Hitman vs Hitman - L.A. Witt Page 0,73
every murder.
Killing people didn’t have a patch on getting fucked by Ricardo in the satisfaction department, though. “So!” August propped his pointy chin up on Ricardo’s pectoral and smirked when his lover grimaced. “Now you.”
Ricardo looked pensively up at the ceiling. “I prefer to dominate the people I actually take to bed. A lot of times it doesn’t get that far, though.”
“You can still dominate someone without bending them over and fucking them.”
“True, but I have to bother to make the effort. And sometimes, it’s just…easier not to.” He paused for a moment, then added, “I learned a lot about sexual domination from my ex-wife, actually.”
Ex-wife? Interesting. “Any ex-husbands out there, too?” Anyone I’ve got to kill?
Ugh, what is wrong with me?
Ricardo raised an eyebrow. “Why? Are you looking for pointers, or are you just jealous?”
August scoffed. “Oh, please. As if I need to take tips from anyone on how to have a good time.” He had his issues, there was no denying it, but he knew them inside and out. Anyone who’d gone through as much expensive therapy as he had would if they had the slightest hint of self-curiosity. He might flail when it came to actual, bona fide romantic relationships, but he was damn good in bed. “I just want to know every little thing about you, Ricky,” he cooed, batting his eyelashes. “Like why Mr. Silva started drooling when I told him you were the one I wanted killed.”
Groaning, Ricardo rubbed his eyes. Then he let his hand fall to the bed beside them. “I did a job. Few years back. Killed an associate of his.”
“I thought you didn’t work with the mob.”
“I don’t if I can help it. This wasn’t a made man or anything. Just someone who made a lot of money for the Cavalcantes, but pissed off someone enough that they wanted him out of the picture.”
“And, what?” August lifted himself up and looked at Ricardo, pleased Ricardo kept his hand in the middle of his back. “You get caught or something?”
Ricardo laughed bitterly. “I’m still alive, aren’t I?”
“Okay, so if you didn’t get caught…”
Humor fading, Ricardo exhaled. “The fuck who hired me couldn’t keep his mouth shut. Bragged to everyone who’d listen that he’d hired Ricky Garcia to take out…whatever that asshole’s name was.”
“Oh, shit.”
“Yeah. Pedro had him taken out because someone with loose lips like that is a liability to everyone. But then he got in touch with me. I didn’t know he knew, and I figured he just wanted to hire me or something.” Ricardo shifted a little, his hand still resting on August’s back. “We sat down, and he told me he understood business was business and that I was just doing a job, but that I should understand that if I ever crossed the Cavalcantes again, he would take it personally.”
“Which is Mafia-nese for, ‘we’ll kill you,’ right?”
Ricardo nodded. “I told him that if he didn’t want me getting contracted to kill people he worked with, maybe he should consider working with people who aren’t shitbags.”
August’s jaw fell open. “You did not.”
With an actual laugh, Ricardo said, “I did. And then I got up and walked out.”
“Oh my God. With two middle fingers upraised?”
“Please. I’m a little more professional than that.”
“Pfft. See, I’d have been expecting him to shoot me, so I’d have been all ‘might as well go down with some sass.’”
“Uh-huh.” Ricardo gestured at himself. “Notice I didn’t get shot.”
“Hmm, yes. I noticed you don’t have any scars from bullet holes.” August smirked. “Though I did notice some interesting little scars on your butt cheek. What are those all about?”
Ricardo cringed and blushed. “For fuck’s sake. Trust you to notice.”
“Mmhmm. So? Where’d they come from?”
Sighing, Ricardo stared up at the ceiling. “Making an unplanned escape out a window when a job went south. A burglary when I was younger.” He made a face. “I found out the hard way that the homeowner had planted rosebushes in front of the windows.”
August didn’t even try to hide his amusement. “Rosebushes?” he cackled. “You’re a Green Beret sniper, and you got your ass scarred by rosebushes? Oh, that’s… That’s priceless.” He wiped his eyes. “Oh my God.”
“You know, you’re—”
A ringtone trilled, interrupting the threat Ricardo was undoubtedly about to make. August rolled out of bed in a hurry and grabbed for his pants. He slid the phone out of the pocket and checked the number. “It’s Silva,” he confirmed.
“Don’t just stare at it, answer it.”
“Don’t be such a backseat