Violent Angel (Pretty Broken Things #1)

6. Chapter Six

Chapter Six

W earing cuffs wasn’t a new experience for Damon, but waking up to find them already around his wrist? He couldn’t say he’d done that before.

Or wanted to.

Groggy for some reason he couldn’t figure out, he gave his head a hard shake, then stretched his neck to get a look at the cuffs. They were attached to a simple metal headboard, so there was no use tugging. Dislocating his thumb wasn’t a skill he’d learned in prison, so he wouldn’t be making a movie-worthy great escape.

But staying calm while he was restrained was hard. The clearer his head got, the more his mind raced, trying to figure out what the fuck happened to get him trapped like this. Had he gotten arrested at the club? Had Sonny’s men brought him to Daddy Masseria so the man could enact his revenge for Damon’s betrayal?

If it was the latter, he needed to get one of the loyal bodyguards in here and piss them off. Make them finish him off quick before he was tortured for hours, ending with his dick and balls cut off and shoved down his throat for him to choke on.

Okay, so his imagination was running a bit wild, but reality probably wouldn’t be that far off. Sonny had enjoyed bragging about some pretty twisted things, and after seeing him at the club, Damon suspected the most depraved shit was true.

That in mind, he tugged sharply at the cuffs, slamming his feet into the mattress beneath him and making as much noise as he could. The movement sent a sharp pain through his stomach, chest, and left thigh, but he gritted his teeth, doing his best to ignore it.

“Who’s the loser who got stuck on babysitting duty? You know that’s just one step up from being exactly where I am, right?” He jerked at the cuffs again, his hand throbbing along with the rest of his body. Fuck, he was in bad shape. “You’d be better off killing me and making a run for it. Take a sweet deal from the Feds.” Actually, that might appeal to a lower level mobster. He decided to run with it. “My best friend’s brother, Aspen, was supposed to show up at the club. I’ll give you a way to contact him if you’ll take me out before your boss gets here.”

An exasperated huff came from somewhere on the floor before a man rose and stepped up to the side of the bed. Rumpled purple hair and narrowed green eyes brought a wave of relief, right before his devil of a savior poked him in the thigh.

The shock of pain drew a gasp, then a growl from Damon’s throat as he glared at the younger man.

Who didn’t look the least bit sorry. “You tore some of your stitches, dumbass.”

“I wouldn’t have if I didn’t wake up cuffed to a bed, convinced I’d be better off dead.” Damon scowled when the purple-haired devil’s lips quirked. “What?”

“Do you always rhyme when you’re being dramatic?”

“ Dramatic ? Are you for-fucking-real?” Damon twisted his wrists and clenched his fists, the urge to wrap his hands around the little bastard’s neck overruling reason. “Where’s the goddamn key, boy? Let me go. Now .”

Instead of even pretending to consider releasing him, or reaching into the pockets of his purple track suit for the key, the young man sat on the edge of his bed. “No. You’ll hurt yourself.”

“I’ll hurt you if you don’t uncuff me this instant.”

“Oh…damn…yeah.” The purple-haired devil’s eyes shone with amusement. “That’s very convincing. I’ll get right on it.”

“Goddamn it!” Damon dropped his head back on the pillows, his stomach sinking with the hopelessness of his situation. He had no idea what this guy wanted with him, but no matter where he’d ended up, he would’ve been fucked. Instead of worrying about being tortured to death, he was stuck with this small psychopath. He was like a half dead mouse being toyed with by a bored cat. “You know what, I think my first idea was the best one. Just get it over with. Kill me.”

Snarling, the purple-haired devil sprang up off the bed.

And cracked him in the jaw with a solid punch.

Vision spotting, the taste of copper on his tongue, Damon blinked a few times at the young man standing over him, fuming. “Are you fucking certifiable? What the fuck was that for, boy?”

“Stop calling me ‘boy’, asshole. My name’s Elliot.” Raking his hair away from where it had fallen over one eye, Elliot made a rough, frustrated sound. “Do you have any idea how much trouble went into keeping you alive? How could you ask me to kill you like your life’s worth nothing?” His brow furrowed as he took a step back. “You didn’t save Lux because you gave a damn about him. You have a death wish, so it didn’t mean anything.”

Lips parting, Damon shook his head. “That’s not true. I wouldn’t have gone back into that room if it wasn’t for him…” He took a deep breath. “And you.”

“Me?” Elliot let his hand fall to his side, his expression stunned. “Why would you give a fuck about me? I stabbed you with a pencil.”

“Yes, you did. But after I stopped leaking blood all over the bathroom and thought about it, it hit me that you were protecting the kid and you had no reason to trust me. I had zero plans…at first.” Damon licked at the blood trailing over his bottom lip to his chin, stilling when Elliot’s hand came toward him. Using his thumb, the young man gently wiped the blood away. “I tried to call the cops, but…they brushed me off.”

Elliot inclined his head. “They’re on the payroll of the people who ran the auction…the ones my boss isn’t paying off, anyway. Either way, they weren’t getting involved.” He sat on the edge of the bed again. “But you mentioned the Feds? This guy…Aspen?” His lips thinned at Damon’s nod. “You called your ‘best friend’ to get him to come save the day?”

“Yes. Both of Rome’s brothers are Feds and he said Aspen was nearby.” Damon lifted his shoulders, which was awkward with his arms stretched over his head, but Elliot didn’t seem inclined to release him anytime soon. Actually, he looked even more pissed than he had before. “Maybe it wasn’t much of a plan, but it was all I could come up with. I figured I’d stick around and see if I could keep you and Lux from being dragged off.”

Elliot nodded slowly, moving the blanket and poking at the bandage on Damon’s side. “Rome probably thinks you’re a real hero.”

Chuckling, Damon shook his head. “Rome probably thinks I’m an idiot.”

“Well, that, too.” Elliot sighed, lifting his gaze. “So is your boyfriend gonna send his big brothers to find you? If I was a decent person, I’d let you call him. At least to tell him you’re all right.”

“Will you?”

“Fuck no.” Those green eyes flashed. “ I’m taking care of you.”

One brow lifted, Damon studied Elliot’s face. Was the guy jealous? Asking didn’t seem wise, considering how quick the little devil was with sharp objects. And his fists.

But for some reason, Damon wanted to reassure him. Obviously, because if Elliot was calm, he’d be less likely to lash out, and more likely to take the cuffs off. He wouldn’t make too much of the discomfort in the pit of his stomach at upsetting the little guy.

Still, the ‘I’m taking care of you’ was impossible to ignore.

“Just so you know, Rome’s not my boyfriend.” Damon bit back a smile at how hard Elliot tried to hide his relief. Under that tough exterior was a possessive little minx. Something Damon shouldn’t find flattering when he was still cuffed to the bed, but he didn’t feel like he was in any real danger—despite the wicked right hook and the impulsive stabbiness. “I would like to call him at some point, or have you call him…” Rome would love that. “But it can wait a bit. Me and you got off on the wrong foot. Twice . How’bout we start over?”

Elliot’s brow furrowed slightly before he inclined his head. “Okay. I should check your leg and make sure you didn’t mess it up too bad, but if starting over keeps you from thrashing around, I’m good with that.”

“I’d have no reason to ‘thrash around’ if I wasn’t wearing these cuffs.”

“Don’t push it.” Elliot gave him a level look, then scooted down the bed, lowering the blanket to reveal the bottom of the light blue hospital gown Damon was wearing, along with a pair of snug black boxer briefs—an expensive brand he didn’t own—to provide some modesty. “I’ll just lift this up enough to check out your bandage—maybe send a pic to the doc. If you try to kick me or anything, I’ll restrain your ankles, too.”

Head raised as much as he could, Damon held Elliot’s gaze. “Go ahead, but I’d appreciate it if you’d stop threatening me. It’s fucked up enough that you’ve got me like this. You could’ve left me where I was—”

“You would’ve bled to death.” Elliot revealed the bandage, soaked through with blood in a small circle, but not enough to be a real problem. Still, Elliot took a picture, obviously sending it to someone before sitting back on his heels to wait for the reply. “I owe you for saving Lux, so I couldn’t let you die. It’s simple.”

Damon rattled one of his cuffs. “Our definitions of ‘simple’ must be very different.”

The phone in Elliot’s hand vibrated, and he frowned, looking like he read over a text twice, then dropped his phone by Damon’s hip. “The handcuffs are a precaution.”

“Because you think I’ll hurt you?”

Elliot scoffed, sliding off the bed and heading for the door. “As if you could. No, you would’ve hurt yourself trying to escape. Hospitals restrain difficult patients all the time.”

Closing his eyes as Elliot’s footsteps faded away, Damon counted to ten in his head. Then to twenty, just to make sure he didn’t lose his shit. The purple-haired devil was exasperating, his logic so out of the realm of normal, Damon didn’t even know where to start explaining how wrong he was.

The worst thing? He enjoyed every exchange. Even when he wished he could reach his hair to tear it out, he liked the crumbs of insight he got into a man he’d assumed would remain a mystery. No matter how crazy it might be—or how likely the meds still lingering in his veins were to blame—he wanted to follow each tiny morsel to see where it might lead.

Elliot had proven dangerous, but also…fascinating. Talking to him was like joining a pickup basketball game in the yard, while watching for shanks and getting a pop quiz at the same time. His features were always carefully controlled, barely revealing any genuine emotion, but now and then there were flashes of something…something Damon couldn’t quite put his finger on.

Not innocent, exactly. More like Elliot was so jaded, wound up so tight, that he couldn’t hide his curiosity whenever things didn’t meet his worst expectations.

Anything positive slipped under his radar, and he almost seemed to want to catch it in a net like a butterfly to inspect it. Only, he hadn’t figured out whether he should pin it to a board as the start of a new collection, or set it free.

If Damon wanted to improve his own situation, he had to get Elliot in that headspace more often. Show him it was okay to trust some people. That they could have a conversation without threats or hostility.

And, most importantly, that Damon didn’t need to be pinned to a board himself.

Coming back into the room with a large, white medkit, phone held to his ear with his shoulder, Elliot nodded to whatever the person on the other line was saying. “Yeah, it’s not getting any bigger, but I’ll remove the bandage and show you.” He grinned, placing the kit on a side table and opening it to grab a pair of scissors with blunt tips. “So I guess Winter took really good care of you, Dr. Kwan? Uh huh, well, I can match the monetary payment, even for phone calls, but any other arrangement will have to be made with him.”

“I can pay for my own treatment.” Damon arched a brow when Elliot held a finger to his lips. “If I wasn’t wearing these cuffs, I’d bend you over my knee for that.”

Elliot’s lips parted, the phone slipping before he grabbed it and gave his head a hard shake. “I’m still here, sorry. Yes, he’s wide awake, and his sense of humor is definitely intact.”

Smirking, Damon settled back on his pillows, one knee bent to give Elliot easier access to his thigh.

The movement got Elliot stuttering, red spreading over the high curve of his cheeks. The doctor’s next words had his gaze flicking to Damon’s crotch and away as his blush turned deep crimson. “I-I don’t know. He hasn’t asked to go yet… Will I need to hold it for him?”

Okay, he walked right into that one. “Tell the doc I’ll give him a grand if he says yes.”

This time, the phone hit the edge of the bed, Elliot catching it just before it bounced off onto the floor. He brought it to his ear. “Ignore that. I’m removing the bandage now.”

Under the directions of the doctor, Elliot checked out the stitches on Damon’s thigh, putting on gloves to gingerly poke around the wound. A cold sweat broke out over Damon’s skin at the throbbing pain, but Elliot’s intense focus kept him quiet.

The guy seemed so determined to fix him up perfectly, and if not for how much it fucking hurt, Damon would enjoy all the attention.

Maybe he should start a new list.

All the screwed up things I’m suddenly into.

Did Stockholm Syndrome kick in this fast? Because that would explain a lot.

Thankfully, by the time Elliot finished re-bandaging his leg and getting a few last minute instructions, something else got Damon’s full attention. The issue the doctor had clearly brought up during the call.

His bladder, aching enough to make him forget all about his leg.

“You need to take these cuffs off. Now .” Damon panted through the pressure, a sharp laugh escaping him at Elliot’s immediate protest. “You want to play nurse? That’s fine. But it won’t be nearly as sexy if you’re cleaning up my piss.”

Elliot seemed to consider that for a long moment—or maybe it just felt long, because Damon really had to go. Finally, he inclined his head and pulled off the silver necklace tucked under his shirt, revealing two small keys. “I’m only taking them off until you do your thing. The doctor said you can walk to the bathroom and back, so long as you do it slowly . Do anything stupid and you won’t be using anything besides a bedpan for the next week. That’ll slow down your healing and—”

“Elliot?” Damon spoke through his teeth. “No more threats. We can continue this conversation in the bathroom. I don’t give a fuck if you watch.”

The blush was back as Elliot unlocked one cuff, then the other, leaving them attached to the headboard. “I don’t need to watch.”

“You’re not afraid I’ll climb out the window?” Damon threw his legs over the side of the bed, standing, then dropping back down at the slash of burning heat stabbing straight through his thigh. “ Motherfucker! ”

Easing Damon’s arm around his shoulders, Elliot helped him up, this time, taking enough of his weight to keep the pressure off his fucked up leg. He sounded like he was trying very hard not to laugh. “No, I’m not afraid you’ll climb anything right now. But in case you’re thinking about it? We’re on the fifth floor.”

“Wonderful.” Damon got moving, his bladder’s insistence overriding his need to avoid more pain. Getting to the bathroom felt like finishing a grueling marathon, his muscles screaming at him when he finally leaned over the toilet. Sitting would probably be easier, but he braced his hand against the wall instead and pulled his dick out of the black boxer briefs.

The idea of trying to get back up had his whole body protesting.

But all that was replaced by relief as a hard stream hit the water in the toilet bowl.

“This is the best feeling in the world.” Damon groaned, sensing Elliot’s eyes on him for an instant before the young man tore his gaze away. “I haven’t had to go this bad since I was in prison and my cellmate clogged our toilet in the middle of the night. I should’ve just gone in the sink like he did, but I was…” He bowed his head, groaning again as he finished emptying his bladder. “Still trying to be the same nepo baby I was raised as. Like the pappz might find out and it’d ruin my image.”

Watching his face as he shook his dick a few times, visibly struggling not to look down, Elliot nodded with understanding he didn’t deserve. “You were on your own for the first time, got stuck doing what you could to survive, and ended up in a horrible situation. Not wanting to piss in a sink right away sounds…pretty normal.”

“Ah, so you know who I am and what I did.” Damon pulled up his boxer briefs and made his way to the sink to wash his hands. “I appreciate you trying to put a nice spin on it, but I was a trainwreck. My parents dying wasn’t an excuse for half the shit I pulled. And my attitude the first few months I was behind bars?” He snorted. “I’m lucky I didn’t get killed just for being a spoiled little shithead. Even the staff looked ready to shank me.”

Elliot opened a drawer, pulling out a brand new, blue toothbrush, and nodding toward a toothbrush holder on the wall. A purple and a white toothbrush hung side-by-side, with several stacked cups above them on a shelf, a bottle of mouthwash, floss, and a toothpaste dispenser. The organization was more fitting for someone twice Elliot’s age, but from what Damon had seen of his room and the bathroom around him, that was pretty standard.

Absolutely everything had its place.

I wonder what mine will be.

“You won’t have to worry about that here. If you need to be spoiled with running water and basic necessities?” Elliot gave him a soft smile. “I’ve got you.”

“Thanks.” Damon took the toothbrush out of its package, wetting the bristles, then holding it under the dispenser for a dab of toothpaste. Kinda fitting his first taste of luxury—clean teeth with a real toothbrush and not a tiny one that fit on his finger—was the same here as it’d been in prison. “I’m not the man I was back then, but now you’ve got me curious. Why bother making excuses for me? I doubt anything you’ve read about me was good.”

Elliot lifted himself up to sit on the long counter between the double sinks, leaning against the wall as he watched Damon brush. “You’re wrong. It said you didn’t turn on the other guys you robbed the bank with. They still did their time, but you didn’t make it easier on yourself by ratting them out. No one would’ve blamed you if you had.”

“Maybe not, but I deserved to be in there, too.” Damon spoke around the brush, which seemed to amuse Elliot.

For some reason, the younger guy was interested in everything he did, but it wasn’t invasive or creepy, like it’d been when he was a kid and people would stare when he went to the park with his parents. He didn’t feel like a specimen at a zoo, he felt…like a man. One another man actually wanted to know better.

Spitting and rinsing out his mouth, he braced his hip against the counter and faced Elliot. “I won’t claim prison ‘fixed me’, but I was finally forced to grow up. To take responsibility for my own shit and stop the self-pity party. I learned how to defend myself, got in good shape, and took a few courses. Things were probably a bit easier on me once I smartened up because of who my parents were, but I earned respect from some other inmates and the guards all on my own.”

“But then you got out and had to start over?”

“Pretty much. I wanted to prove I could do it, even though I had the connections to smooth the way. My parent’s money went to lawyers and maintaining their estate, so there wasn’t much left.” Damon shrugged. “I sold everything off, split it between the staff who’d stuck around, and bought myself a condo. Left myself just enough to get by until I found a decent job.”

Elliot winced. “You bought a condo. In LA. Without enough savings to live off of for more than…what, a month?”

“Not even.” Damon rolled his eyes at himself. “Of all the things I learned in prison? Managing money wasn’t one of them. I always had more than I needed for commissary, so even inside, I took a lot of things for granted. On the outside, I got a huge reality check. When I was about to lose my place and couldn’t even afford ramen for the week, I made the call that I knew would get me a job right away. And you know the rest.”

Hopping off the counter, Elliot moved close, patting his shoulder for Damon to put an arm around him again. “I do. But aside from some really shitty choices, you’re still a good guy. You’re getting another chance to make better choices.”

“While I’m handcuffed to your bed?”

“You only need the handcuffs while you’re healing.”

“I really don’t.” Damon stopped short, forcing Elliot to stop with him and panting again at the jarring pain radiating through his body. “Where am I gonna go? I need help to get to the bathroom. Even if I could make it outside, it’s not like I can head back to LA. Sonny’s family finds out I’m alive and I won’t be for long.”

Elliot considered him for a few beats. His brow creased. “You have other options. I was thinking of getting you a job here, but…I don’t want you to feel trapped. I need…” He made a frustrated sound. “It’s too soon to discuss this. Maybe I will let you call Rome…” He nodded sharply, obviously more to himself than to Damon. “Later.”

Gathering his strength, Damon straightened and got moving again, half his focus on the room only a few more steps ahead, the other half on Elliot and what he’d just said. Unfortunately, the strain of making it those last few steps stole his ability to speak, but after Elliot helped him into bed, he sat silently on the edge, clearly sensing he wanted to continue the conversation.

Settled in the most comfortable position he could manage, propped up against a pile of pillows, Damon took a deep breath. Exhaled and gave Elliot a sideways look. “You are aware it’s a bit strange, you saying you don’t want me to feel trapped, considering our current situation?” He folded his arms over his chest when Elliot shrugged, his expression blank. “Oh no, we’re not playing this game. I was honest with you and answered all your questions. I expect the same in return.”

Elliot bit into his bottom lip, the edge of his lips twitching. “I thought that was a rhetorical question.”

“Fine. But this one isn’t.” Damon relaxed his position, partially on his side with his arm folded under his head, facing the other man. “What exactly is the job here? With how Lux dealt with Sonny, I’m guessing neither of you were ever slaves?”

That earned him a cheeky grin. “Sexy and smart. I appreciate that in a man.”

“I’m glad you noticed.” Damon chuckled when Elliot’s blush reappeared. “Now answer the question.”

Folding his legs in front of him and hugging them, Elliot pressed his lips together, almost like he was ready to refuse. But then he met Damon’s eyes, some daring in his own, as though expecting his next words to be judged. “To put it simply? We’re mercs. A specialized kind—we use…desire against some truly evil fuckers to take them down. The auction was part of a mission where we were drawing out specific marks to gather intel on. Then eliminate.”

“I see.” Damon dropped his gaze to his own body, making a thoughtful sound. “So you think I’d be good at seducing the bad guys? Not something I’d ever considered, but if it pays well—”

“You wouldn’t be doing that.” Elliot’s tone was firm, and he grabbed Damon’s wrist as though ready to cuff him again before he immediately took off to sign up for the new gig. “There’s always eight of us—that’s why we’re called Eros’ Eight. Any more and it would be harder to train us and give us the support we need. But…you could work security. Or be a driver?”

Damon gently freed his wrist and put his hand over Elliot’s. “I tried both and failed miserably. Not sure your bosses will be impressed by my resumé.”

“I’ll deal with Gerard. He’s…kinda my boss and my handler—the guy you saw me with at the club?” Elliot stared down at their hands, but didn’t pull away. “Anyway, he probably won’t like you at first, but I paid a lot of blood credits to bring you here and—”

“Blood credits?”

“Yeah. It’s like…” Elliot tilted his head as though searching for the right words. “Instead of a paycheck, we get blood credits. Usually, they go toward the ones we’ve already spent on stuff like food, rent, training, or whatever else we need. Most of our stuff costs a lot less than it would for civilians. Some stuff can’t be calculated like that at all. When you’re learning hand-to-hand combat from retired black ops, it’s kinda priceless. You repay the hours doing a few missions chosen by your instructor.”

“So it’s almost a bartering system?” Damon’s brow furrowed. “But you must still need cash sometimes?”

Folding his legs in front of him, Elliot lifted Damon’s hand between his, brushing his fingertips over the lines on Damon’s palm. They seemed to have reached an unspoken agreement, allowing a certain amount of touching.

The contact was soothing, Elliot’s skin surprisingly soft for all the training he’d mentioned. Then again, if his main job was seduction, grooming was probably a big part of preparing for each mission.

Not much different from Rome, but…fuck, Rome had a lot more freedom. From the sounds of it, Elliot was always in debt to the organization he worked for. He didn’t seem to mind…

Or know better.

Which his next answer only solidified. “Of course we need cash. I’ve got a credit card with no limit I can use whenever I want.”

“But you have to take missions to pay it all back.”

“Yes.” Elliot dropped Damon’s hand and sat back, his tone sharp and defensive. “How is that different from any other job? Wait, no, there’s a huge difference. I never have to worry I won’t have enough to eat, or if I can cover my rent and my bills. If I get sick, there’s a whole team brought in to take care of me. I can get any kind of education I want for when I retire—”

“So they will let you retire? You don’t have to do this until it kills you?” Damon held his hands up when Elliot’s eyes narrowed. “I’m sorry, I’m trying to understand. I can see some of the benefits, but this is all pretty hardcore. You’re only, what, twenty? Twenty-one?”

Elliot blew out a breath. “Twenty-three. I’ll probably retire from Eros’ Eight in about seven years, and I can either find a civilian job, or become a trainer. I know how it sounds, but I haven’t wanted to do anything else since I was six.”

Closing his eyes, Damon rubbed a hand over his face. “Sounds like grooming.”

“Fuck you.” Elliot grabbed Damon’s wrist and jerked his hand down. “I didn’t have to become part of the team. It wasn’t even an option until I was old enough to understand what it all meant. But I did start training young, and I got blood credits, because the alternative was being dumped back in the system. A system that either would’ve ended up with me up on one of those stages for real—if not worse—or in prison. We didn’t all grow up in a fucking fairy tale.”

The anger in Elliot’s tone, the fierce way he defended what sounded like the most manipulative program in existence, got Damon to take a huge mental step back to reassess his concept of right and wrong. He didn’t know exactly where Elliot came from—the accent that came out when he was pissed sounded vaguely East European—but he’d heard enough to know, as a child, the opportunities had been limited.

Elliot was loyal to the people who’d saved his life.

And maybe they’d actually earned it.

“You’re right. I should know better, considering I’ve been in prison and I’ve met some really good guys who were dealt a shit hand in life.” Damon took Elliot’s hand, stroking the back of it with his thumb. “I’m sorry for judging. Rome would kick my ass.”

Making a face at the mention of Rome, Elliot pulled Damon’s hand back into his lap. “He better not. I’m the only one who gets to do that.”

“Because you think you owe me for saving Lux?” Damon squeezed Elliot’s hand. “You don’t, you know. Neither does he. I don’t care that it was a job, there was no way I could just stand there and let him get taken out by that fucker.”

The edge of Elliot’s lips curved. “Yeah, well, I guess that’s part of why I couldn’t just let you die. And…” He wet his bottom lip with his tongue. “Part of why I’m kinda into you.”

“Oh, really?” Damon liked the sound of that. “Will you hit me if I ask if you’re allowed to be ‘into’ anyone?”

“No, you’re expecting it now. That won’t be any fun.” Elliot huffed out a laugh. “This isn’t as awkward as I thought it’d be. We…the other guys in Eros’ Eight, mostly…Well, they stick with each other. I’ve never been interested in stuff outside of the job, but you…” He worried his bottom lip with his teeth. “You got me interested. And it messed with me a bit, so when you’re better, if you want, we can just…” He lifted his chin. “Just do it. Maybe once will be enough, or a couple times—”

“Whoa…” Damon held up his free hand and blinked at the younger man. This was going in a much different direction than he’d expected. “Are you asking me to fuck you because I’m a distraction?”

Elliot dropped his gaze to Damon’s hand again. “Yes. Parker said it would help and…please don’t make it weird?”

Kinda unavoidable now, but Damon wouldn’t point that out. If Elliot had been training since he was six, surrounded by other trainees and mercs, his understanding of relationships and dating were probably next to nil. He only understood seducing a target.

Since Damon wasn’t one, he’d gone for blunt.

Very blunt.

Which forced Damon to think about what he wanted out of this thing between them. The attraction was mutual, but he’d never been the casual type. Not that he’d had a ton of great relationships—he’d dated more than a few guys into him only because of who his parents were. Still, in prison, he’d wanted nothing more than to finish his time and use his freedom to meet someone so he could experience something real.

Could he have that with Elliot? He had no idea.

But like hell was he letting the guy steer them into a no-strings-attached arrangement without seeing where else it could go.

The biggest problem would be introducing the concept of exploring more to the human equivalent of an alley cat. Right now, if he tried to bring Elliot in from the cold, he’d get his face clawed apart. But soft touches, and gentle words, would bring him closer to walking through that door, all on his own.

Why he’d even consider this after all he’d learned about the guy, after being stabbed, punched, and repeatedly threatened, he had no idea. He didn’t think he could blame the meds anymore.

Maybe it was as simple as him being here, with Elliot, and feeling like he was still alive for a reason. He’d survived both his parents dying and trashed every opportunity he was given. Honestly, he couldn’t say he’d really wanted to live without them.

Aside from Rome, he’d had no one.

This was his second chance. And he wasn’t going to waste it.

“I won’t make it weird.” Damon brought his forearm up to cover his mouth as a yawn caught him off guard. Laying down, he patted the space in front of him on the bed. “But since you’re thinking about getting in my pants, there’s no reason for you to sleep on the floor. Get comfortable. If I don’t scare you away with my morning breath, we can talk more about…Parker’s suggestion.”

Hesitating, Elliot glanced at the spot he’d patted. Chewed on his bottom lip, then nodded firmly. “That sounds reasonable. But only if you agree to wear one cuff.”

“Fine.” Damon closed his eyes, holding out his wrist. “But you’re wearing the other.”

Another pause, followed by a click before the handcuff circled his wrist. Elliot pulled the blanket over them both, laying on his side facing Damon and attaching the other cuff to his own wrist.

He had the key, so he could unlock it whenever he wanted, but that wasn’t the point.

Symbolically, the playing field had been leveled out.

And Damon had taken the first steps in making sure…

The rules of this game are all mine .