Dark Soul Vol. 4 by Aleksandr Voinov Read Free Book Online Page B

him.
    Just then, one of the cops got up, adjusted his belt and slid in next to Silvio. Stefano thought he saw a big hand grab Silvio’s groin, but the view of that was pretty much blocked by the guy’s broad back.
    Considering the cops were probably all on high alert because of the killings and the bomb attack, them cruising Silvio in a gay bar was the height of irony.
    The cop next to Silvio leaned in and pushed two fingers into Silvio’s mouth. Silvio closed his eyes and sucked on them, allowing the cop to push his fingers deeper as if to test whether Silvio had a gag reflex. It seemed Silvio passed that test with flying colors, because the cop withdrew his fingers and kissed him roughly.
    Stefano drew a breath, tried to ignore his hard-on, tried to get himself to move, protest. They looked like they were getting ready to leave; the second cop was just emptying his glass, and then glanced at his partner with the “And? Going?” expression.
    Stefano pushed forward and found himself staring at a lot of muscular throat and shoulder when he arrived at the table just as the men were getting up. He ignored the cop, stared at Silvio, who looked both wild and spaced out, clearly aroused, and dangerous as all hell.
    With that expression, everything was possible. Fucking, killing. Like none of it mattered.
    “Hey you. What do you want? You his boyfriend?”
    “Stefano Marino,” Stefano growled between gritted teeth.
    The cop who’d had his hands all over Silvio paused, narrowed his eyes, looked him up and down, and frowned. “And I’m the fucking pope.”
    “Shit,” the other cop said. “Thought he looked familiar. It’s Marino, Jake.” Stefano could almost hear the “of the Marino clan”
    tagging behind.
    Jake still seemed unwilling to let go of his prize. And who could fault him. He’d had a taste of Silvio, and he clearly wanted more. And damn Silvio for giving him that taste in the first place.
    “Let him go, or you’ll regret it, officer .” Stefano half-smiled, half-snarled.
    The cop looked like he was seriously considering punching Stefano in the face, but his name did carry weight in this city, and these two could do absolutely nothing to hurt him. One word to Peter Thomson, and they’d be eating their donuts—which they doubtlessly had after a shitload of heavy weightlifting—guarding the parking lot of the local WalMart.
    “That your little piece of ass, Marino?”
    That was it. He’d really been pushed enough today. But, no. He had to calm himself down, remember to breathe, but every hair on his skin was bristling. “Spadaro, if you would. Outside,” he said to Silvio in Italian, so sharp his own voice sounded like a stranger’s.
    Silvio sobered and nodded to him, heading outside. Stefano shot a glance to the first cop. “You’re a smart man, officer.” He pulled a twenty from his money clip and slapped it on the table. “Drinks on me. Good evening.”
    He turned and forced himself to not run after Silvio.
    His pulse was hammering up against the roof of his head when he caught up with Silvio, who was leaning against his bike, displaying himself as if he were propping up the bar back in that . . . gay place .
    Stefano stepped right up to him, saw Silvio’s lips open and his pupils widen. Confronting him does nothing but turn him on. “What the fuck was that?”
    “They call it cruising.”
    Smartass. “Two cops?”
    “I was in the mood.” Silvio’s eyes were hooded, guarding his emotions. “Still am.”
    Stefano glanced back to the bar, half-expecting the two meatheads to come out and “resolve” the matter. “No scene in public. Get in the car.”
    “My bike . . .”
    “Get in the car.”
    He pressed the button that unlocked the door and relaxed once he was inside and Silvio had slid in right next to him. He still needed a moment or he’d ram the car backward into oncoming traffic.
    It was just anger. Normally, he didn’t struggle so hard to control it, but it was hard not to