Dark Soul Vol. 3 by Aleksandr Voinov Read Free Book Online Page A

Silvio’s shoulder, glanced at his peaceful face. He should get out of this position, this situation, the sooner the better. But Silvio was asleep—he likely hadn’t chosen to move this close. He’d just done what they’d done a thousand times as kids. And holding him felt good—the only thing he’d missed about home.
    Franco reached over, lifted Silvio’s hand off his belly and slid out from under him, feeling oddly protective of his brother’s rest. God only knew what hours Silvio kept these days.
    His watch showed seven, so he sat up and rubbed his face. Much better. Still jetlagged, but that might take another day or so.
    An arm slung around his waist from behind, and Silvio rubbed his face against Franco’s back. “Where are you going?”
    Well, maybe not an accident. “Toilet, shower.” Franco half-twisted to glance down. “Anyplace I can run here?”
    “This early? You crazy?” Silvio mumbled.
    Franco took Silvio’s arm and freed himself. Also from the pressure against his bladder and other parts of his body. While touch with Silvio came easier than with any other human being on the planet— not that he had tried that many—this was a fair bit too close and he was too conscious and sober. “Go back to sleep.”
    He stood and grinned at Silvio lying there like somebody had poured him out across the bed, one arm hanging off the bed, all boneless and capable of sleeping in whatever position and place.
    More disturbing was how good Silvio looked like that, long legs and small strong ass, back sleek and elegantly curved. Franco shook his head and turned away to the bathroom.
    After a shave and a wash, he got dressed in his workout kit, found the keys to the bungalow, and went out into the early fall morning.
    He turned toward the manor house, but stayed clear of the main building and instead ran along the path cutting across the park-like grounds. Plenty of land to run on, but he’d never thought Silvio’s boss was a poor man.
    The air was heavy with humidity, tiny droplets of low-hanging fog gathering in his hair and neck like condensation. He thought he could get used to a place without all the dust and flies. Once he’d found somewhere he wanted to stay.
    He returned an hour later to the bungalow, did his stretches and crunches and push-ups, then went back to the bathroom, walking past Silvio on the bed, who hadn’t even stirred. Franco showered, dressed, and left the bathroom again. No response from Silvio as he passed him on the way into the kitchen.
    Somebody else must stock the cupboards, or Silvio had learnt, growing up, that junk food wasn’t strictly what his body needed.
    He couldn’t determine any source of breakfast—no cereals or bread anywhere to be found—but he did find eggs and milk and a pan, so scrambled eggs it was. He made coffee with the electric coffee machine.
    While serving the food onto two plates, he heard the bedroom door open and close, but no footfalls. Silvio had perfected the art of sneaking around at the age of about three. The fact that he didn’t muffle the sound from the door was an interesting message. I don’t care if you know where I am.
    “You’re determined to make me get up before noon?” Silvio asked.
    “Looks like it worked.”
    Silvio yawned, and Franco half-turned. His brother was wearing low-riding training slacks and nothing on top, his bare feet unblemished and soft. Civilian feet. No forced marching for him.
    March or die , the unofficial motto of the Legion.
    “I’ve been thinking,” Silvio said, idly scratching his stomach.
    Ripped. He’d always been mostly sinew and bone, but by now he’d cultivated an amazing layer of muscle without losing his natural leanness. Franco glanced down at the plates in his hand.
    Silvio brushed past to the fridge, found a bottle of ketchup and grabbed forks from a drawer. “Put them down on the breakfast bar,”
    he said, doing the same with the forks and ketchup before rummaging in the fridge for