Nero

Fucking hell, my back is burning.

That's my first thought when I wake up, and it takes up a lot of space in my brain until I get my breathing under control and swallow the pain down.

I've dealt with worse, I remind myself. This is... cuts, bruises, some first- or second-degree burns. But I've already been "patched up," judging by the neat bandages wrapped around my hand and chest.

I automatically say, "Thank you," but a few seconds after the words are out of my mouth, I realize I'm not at home, my hands are fucking chained to the headboard, and it's not Corbin sitting on the chair next to the bed. No, the man next to me is far more handsome, with dark blond hair, a well-maintained beard, and deep blue eyes.

It's my mark, Cristiano Xanders.

He looks a lot better off than I feel, despite all the explosions and shooting. I'm still pissed at myself that I didn't manage to off him. He slowed his gait unexpectedly, or the line of sight was bad, or...

Yeah, excuses. Corbin would beat me for a mistake like that.

"You have manners," Xanders says, a smirk quirking onto his lips. "That's new."

"Fuck you." I test the manacles around my wrists, but they don't have any give, and I can't quite reach the buckles.

Not with Xanders watching, anyway.

After a few attempts, I give up and look at him again. "So, what's on the agenda? An interrogation?"

"That does seem to be the logical next step," Xanders says, his voice a pleasant, rich sound—or at least, it would be pleasant if it wasn't for that fucking amusement in it. "I don't suppose you're going to just tell me what I need to know so we can move on with our lives?"

"Sure," I say, pasting on a smile. "Somebody wanted you dead. Who is that somebody? No clue. You know how things are in this business. Proxies upon proxies."

"Oh, I know how things are in this business, all right, little cub," Xanders says. "And smart little would-be assassins find out as much information as they can about their clients despite those supposed boundaries for their own safety. Are you a smart would-be assassin?"

Even if I knew, I wouldn't tell Xanders anything. I do have a reputation to uphold, and nobody hires an assassin who sells out their clients. It's just bad for business.

But right now, I wish I did know. Not to share with Xanders, but because those fucking explosions were not planned. Either my client had hired a second person to do my job, or, even worse... I was the intended target of at least one of those bombs.

I need to get back to Corbin to see if he knows anything.

"Sure. My client is connected to the underground. Another arms dealer? A jealous mafia rival? Or maybe it's actually one of your exes. Y'know, the one with the big tits." I laugh, although the movement tears something in my back and sends pain flaring across my body.

Fuck, I might be more injured than I thought.

"That's extraordinarily helpful," Xanders drawls, but something flickers across his expression. "Lie still. You have stitches in your back that you won't want to upset unless you're a masochist. And if you are... Well, we could have a lot more fun during this interrogation."

"You already have me chained to your bed. Not like I can stop you from doing anything." I snap my teeth at him. "But I do bite."

My eyes wander down to his fly. It's hard to tell with the nice suit he's wearing and sitting as he is what he's got underneath there. Probably the same average, dirty cock as most straight men. I should know—I've sucked enough cocks from guys who insisted they were completely straight, honest, they were just very hard-up.

"I'm terrified," he says, deadpan. He shifts in his chair to give me a better look at his crotch with a knowing smirk on his lips. "Don't worry, little cub. I know just how to handle naughty boys who don't want to tell the truth."

I'm caught off-guard by the banter. I had expected a homophobic rebuke, not... flirtation? I meet his gaze, wondering if he's being serious or if he's one of the few gangsters who is actually secure enough in his heterosexuality to tease a man like this. Most of them would have flipped out at a man hitting on them, as if that alone would turn them gay.

"Ooh, how scary," I answer blithely. "How fortunate that I am telling the truth. Somebody wants you dead. If you want to know more than that, you have to trace your own enemies." I shift to get more comfortable and notice another problem on top of the pain. "What's your bathroom situation, by the way? Do you take me out for walkies? Gonna make me pee in a bottle?"

"It's so adorable, how you think you can bait me into making a mistake with you. Lion cubs might be small, but they're clever. So, alas, it's a bottle or a catheter. I'll even allow you the choice," Xanders says, with a smile that could also be charming on his lips if it wasn't for the fact that he's being a dick. A charming dick, maybe, but still a dick.

I shrug as best I can. "Bottle, then. You'll have to get my cock out for me though. I can't exactly hold it on my own."

I really don't need to experience a catheter again.

"This is where you say, 'pretty please, Mr. Xanders,'" he says. He's enjoying this entirely too much. What happened to the hardened professional I'd been sent to kill? This man is nothing like what I'd expected.

"Want me to throw a daddy in there too?" I joke. "Oh, please, Daddy, help me not piss myself."

Only as soon as I say it, I regret the words. My heart is beating a little faster, and a thrum of arousal has my cock throbbing.

Fuck.

His eyes darken, and he pauses for a long moment before a grin slowly spreads across his lips. "Now that you mention it... I think I do. I've been called all sorts of things, but Daddy's a new one. I think I like it. So ask properly, and I'll stick your cock into a bottle so you can piss."

"Fuck you," I growl, but I know I should have kept the tone light, to not give away how I'm affected. "If you don't get me a bottle, I'll just piss myself here, and you'll have a huge mess to clean up."

"What makes you think I'll bother cleaning up the mess?" Xanders asks, his eyebrow lifting. "I don't know what sort of man you think I am, little cub, but this wouldn't be the first time I made a man piss himself." He doesn't sound arrogant when he says it, like he's trying to prove something. He just sounds matter of fact.

I'm already imagining being left tied up here, cold and wet and messy. It would be utterly humiliating.

But my cock seems to think the opposite.

I don't particularly want to fuck my way out of this situation, but if Xanders is interested in a cute little "cub," well... I've done worse to escape a dire situation.

I glance at him again. "You'd make the staff clean up? They'd see the prisoner you keep in your guest room. What would they think? They might even suspect you're gay."

Xanders's eyes narrow at that, the words landing just like the weapon they'd been meant to be. His expression clears after only a few seconds, but I saw it. He doesn't like being called gay—maybe it's the fact that even being suspected as being gay is dangerous in our world, or maybe he really is. "I'll come back to chat later, when you're in a better mood," he says, with a smile that's cold, brittle. "Then we'll try this again."