Page 80 of At The End Of The Day

I wasn’t like a lot of the guys we knew in the Serpents who whored around, bouncing from one woman to the other. They cared about the quantity, always seeking a new notch in their belt. At one point, I had shared those views, dipping my dick in anything that opened their cunts. I lied, I cheated, I manipulated to dump cum in as many pussies as possible.

Right around the time I met Mary, however, something changed. I grew up. Watching Jackyl and Violetta together, I had longed for something similar, substance, structure, commitment. I had wanted the wife, the home, the stability of being in a set relationship. And, now that I knew how amazing parenthood was, I wanted more kids. I wanted to know when I was at work, stressing through my job, there was a family waiting for me at home that valued not just my money, but my time. Depth. I wanted depth.

Vincent fit that ideal. So what if he was a man? What did that matter in this day and age? Gayness wasn’t crucified these days, like bitch said. It was embraced and accepted.

That was regular society, though. What would the Serpents say? Vincent was to take Jackyl’s place, one step below The Boss. How would that go over, the leader of a notorious gang…gay?

Anxiety tightened my muscles and my arms crossed. Probably not too well. In fact, I bet some would even riot. He would be stripped of the position he had busted his ass to attain since he was a child. How could I sit back and let him throw a lifetime of work away?

On the other hand, how could I be okay with him being in another closeted relationship when I saw how much it bothered him? If I cared about him, wouldn’t I…

My heart skipped a beat and I froze, my eyelids rounding. In the midst of picking at the torn skin on my hand from the glass, I gulped, staring across the room at him. Holy shit, not only was I gay, was I falling for Vincent? What the fuck happened?

He began moaning and moving about, his legs kicking side to side. Glimpsing at him out the corner of my eyes, I rotated my wrist to check my watch. Two hours and fifteen minutes. Tomorrow, I’d drug him again and time it, just to make sure.

Of course, I would take advantage and breed that pussy again. Maybe two or three times. I could bust a couple nuts in about forty-five minutes, that was a perfectly safe window of time to empty my nuts and clean him up before the drugs wore off.

His features scrunched and a choked whimper hitched his throat. Lashing about, he burst out sobbing before his eyes even opened.

I frowned, gutted at his misery. Christ, this was fucking hard. As much as I was glad Billy was gone so there was no competition, it was ripping me apart to see him like this.

Setting my feet on the floor, I sucked my teeth and stood, rubbing the sorest injury. Crossing the floor, I crawled onto the mattress and scooted closer, lying on my side. Cupping his cheek, I softly called out his name.

“Hey, hey. Look at me. Shh, Vinny, look at me, baby.”

Batting his wet lashes, he peered through them, his chin quaking. “What did I do?” he whispered.

Emotions clogged my throat as I faintly shook my head. “Nothing, baby. This ain’t your fault.”

“He told me he would do it and I didn’t believe him.”

“You had no reason to. Even if you did, it still ain’t your fault. You cannot be held responsible for another grown man’s choices. It wasn’t fair for him to keep you chained up like that.”

His bloodshot, hazel eyes searched my features, the tears sliding out. “I just wanna fucking die, too. This hurts so fucking much.”

Clucking my teeth, I tugged him to roll to his side, as well, and wrapped my arms around him. One hand petting his scratched up back, the other lifted, his neck in the crook of my elbow. Pressing my lips to his scalp, I closed my eyelids, thrilled that he was clinging to me.

“Don’t say that, Vinny. Don’t ever fucking say that. You are too goddamn important to too many people.”

He shook the whole bed with his sobs, but he was holding me back, and that’s all I cared about. As long as he’d let me, I’d never let him go, either.

Dario “Dash” Mangiacavallo

Flushing the toilet, I quickly washed my hands, checking my reflection in the mirror. There were bags under my eyes, and the stubble was growing on my jaw again. Irritated, I dried my hands and scratched at it as I stepped out of the bathroom. When I looked up, the bed was empty and my heart sank.

“Vinny?” I croaked, dread curdling my stomach.

Getting no answer, panic shot straight from zero to one hundred within the time it took me to choke on an inhale. Stumbling forward, I rushed out of the bedroom and down the hallway, sweat coating my body from the abuse I was inflicting on my wounds. Pressing on the one in my gut, I hissed through gritted teeth, doing a kind of skip and hobble through the living room. I rounded the corner to the kitchen and dining room and my bare feet skidded on the floor.

He was standing by the sink, a seven inch knife gripped in his hand so tightly, his knuckles were turning white. Tears staining his face, his eyes were swollen and bloodshot, his chest rising and falling to labored breaths.

“Oh, shit,” I whispered, everything inside turning to ice. My palms held out, I approached slowly, my brain racing with chaos. “Put it down, Vin.”

His chin quivering, he looked at me through his wet lashes. “I killed him,” he whimpered. “He’s dead, and it’s my fault.”

My heart lodged in my throat, my sight bounced back and forth between his face and the knife. “It ain’t your fault, baby,” I soothed, inching nearer.

“Stay back!” he bellowed, extending his arm to point the blade at me.