Chapter 11

Waiting. Francesco felt numb all over, and his eyes just turned to his phone, checking the time. How would Karl’s dad play his hand? And, most importantly, when? He had been clear that Francesco was to keep his mouth shut if he wanted what was best for Karl. That brought him to the other person in his life who kept him waiting. No sign from him for days, now. Could it be that his dad changed his mind, after all, and sent him to his unit to become his mates’ cum-dump? No, it would have been too much of an elaborate ploy only to taunt Francesco. Karl’s dad was simply an efficient man, one for games only if they suited him. Sending Karl to happy gangbang camp didn’t seem efficient.

The phone ringing took him by surprise so quickly that he almost dropped it.

“Hey,” he whispered.

Karl’s breathing could be heard on the other side.

“Aren’t you going to talk?” he tried to sound like he was teasing, but his voice was unnatural even to his own ears.

“Cesco,” Karl said, and Francesco stood, aware of the pain in the other’s tone. “I think the fucker knows about us.”

“What? I mean, how do you know?” Francesco asked, his throat dry like sandpaper.

“You need to leave, get out of where you live,” Karl said with urgency.

“Are you serious? And go where? Karl--”

“Just listen, Cesco. I’ll send you an address. You go there. And then we’ll figure it out. I’m not letting him hurt you, get it?”

“I--”

The phone clicked and then a short message with an address appeared. Had Morgan said anything? No, he must have been warned, unless, of course, Karl’s dad wanted to trap the bodyguard at the same time.

It had to be the fucker, as Karl called him, making his move. Francesco just knew it. He couldn’t say what made it so, but he did. Without thinking twice, he grabbed his jacket and walked out the door. He didn’t believe there was time to pack.

Did the guy just have a twisted sense of humor or what? Francesco looked grimly at the mountain home in front. He had seen it before, only days ago, not that he had spent any time admiring it or anything after leaving the grounds. It had been just in passing, as Morgan had driven off.

So Karl thought this to be a hiding place, a safe haven for them. How wrong he was. But Francesco couldn’t bring himself to rush inside, grab his hand, and tell him that this was all wrong, that he was wrong, and that his dad was already a hundred years ahead. What would be the good in that? He wouldn’t lie, and that would feel like a big relief, but otherwise?

He might just sign a conviction order for both him and Karl. So, he needed to play cool, go in, and pretend that he had no idea what was going on. Karl might smell it on him, the ugly lies, but if he talked— With one deep breath, he climbed the front stairs and placed his hand on the knob, expecting the door to give in. Knocking to be allowed in whatever hell expected him on the other side seemed like too much of a parody.

The door was pulled from his hand, and the next moment, he was in Karl’s arms. The warmth of his body almost made him cry. Without a word, Karl took him inside and closed the door.

“Karl,” Francesco started, “what’s this all about?”

Karl held his face and looked into his eyes. “I missed you.”

He knew that, the pain that came with it, too, but he couldn’t bring himself to say it back. Everything about him that very moment screamed phony. He wouldn’t taint it.

The chance to speak was taken from him as Karl kissed him. His jacket was pushed away from his shoulders, and feverish hands reached under his shirt, wanting him. Francesco pressed against Karl’s chest to stop him. “What the hell is going on? On the phone, you said that your dad--”

“Yeah, but I don’t want to talk. Who knows when I’m going to see you again?” Karl forced his way back and held him close, bent on making him get out of his clothes in record time.

If there was a good time for an out of body experience, now had to be it. Francesco wanted Karl, fuck, he wanted to get fucked right after all that shit he’d gone through, but not like this, not when he was a liar of the worst kind.

Karl turned him to face the wall and did quick work of lubing his ass with spit. Francesco grunted in surprise, although he should have known what came next.

“You’re so tight, baby,” Karl murmured into his ear. “Always so tight. Not fucking that toy lately?”

“No,” Francesco breathed out as Karl’s girth stretched him, kindling something wild inside him. No, not the toy. He hadn’t been in the mood since that day. But Karl’s cock in him was hot and familiar, and his pretenses fell.

He grunted as Karl fucked him against the wall, out of synch, recklessly. The sound of their bodies smacking against each other was loud, too loud. Francesco feared that if he did as little as breathe too much, it would trigger something, something dangerous that waited right around the corner.

He should say something, yell at Karl that whatever they were doing now was nothing but a fraud, but with each thrust that sent his pleasure sky-high, he found himself losing the battle.

What was the senator’s move, anyway? To catch them with their pants down—

“What the hell?”

Francesco froze, and so did Karl. He knew that voice, of course he did. Good thing the senator hadn’t let him on the details of his plan, because now his shock and fear were very much real.

Karl pushed himself out of him and then shielded him with his body. Francesco turned, dread growing higher and higher inside his chest. Over Karl’s shoulder, he saw the man’s face, all a righteous frown, so good an act that he should have been selling tickets and enjoy a full house.

“What’s this, Karl?” the senator said slowly, feigning pained surprise all too well. “Pull your pants up for fuck’s sake.”

Karl obeyed quickly. “Cesco,” he said through his teeth, “just go to the car and drive.”

“He won’t do anything of the kind,” the senator said smoothly, his frown turning into something else. “Cesco? What’s that short for?”

Oh, hell, where the fuck was that Oscar?

“None of your fucking business,” Karl said, each word heavy in his mouth. “Cesco, run.”

“I wasn’t asking you.”

So, was that his cue? Francesco felt his breathing slowing, his ears pounding. He needed to play his card right. Why not just be his crazy self, like usual? He pulled up his pants and stepped forward from behind Karl. He walked toward the senator with an extended arm. “That would be Francesco, sir.”

The man looked him up and down. He didn’t take his hand, but something in his eyes approved of Francesco’s daring move. Karl didn’t think so. He grabbed Francesco and pulled him back. “Don’t get close to him. He’ll fuck you up. Didn’t you fucking hear me? Just get out already!”

“And why would he run, Karl?” The senator had already shed the pained act and was now leaning against the doorjamb with a disgusted sneer painted all over his face. “Also, my men are outside, so get it out of your head that the boy is going anywhere.”

“How are you here? Why?” Karl shouted.

“Why am I here, in a house that belongs to me?”

“It doesn’t fucking belong to you!”

“Language, Karl. Learn some manners from your ... whatever he is. Francesco.”

The way the man said his name was as irksome as ever. Karl didn’t miss it. “Don’t you dare say his name!”

“Why, are you forbidding me? You two, step into my office. Now.”

The senator turned his back, sure that they would follow. Francesco looked at Karl, and the other’s wild eyes frightened him for a moment. Then, he remembered. Of course, Karl had every reason on the planet to fear his father. Mr. Big Shot Senator was to be feared.

“Let’s just do what he says,” he whispered.

“No.” Karl shook his head. “He’ll do something, he’ll--”

Francesco took his arm. “He might, but I cannot run anyway. Let’s face it. We got caught.”

Karl tried to fight him, but he was clearly helpless. “I won’t let him,” he said stubbornly, hands into fists by his sides.

Francesco dragged him into the office where he had been gangbanged for hours and had sucked off his future daddy-in-law only days ago.

“Sit down,” the senator ordered.

Francesco sat gingerly on one chair, but Karl remained standing by his side, holding his hand, and staring defiantly at his father.

“You can be such a drag sometimes,” Karl’s dad said with what sounded like an exasperated sigh. “I won’t harm Francesco. You have my word. It should be enough. Now sit.” The last word was barked, louder all of a sudden, and Karl finally sat on the other chair.

“So,” the senator started, leaning back into his armchair and watching them with hawk-like eyes, “the reason why Bea complains to her parents that you’re cold toward her is that you’re fucking Francesco behind her back. And mine.”

“So?” Karl spat.

“So? Is that everything you have to say? You’re a bit too old to be throwing tantrums, don’t you think?”

Francesco remained silent. No cue for him to take the stage just yet.

“What about you, Francesco?” The senator turned his attention fully on him. “Do you have more to say on the matter?”

Francesco straightened up in his chair and brought his hands together, his fingers steepled in front to begin his case. “I understand that it may come as a big shock to you, sir.”

“Understatement of the year. Until minutes ago, I thought my son was heterosexual and about to get married. To a woman,” the senator emphasized the word. “Go on.”

“You don’t have to tell him nothing, Cesco,” Karl hissed.

“It’s all right. I think your dad needs to hear the truth,” Francesco said. He felt calm again. The situation could go from bad to worse in the blink of an eye, but he was hanging all his hopes on Karl’s dad being a man of his word, after all. “I love your son, sir. And he loves me.”