment, his head still throbbing and his bones still aching. At least he had his balance back. He could finally walk without face-planting. He’d even driven home without incident.

And now, he couldn’t stop thinking about last night.

It was the first time they’d met up without having sex. Of course Sergei had been in no condition to do anything, but Dom had seemed more concerned than put off. Where other casual lovers would’ve maybe called a doctor before disappearing to find someone a bit less pathetic, Dom had stayed there, hovering beside him and watching his every move.

As Sergei had recovered, they’d talked. No sex. No touching. Just… talking.

And that felt weird. It felt wrong. Fooling around with Dom was one thing. Talking to him, listening to him explain how trapped he was in his own life, was a mistake, particularly when Dom was staying attentively by his bedside, making sure Sergei didn’t get worse. Somehow, that seemed even more dangerous than when they’d lie in bed naked, talking until one of them finally decided it was time to get dressed and leave. Those conversations had become increasingly intimate. But this… somehow this felt riskier.

After all, hadn’t this intimacy nearly earned him a bullet between the eyes? He’d been on Felice Maisano’s boat to kill Dom. They hadn’t told him exactly who he was meant to kill—probably for some plausible deniability for whoever called in the hit—and when he’d realized his target, he’d made a dangerously different call.

And why? Because Dom could f*ck him without making him feel like a sex toy who barely qualified as human?

No. Because they were too close. The sex had given them a reason to be together, and they’d talked, and in the end, they’d softened Sergei out of completing yesterday’s hit.

He scrubbed his hands over his unshaven face. This was getting out of control.

Well, they’d only be sleeping together for so long, especially if Dom would be getting married soon. There was a finite end to this. And once Sergei had moved a few more pieces on the Mafia chessboard, Dom would be too preoccupied with a local war to bother hitting up Sergei for sex.

Which was weirdly disappointing. Sergei liked the sex he had with Dom. Much as he was loathe to admit it, he liked Dom. Which he shouldn’t. But he did. And what the f*ck was—

His phone buzzed, shaking him out of his thoughts. When he picked it up, he had a text from Katashi.

Got what you asked for.

Sergei exhaled. Finally.

They made arrangements to meet, and Sergei headed out, getting on the 103 and following the winding highway toward the mile marker where Katashi said he’d be. The persistent soreness in his knees and shoulders made driving more of a chore than usual, particularly as he maneuvered around the bends and curves, but he pushed through. By now, he felt like he did after spending too much time onstage at the club—achy, annoyed, but not nearly as miserable as he’d been last night. And he just tried not to think about how much it was going to suck to get back on the stage this evening.

Sergei neared the designated mile marker, out where Sergei’s memories smelled like blood and the backseat of his parents’ old station wagon, and slowed down. As always, there was no one around except for Katashi, so he parked behind his supplier’s car and killed the engine. When he stepped out of his car in the shade of some evergreens, the whole world was silent.

Katashi got out and grinned, a metal box in his hand. He put the box on the trunk lid, entered the combination, and popped the latches. “Took some doing, but he got it for you.” He opened the box and pulled a pair of small bottles free. “It’s going to be tough to get more of this, though.”

“That won’t be a problem.” Sergei took one of the bottles and turned it in his hand, watching the fine powder tumble against the inside.

“He said to use these for mixing.” Katashi put a tiny measuring spoon on the trunk lid, and beside it, an empty bottle with a spray attachment. “That’s what you’ll use to deploy it.”

“Did he give me a conversion chart?”

Katashi produce a sealed envelope. “Precise instructions based on the mark’s body weight.”

“Excellent.”

“Be careful with this shit.” Katashi eyed the assembly warily. “Spray it outside, and the wind’s liable to blow it into your face.”

“That won’t be a problem.”

“I’m serious, kid. One whiff of that and—”

“You don’t think I know that?” Sergei turned to him. “I wanted it for a reason. I know what I’m dealing with here.”

Katashi put up his hands. “Easy, man. Just saying. Be careful.”

“Duly noted,” Sergei said through his teeth. He held up the vial, and eyed Katashi. “You’re sure this shit works?”

His supplier nodded vigorously. “This guy’s good, man. If he says it works, it works.”

“And you remember our deal if it doesn’t work?”

Katashi gulped. “Yeah, man. I remember.”

“I f*cking hope so.” He pocketed the bottle and the other paraphernalia and pulled a wad of hundreds out of his wallet. “It’s all there.”