“You want it?”
Jonah eyed the town car idling on the curb and then glanced back at Bennie. “You don’t?”
“Eh. I’m sore as shit.” Bennie wrinkled his nose, considering the car again, and sighed. “Fuck. Yeah, I guess I should take it, though. Jamo’ll need a script refill soon.” He started walking toward the curb as the window rolled down.
“Not you,” barked a deep voice. “The other one.”
Bennie stopped in his tracks, then lifted a brow, and pointed at Jonah.
“Him, yes.”
Jonah exchanged a glance with Bennie. Bennie shrugged and cracked a tiny smile. “Guess Fate made the decision, huh?”
Bennie and his fucking BFF, Fate. Jonah rolled his eyes. He knew it was a coping mechanism. A way for Bennie to justify all the shit that had happened to him over the years, good and bad. Jonah still thought it was a cop-out, though.
As he loped toward the car, a shiny Oxford-clad toe kicked the back door the rest of the way open, then retreated. Jonah paused just shy of getting in, wariness slithering through his stomach. It still happened sometimes. Survival instinct, he guessed, or the last vestiges of his conscience. Usually, if he and Bennie were standing within three feet of each other, the johns chose Bennie. With his thick-lashed eyes and wholesome grin, the guy looked like he’d snuck out of a church service, while Jonah looked like a guy Bennie would toss his alms to.
He grunted, ignoring the sensation, and slid inside the car, then immediately squinted, throwing a hand up in front of his eyes as the dome light flashed on.
The man had angled himself in the corner of the seat, facing Jonah. He wore a three-piece suit, a ten o’clock shadow, and had a weird circular scar near his temple. He looked like a CEO-type, which Jonah usually liked. Not a real CEO, of course—those fuckers were far too discreet to pick up street meat—more like a guy who worked near the top and liked to slum it. Jonah liked those types because they paid well and were usually easy to get off. A lot of them forgot to remove their wedding rings and were too nervous to ask for much.
This guy wasn’t wearing a wedding ring, though.
“Hard limits?” the man asked, and Jonah realized he’d miscalculated. This guy wasn’t a noob. Shit, he might be in for a long night.
“Not many. No scat, no piss. Don’t kill me.”
One corner of the man’s mouth curved up, and there was something practiced about the gesture that unnerved Jonah. “Bondage?”
“Fine.” Jonah shifted on the seat, sneaking a look up to the driver, who also wore a suit, as the car eased away from the curb. So, this was a private car then, not one of the city taxis. He gnawed on his lower lip, then quickly hit send on his phone.
J:LP
Bennie:Already wrote it down. Text when you’re done.
“You look out for each other, hmm?” The man ticked his chin toward Jonah’s cell phone as he tucked it away. “Smart.”
Jonah settled back in the seat, trying to get comfortable, as the man’s eyes roamed his body. “There has to be a safeword, too,” he tacked on.
“Of course.”
Jonah had never learned the license plate number. He’d never seen that phone again. Or Bennie.
Jonah lurched upright, kicking at the sheets tangled around his ankles. The ends of his hair were soaked, and the back of his neck was damp. He dropped back onto his elbows and let his head loll, waiting for his pulse to slow before he fished for his phone as it buzzed. Two messages. The first must have been what had woken him up. He usually didn’t remember his dreams.
Unknown number:Your friend James says you like pancakes.
Unknown number:Royal Sonesta, Room 302, 9 a.m. I’ll have room service waiting.
Jonah:I’ll try to make it. No guarantees.
Ivan was moving faster than he’d anticipated. Jonah tapped the phone against his chin, thinking, then got out of bed.
* * *
Ivan openedthe door before he could knock twice. “Very prompt.” He gestured Jonah inside the room with a pleased smile and indicated one of the chairs pulled up next to a dining cart draped in a white tablecloth. A plate in the middle was piled high with fluffy golden pancakes, streamers of butter oozing down the sides. “Do you actually like pancakes?”
“I won’t turn them down.” Jonah sat, taking note of the suitcase on the stand near the end of the bed. On the bedside table was a Glock. Jonah was sure it wasn’t the only weapon present. Ivan himself wore loose pajama pants and a t-shirt, and though Jonah couldn’t spot any telltale bulges, that didn’t mean the man wasn’t armed.
