“What?” Mickey narrowed his eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Uh huh.” Pops grinned. “You’re not the only guy who’s ever snuck around, Michael. I was young once too. You’re good, but you’re not that good.”
Mickey groaned and rubbed his hands over his face. “What will it take for you to stop talking about this?”
“Dinner with your vampire. Here with me. I wanna cook.”
“You can’t even walk!” Mickey protested.
“Yeah, but you can! You can help me!”
Mickey was a ruthless assassin who had murdered dozens of people without remorse, and yet here he was being manipulated by his helpless grandfather into having dinner with the guy he’d recently made a terrible habit of sleeping with.
“I’ll think about it,” Mickey grumbled.
“Michael Allan Tamerlane,” Pops warned, “there is no thinkin’ about it.” He narrowed his eyes. “What would your mother say about this, huh?”
“Oh, now that’s low.”
“You know she’d want you to settle down and be happy. That’s all I’m saying. And she didn’t get to live long enough to see it, but maybe I can.” Pops’ eyes were damp, but his face remained stern. “So, tell your vampire he’s coming over for dinner.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Mickey ground out.
He wasn’t going to mention he’d have to try and find time in his busy schedule, what with the stealing guns from other mobsters and trying to take over the city.
There was no reason for him to entertain this insanity except to pacify Pops, but the longer Mickey thought about it, the more he was having trouble denying his desire for Roger. Perhaps the crazy really was catching, or maybe it was that the rush of being able to command Roger’s body was truly incomparable.
Forging a relationship out of their blistering chemistry wouldn’t be the worst idea in the world, though Mickey had many reservations. The one thing he couldn’t shake was how he’d thought about Roger when he’d been shot. He could blame the blood loss, but he knew that wasn’t why.
Roger was constantly at the forefront of his mind, and he wanted him. He wanted him more than anything, and he decided then he was going to make Roger his. He didn’t know how long it would last, but it would be incredible while it did.
Fuck it. Maybe he was crazy too. Insane or not, no one could give him what Roger could, and that was worth the risk.
Now he just had to tell him.
After the mission tonight, Mickey decided. They could have a little chat, maybe fuck in the safe house bathroom to celebrate. The mere thought was getting Mickey excited, and he wasn’t sure when he’d last felt like this and it wasn’t about killing someone.
Mission first.
Then Roger.
Mickey ordered Chinese for dinner as requested, and he pulled up a chair in his grandfather’s room so they could eat together. He let his grandfather continue to plot the dinner date with Roger, listening to him suggest various meals they could cook together.
He hadn’t seen Pops so excited since he’d gotten his own flat screen TV.
After finishing dinner, Mickey made sure Pops took his medicine and got settled back into bed. He shut the bedroom door behind him and started getting ready to head over to the club. He tucked extra magazines into his belt, adjusted his shoulder holster, and headed outside to his car.
He scowled at the broken window and made a note to himself to get it fixed. The duct tape currently blocking the opening looked atrocious. He could ask Duncan to follow him over to a car repair shop so he could drop it off. He could also set the piece of shit on fire and buy a new car.
The money wasn’t a problem. He had thousands stashed away, but his priority was to make sure he could keep paying for Pops’ medical care. Once the Gentlemen took the city, maybe then he would be comfortable blowing a bunch of cash on a new ride. It wouldn’t matter then.
They’d all be rich.
Mickey couldn’t fuckin’ wait.
He arrived at Slick Rick’s right on time, and he saw a white van parked around back. It was probably their wheels for the night. He saw the others were already there, and he hurried inside.
The bar was packed, the music blaring, and Mickey slipped through the crowd to the office. He smirked when he passed by the bar he’d bent Roger over, but he pushed the memory from his mind for now.
