Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 119011 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 595(@200wpm)___ 476(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119011 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 595(@200wpm)___ 476(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
There was risk involved in allowing another man into his heart, but Leo wasn’t the kind of person who bolted at the slightest sign of problems. Zolt was. He cringed in shame whenever he thought back to the way Leo had looked at him at that supermarket. So many years on, he still feared getting hurt like he had been all the way back in high school.
How pathetic.
His hand trembled on the cell phone as he approached the fish tank in the store lit up only with the morning sun coming in through tiny gaps around the shutters. The bettas maneuvered between the plants, languidly swimming in the water when he chose Trowley’s number.
The icy cockroach was at it again, making its way up Zolt’s back at an agonizing pace, but he tried to focus on Leo, the guy who’d come for him last night despite the awful way Zolt had treated him. And he didn’t stay the night because Zolt was a good lay, nor because Zolt was a safe outlet for a side of his sexuality the world might not accept, but because he cared for Zolt, whether they were a couple or not. Letting his walls chip was a frightening experience, but Zolt was ready to take his chances this one time.
Trowley’s voice was like a grumble coming out of a goat’s ass. “What.”
Zolt’s throat closed when phantom antennae touched the edges of his shoulder blades. “Not gonna get the cargo after all. The people who wanted to get rid of it have changed their mind. So it’s off. Sorry,” he added, even though the silence on the other side of the line made him want to grab the gold bars hidden away in the fish tank and run for his life.
Trowley exhaled. “Well fuck.”
Zolt held his breath, hands itching for a hammer to open up some of the wall hideouts, grab the cash, and go, but Trowley let out another sigh that sounded more resigned than anything else.
“We were just about to head out, but fine. Stay on the lookout for more,” he said and ended the call.
Zolt’s arm was so cold it felt like it might break off from the weight of the cell phone, but as Atilla faced him, floating in one place as if he wanted to scold Zolt for overthinking things, it became clear he was out of the danger zone.
So he’d lost his Rolex and a whole lot of dignity last night, but he was in one piece, alive, and Leo slept in his bed despite all the embarrassing things Zolt had told him.
Warmth flooded back to Zolt’s limbs as he passed into the living room and gravitated toward the bedroom. The faint light of a small lamp in the kitchenette cast enough light to reveal the shape of Leo’s body under the comforter.
He lay on his stomach, hugging Zolt’s pillow for lack of the real thing, and Zolt was stuck between the desire to crawl into his arms to spoon some more, and watching him sleep off the storms of last night.
The buzz at the back of Zolt’s mind seemed like static at first, but when it turned into a roar, ice crawled up his legs, and he shut the bedroom door without thinking. His brain must have shrunk, because his skull felt so empty he half-expected it to rattle by the time he unlocked the front door of his shop and walked outside to confront the bikers in the pale morning sun.
In hindsight, maybe he should have woken Leo or taken his rifle, but that ship had sailed by the time he realized the riders were most definitely not Leo’s brothers looking to take him back from Zolt’s dirty shrine of solitude. In that moment half a minute ago, all he could think of was Leo’s safety.
And when Trowley dismounted his bike, only one thought was left in Zolt’s brain: he could not let those bastards find Leo. And the chances for success were getting slimmer with every single one of those rabid hornets landing in front of his shop.
Seven in total. Even a shotgun wouldn’t have saved him.
“Hey, I thought you guys were—” He didn’t get to finish his thought when Trowley pushed him back inside, stepping through the door as if he owned the place.
Still unsteady after last night’s drinking, Zolt barely kept himself on his feet, but Vince, a black-haired yeti who didn’t know what a comb was, locked his head with one thick arm, trapping Zolt against his surprisingly hard belly.
And just like that, the invisible cockroach that had been plaguing Zolt every time he met Trowley was made of fire and smelled of the cheap body spray Vince had doused himself with first thing in the morning. The fragrance couldn’t mask the stench of liquor or sweat that still clung to the bastard, but it somehow made it sweeter, like the pungency of rotting fruit with a bit of musk added into the mix.