Guns n' Boys: Homicidal Instinct (Book 2) (gay dark mafia erotic romance) (3 page)

“You did. That’s why we
need to keep things quiet. Get rid of Neil and his stupid husband.”

“Are those people not
gonna rat us out?” Domenico exhaled, watching the door. His body was all tense,
hard to say whether from the pain or worry.

“They won’t,” he said,
though he had no idea if he’d be able to keep it all under wraps. “I’ll take
care of it. You just rest. I’ll make Jamie some steaks, and he’ll shut his
face.”

Domenico slouched with a
sigh. “Do we have the money here?”

That actually made Seth
smile, and he pulled the suitcase from under the bed. He opened it to show Dom
the bills. “This is the cash, and you told me you have all sorts of bank
accounts in other countries.”

Domenico slowly narrowed
his eyes. “That makes sense.”

“Does it?” Seth nudged
Dom’s knee with his knuckles.

Domenico smiled and
glanced at him with a strange shyness. Throughout the time Seth had known Dom
he had never behaved anything like this. “It’s not safe to have it all on you.”

A strange spark of
familiarity bounced off Seth’s skin. He put the suitcase back and got up. The
last thing he needed was to freak Dom out. “Good point. Why don’t you relax,
spend some time in bed, and I’ll go make food, huh? I’ll be in the kitchen if
you need me, but I’ll keep an eye on Neil and Jamie. I know Peter and Zach will
be fine, but those two…” Seth sighed. “I mean, Jamie told me deep dish pizza
was the ‘real’ pizza. The guy’s dead to me.”

Domenico chuckled.
“You’re kidding. That savory pie? It’s nothing like proper pizza. What’s next?
Will they call mac & cheese pasta?”

Seth couldn’t help a
smile and gently nudged Dom’s shoulder before walking off. “You always get me.”

The moment he closed the
door to the bedroom, the happy mask dropped. He was all alone with the mess,
and he couldn’t depend on Dom for anything. What if Santo was working out where
they were right now? What if Dom got an infection? What if Seth just wasn’t good
enough? What if he couldn’t keep Dom safe?

At least those questions
kept him from pondering the massive elephant in his head - if Dom couldn’t
remember him, he couldn’t love him either.

Chapter 3

Domenico stared at the
watercolor portrait of the dog he’d seen in the living room. The bedroom was
simple and relatively small, without much space left to walk around the king-size
bed. The furniture was white, the walls - chocolate brown, and it felt boring.
Dead. Much like Domenico’s memory. He kept trying to overcome the sense of déjà
vu that seemed to cloud his mind like thick fog.

But the things he’d
heard didn’t make sense. What proof did he have that Seth really was his
relation? He was in a private apartment, and the one thing he and Seth had in
common was their accent. Sicilian. That was the one thing Domenico knew about
himself. Everything about that language felt homely, beautiful.

And as much as he wanted
to trust someone, Seth might as well be after the money Domenico had apparently
stored in some fishy accounts. There was nothing he could trust, but for his
own safety Domenico needed to stay under the radar, be watchful.

Once again his gaze
trailed down to his naked chest, and he couldn’t help but doubt the accountant
story. Firstly, he knew no shit about accounting. True, this could be because
of the amnesia, but he did know he was fluent in several languages, just as he
knew that potassium was a chemical element, and that Earth revolved around the
Sun. And then, when he looked at the map of scars on his body, he couldn’t
believe they were the result of accounting jobs, even if he worked for
dangerous people. And he hadn’t been in an accident either because some of
those scars clearly came from bullets and fights. Yet another type of knowledge
he didn’t know where he had from.

He didn’t know why
everything hurt. He didn’t even know what his face looked like without all
those bandages.

Just when he considered
going to the bathroom to check, Seth burst into the room, swearing.

“For fuck’s sake. Jamie
just won’t shut up. He’s been telling me that on some TV show, a cook was
saying that Italians are now inspired by the American pizzas and putting them
on their menus. What a joke.” Seth hissed and took off his T-shirt in one swift
move. Seth sure had to love his pizza if he was so vigilant about it.

But that information
drowned in the sudden buzz in Dom’s mind when the smooth, tan flesh appeared
right before his eyes. Now he also knew he was gay. His body was ready to sing
serenades to that big chest with thick pecs, and just the right amount of dark
pelt on the stomach. If only it weren’t his brother he was looking at. Fuck.

Unaware of Dom’s
distress, Seth pulled on a new T-shirt. Tight, white, and fitting him in all
the right places.

“Dom? Did you hear me?”
Seth snapped his fingers in front of Dom’s face and proceeded to unbutton his
jeans.

Dom wasn’t ready for the
influx of sensations when he realized Seth wasn’t wearing any briefs. He gave a
shaky exhale to compose himself, but his body didn’t lie. That ass in front of
him - it was perfect. Round globes with dimples at the sides, and powerful
thighs. He chose not to ask Seth why he was bare underneath the jeans, and only
then it occurred to him that their parents were very unlucky to have two gay sons.
Or maybe there were more of them to carry on the family DNA?

 “Do we have more
siblings?”

Seth hesitated but
glanced at Dom over his shoulder. “One more brother, but he’s a lost cause.”

Domenico frowned. “What
do you mean? Is he an addict?”

“No, he wants us dead,”
Seth muttered, and pulled on a pair of briefs, which made his ass look no less
interesting.

“What?” Domenico pulled
on Seth’s wrist. “Why? What else is there?”

Seth frowned, and tried
to pull away, but Dom held him with more strength than he’d expected from
himself.

“He’s the one who put us
in this position.”

Domenico’s heart skipped
a beat, thick bile gathering in his throat. “You told me I was the one to put
us in this mess.”

“Dom, it’s complicated,”
Seth muttered, avoiding his gaze. “I’ve got this. You need to relax and get
better.”

“No. I want to know it
all,” he said, pulling Seth even closer. He wanted to push it all out of him,
and Seth seemed receptive to pressure.

“It’s no one’s fault and
everybody’s fault, okay? We’ve got their money, but staying would have meant a
death sentence anyway.” Despite Seth’s bulky form, he didn’t pull away with
much force.

“Whose money? Our
brother’s? How the fuck does that work?” hissed Domenico. “I don’t even know if
I can believe you. There are so many holes in everything you say,” he muttered
and dropped Seth’s hand.

Seth backed away to pick
up his jeans. “Well, I’m sorry, but you’re stuck with me. And it works like
this: our brother got our father killed to get his position, and wanted me dead
because I was supposed to get it.”

With every word Seth was
getting more agitated, yet seeing him dress kept distracting Dom in a strangely
familiar way. Had they lived together before? Two gay brothers? Maybe they’d
shared an apartment.

“I didn’t want to stress
you out. You’ve been shot, and you need to rest, but if you need to know we’re
not exactly on the legal side of life.”

This scenario sounded
all too familiar to Domenico’s liking. “Are we in the mafia?” Slowly, he
touched the bullet scars on his chest. “My body. It doesn’t look like an
accountant’s,” he said, drilling Seth with his gaze. He was uneasy not knowing
who was really after him.

Seth sat down at the
girly white dressing table by the window with a soft sigh. He looked like a
bear in a ballerina’s chair. “Okay, so you’re not an accountant,” he muttered
and ran his fingers through his hair. “And we’re not in the mafia
anymore
,”
he added grimly.

Domenico sat back on the
bed and rested on the pile of fluffy pink pillows. He felt so out of place, and
yet his mind was sharp as a razor. It didn’t smell of a woman here. “What am I
then? A henchman?”

Seth looked up at him,
slouching on the tiny makeshift chair. “You’re better than that.”

The admiration in Seth’s
eyes was so blatant it had Dom instantly pay more attention. He exhaled and
slowly, very slowly slid off the bed. His injured leg was tender, but his wiry
body would not be stopped by this minor inconvenience. He took a step toward
Seth, ready to eat up everything that was being said. “Go on.”

Seth swallowed and
straightened up. “You’re just like… so capable. I don’t want you to feel
pressure about doing things now. But you’ll be able to. I’m sure it’ll come
back to you. You… you get shit done.”

Domenico’s chest filled
with warmth, and it was as if each and every syllable that fell from Seth’s
mouth was pumping the gas that made him straighten and grow, ready to fill the
whole room with his presence. So that was what he could not pinpoint. Getting
shit done was in his nature, apparently. “Yes.”

Seth slowly smiled at
him and got up. “You speak six languages. Your favorite gun is a Beretta.
This,” Seth pointed to a scar on Dom’s rib, “you got on a job in Bolivia.”

A brief image passed
through Dom’s mind. No, a feeling, the sense of steel in his grip, the scent of
gunpowder. The weight of the gun. “Where is it? My Beretta.”

 “It’s in your coat.”
Seth said and kneeled on the floor to reach under the bed. He pulled out an
elegant looking coat and threw it to the bed, but then ducked again. “I know
what else,” he said excitedly.

Domenico liked watching
him. That smile was enough to put him at ease. So honest and open. Seth wasn’t
lying. They were close. “What?”

“You must be confused
about how you look now.” Seth got up, and handed Dom a passport. “Go on, check
it out.”

Domenico was quick to
open the document, and looked himself in the eye. Yes, this
was
him.
Each new scrap of information fueled the fire in his chest. If only his leg
didn’t hurt so bad they could leave tonight. “I could have been a model,” he
said, pleased with how the picture turned out.

Seth laughed, his face
losing that shadow of worry for once. “You could, I suppose. We used to joke
about that.”

“Did we? I must be
popular with the boys.” Domenico smiled and traced the unfamiliar name next to
his face with his fingertip. “Fake?”

Seth’s lips parted in
silence for so long it made Dom wonder if he was out to his brother, but if
Seth way gay as well, then there shouldn’t be a reason for him not to be.
“Yeah, fakes, I picked them up today. And I guess you
are
popular.”

Domenico frowned. “Do we
do threesomes? With like, another guy sandwiched?” he asked, wondering that
maybe this could be the source of his weird preoccupation with his brother’s
ass.

“We’ve had one,” Seth
muttered, and Dom found himself enjoying a flush crawl up Seth’s neck. Maybe
he
was the more outgoing one? It seemed like it. A hot body didn’t automatically
make one a social butterfly. At least Dom knew where his lusty fascination came
from. He supposed it would pass once it all cleared up in his head.

“Okay. Can you get me
some scissors?” he asked, turning to the small mirror standing on the dressing
table. What happened to his face anyway?

“What for?” Seth eyed
him as if Dom were a madman who couldn’t be trusted with a pair of scissors.

“The bandages.”

“Peter said you
shouldn’t take them off yet. Let it all fix itself under there,” Seth said, but
it sounded like utter bullshit.

“Scissors,” Dom said,
making it sound more decisive. “I want to see what happened. My skin feels as
if a dog bit me in the face.” Just thinking about it made his skin crawl.

And Seth didn’t argue
with him again. It looked like this was the kind of relationship they had. Seth
fetched Dom a pair of scissors from Peter’s dressing table. “You got grazed by
a bullet, Dom. It’s all gonna be swollen and ugly. Don’t be too worried.”

“You don’t make it sound
like it’s nothing,” Dom muttered, but deep down he knew he was afraid to look
beneath the white cloth. Only not knowing frightened him even more. “I still
have the bone.”

“You want some time
alone? I could help you dress it when you’re done…” Seth sounded like a rat
abandoning ship before a storm.

Domenico narrowed his
eyes. If it really was as bad as he expected, he’d much rather be alone. He
nodded, watching his own eyes reflected in the clear surface of the mirror.

“I’ll be in the
kitchen,” Seth added before going for the door. “Those steaks won’t make
themselves.” He laughed nervously and left.

Domenico looked at the
low stool in front of the girly dresser belonging to a man. How did he end up
in this hellhole? But his aching leg wouldn’t cooperate so he lowered himself
into the seat and gently grasped the scissors. A thousand thoughts ran through
his mind as he cut through the bandage at the side of his head, but he still
wasn’t prepared to see what was buried beneath all the layers.

It could have been
worse. His nose had an elegant shape despite the swelling, but his skin was a
twisted mound on top of it, held together by careless stitching. He looked
ugly. Like the disfigured survivor of the attack of a maniac. He wouldn’t be as
popular with the boys anymore. He knew that it would heal better with time, but
how was he supposed to know how well it would heal? It wasn’t like he could ask
a doctor. A big fucking red scar in the middle of his handsome face.

He wasn’t a comic book
character, and he wasn’t into women. The men he wanted would not want
him
.
Most of them at least. With his looks he probably passed off as a mysterious
guy with a made up job, but with a big red scar on his face? He’d look
dangerous in a way most civilians wouldn’t want to approach. He put down the
scissors and looked into the mirror before slowly trailing to the door. He
needed
something
, just didn’t know what it was yet.

The commotion in the corridor
was hard to stomach, but he still followed the sounds and scent of grilled
meat. The moment he turned into the kitchen, the purple-haired guy Seth called
Neil bumped into him and took a step back with his eyes wide.

The all-American blond
jock at the table stopped chewing his protein bar and stared. So this had to be
Jamie. Domenico ignored them and continued to limp toward the stove, but of
course Neil was just as Seth described him.

“Hey, maybe you should
stay in bed? You look sickly.”

Domenico ignored him.
Seth looked up from the steaks sizzling in the pan. “Hey… um… do you want me to
wrap your wound in a new bandage?”

Jamie cocked his head to
the side. “Christ, man, what happened to you?”

“I met a lawnmower,” Domenico
said, walking over to his brother. He felt so jumpy, like he couldn’t find
anything to occupy his hands.

Jamie nodded with a
frown. “Oh, fuck, that must have been horrific. When I was ten I had my foot
grazed by a lawnmower.” He pulled his sock off to present the scar.

Domenico stared at it
without much interest. Jamie really was as thick as Seth had said. “It must
have changed you forever.”