Before he’d even left Denver, Rodrigo had paid him a visit and strong-armed him into signing documents that gave up rights to all the films produced at Bang.
So, Benito could understand that Rodrigo perhaps wasn’t thrilled with the low royalties he earned on his “creative endeavors.” It wasn’t as if he hadn’t made this known already. The man had complained about it bitterly over the years. It did Benito’s head in, and if he wasn’t so good at what he did and did it without taking too much time (unless he was bitching) or money, Benito would have had him shot.
He still didn’t have to force Benito at gunpoint to sign away monies he needed to live his life as he preferred to live it and help finance his comeback.
Rodrigo had not pushed the Luxe rights demanding claim to Tallulah’s films, mostly because Chaos had, so Benito didn’t have them to give.
No.
Not Tallulah’s.
Rebel’s.
He’d learned that from Rodrigo too.
She was not Tallulah Monroe. She was Rebel Stapleton and she was Tack Allen’s son’s gash.
The very thought made Benito feel nothing but frigid.
So he had his list.
Rodrigo first, as he’d be easy.
Some unknown shooter had taken out Lannigan, so he didn’t have to bother with that.
Though he could say he was delighted Chaos hadn’t gotten him. Tack Allen stood there and watched the man’s head explode and then . . . nothing. Every Chaos brother was riding hellbent to Tack so they all had alibis seeing as they arrived minutes after the cops came to the scene. And so far, the slaying had gone unsolved.
It was small consolation Chaos did not get him, but Benito still relished it.
Back to his list . . .
Mamá Nana would be next, simply because she should learn to show more loyalty to her people.
Then whoever that woman was who had come to his home and her two handsome toys. Benito had no idea where she came from, or who she was, but he suspected Mamá Nana knew and she’d certainly be moved to share before Benito was finished with her.
After that, Daisy Sloan because she’d been foolish enough to speak of what should not be spoken of, and regardless, even if Marcus was out of the game, the man could use being taken down a peg.
And finally, Chaos.
Starting with this Rebel.
Fooled once more by a woman.
Never again.
Which meant the only sex he fucked (or rather, let fuck him) was male.
He let himself in his apartment with his groceries, very much looking forward to the day when he could again afford a man to see to these menial chores for him. Including cooking. And cleaning. Benito detested cleaning. But he liked his space to be just so. So he did it.
It would be good when he was back.
In a number of ways.
But at least he’d found a nice place. His liquidation had gone well, considering the real estate market in Denver and the wisdom of his investments. So it was fake adobe and even had those ridiculous beams in the ceilings. It had a good view, lots of light, quiet neighbors, a great deal of space, a fabulous pool area and he’d selected exceptional furnishings.
He entered, flipped on the lights and stopped dead.
This was because the place was devoid of anything, not a painting on a wall, not a stick of furniture.
Except one of his handsome armchairs had been left.
And in it a man was lounging, wearing jeans, a leather jacket, his dark hair overlong and tousled, his features striking barring the scar that ran along his left cheek, which only served to make him look more interesting. And even from across the room, Benito could see the fullness and length of his eyelashes.
In other circumstances, Benito would be looking at him for different purposes.
In this circumstance, Benito did nothing but stare.
The man had a leg slung over one arm of the chair, his other leg with its motorcycle boot on his foot resting negligently on the floor, his back to the opposite arm of the chair.
He lounged there like he owned that chair, that apartment, the whole luxury complex.
Benito had never seen this man in his life.
He still knew who he was.
The Bounty brother who got his face sliced because his club had been foolhardy enough (though perfectly right, in Benito’s mind) to teach a Chaos woman an important lesson.
“We got your shit,” his deep voice came at Benito. “We got your safe.”
Benito felt that different kind of chill pervade. The one he hated. The one