“Let me ask that in a different way. If I were to order another sweep of Everett’s shop this very second, how dead would you be?”
“I, uh.” Shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit. “I’d be pretty dead,” I finally say, my muscles firing off, in a fight with my brain to pass out orrun.
Anders’ look turns murderous—ohfuck—and I send up my hands. “I haven’t turned on the new equipment. I swear. You can check my laptop at home—I’ve got nothing on that feed.”
“Why should I believe you?” Omar asks, sinking his nails into the sensitive flesh of my neck.
“I—I. They fuck. Everett and Rafi. After hours. A lot, and not just a lot for old dudes. Like, Everett really, really likes how tiny Rafi is. I noped out when they started the Daddy play.”
Am I a dommy son of a bitch who enjoys calling my lovers “boy” from time to time? Sure. But I’m not super into the Daddy stuff. Though I definitely should’ve taken better care of Rami after our…encounter. Session?
Stop thinking about kink, asshole.
Hopper snorts, burying his forehead in the meaty part of my arm. “Fucking hell.”
Omar’s jaw tenses. “I don’t need the play-by-play.”
“Sorry.Sorry,” I repeat. “That’s why I didn’t want to talk about the equipment.”
Anders busts out laughing, and that sends Hopper even further over the edge, and now people are staring at us because those two arehowling.
Omar sighs, and I wonder how much of his life is basically wrangling these two. He turns to me and puts his finger in my face. “Don’t let on that you know Rami is following you.” I can’t quite read his expression. “And don’t sleep with him.”
Er…
Hopper snorts. “Omar’s fucking with you. You can sleep with Rami.” His face shifts. “As long as it’s consensual.”
Omar glares at Hopper. “Why would I want my son with a man who admitted to bugging our friends?”
“Oh, come on,” Hopper says, rolling his eyes. “True was doing it for a good reason.”
Omar crosses his arms over his chest and Anders gives me a thumbs-up. I don’t even… What the fuck do I make of that? Also, am I really on a first-syllable basis with a serial killer?
I hold up my hands again. “I don’t have any plans to sleep with Rami. Promise.” Omar seems happy—or at least not dissatisfied—with my answer. “But…how long do you want me to let him spy on me?”
“Until he gets bored and ceases.”
“But what if I’m?—”
I cut myself off.
“What if you’rewhat?” Anders asks, clearly enjoying my discomfort.
“What if he follows me into a sensitive situation? My side hustle can be dangerous.”
“Then no side hustle until he stops.” Omar insists.
“Why?” I ask because I clearly have no fucking sense of self-preservation.
Anders has the answer. “We want to see if he’s got an aptitude for this work.”
I shake my head. “He doesn’t. I promise you, he doesn’t.”
Ah fuck. Three pairs of murderous eyes narrow at my head, like they’re trying to work out the most painful way to crack it open and scoop out my stupid, stupid brains.
“Hey, not cool,” says Hopper, mortally offended. “It was just his first attempt at stalking. He’ll get better.”
“Exactly,” Anders says, standing. “You’re just gonna need to baby bird him for a while.”
