by Renard, Loki
Still, in spite of his awful dress sense, Damien’s hand didn’t waver in the slightest as he pointed the gun at Angelo’s chest. A practiced stance, feet shoulder width apart, one hand supporting the other. This was a man who had put his time in - and not just on a range.
Angelo lifted his dark gaze to that beautifully ferocious aquamarine stare. “No, you haven’t.”
He saw the younger man’s brows rise. “No?”
“If you had come to kill me, I’d be dead. You’re here for something else, “Angelo said with a calm smile. He knew what assassins looked like. This was not one of them. Assassins didn’t come and stand in front of you and make dashing, dramatic appearances. Assassins shot you in the back of the head and left before you ever saw them. Angelo knew all too well that he could consider himself fortunate if he were ever to encounter the kind of assassin capable of taking him down.
This young man was trying to make an impression. He’d succeeded.
“You’re half right,” Damien conceded. “Listen to me, Mr Vitali. You’re going to turn around, leave this bathroom and go to the back of the court house. You’re not going to attempt to flag down help. If you do, I’ll shoot you.”
Flagging down help was about the last thing Angelo had in mind. This was help as far as he was concerned. Damien Colt was like an angel of mercy, descending from on high to make Angelo’s life mildly bearable again.
Angelo turned around and strolled in the direction Damien had dictated. He was very curious to see how Damien managed to slip his weapon past the metal detectors at the doors.
“Keep walking, Mr Vitali.”
Damien was an impressive specimen, and easily in his thirties, but there was something about the way he said “Mr Vitali” which made him sound like an overgrown schoolboy. It was probably Angelo’s own paternalistic predilections being projected, but the way Damien was dressed certainly didn’t help.
Angelo walked through the metal detectors on the way out of the court house, thoroughly expecting mayhem to break out behind him. When it didn’t, he glanced over his shoulder and saw Damien behind him.
Where was the gun? Had he left it back in the bathroom? That would be somewhat reckless, though perhaps not if he had an accomplice. Or maybe he still had it on him and had used a form of shielding to get it through the detectors. Unlikely. Another option was that Angelo had just been held up with a plastic replica. That would account for not setting the detector off as well.
“Keep walking.”
Damien’s voice sounded from behind Angelo. It would have been easy to make a run for it. As brazen as Damien clearly was, he wasn’t going to shoot anybody in broad daylight and risk immediate capture. Angelo’s curiosity was drawing him in far more than threats of violence.
Damien came up alongside Angelo. Angelo noticed that Damien was about the same height as him, a relative rarity. Mark was just a fraction shorter, but Damien might even have a hair of height on him.
He walked with a confident stride, controlling the situation with force of personality. Or he would have, if Angelo was susceptible to that kind of manipulation. Fascinating. This was a man who was very much used to taking the lead in matters of life and death.
Damien lead him to an alley where a silver SUV was waiting. It wasn’t a current model and when Damien opened the door there was a waft of dog scent. Angelo cocked a brow at his young captor. His suit was likely worth more than the vehicle itself.
“Get in the car, Mr Vitali.”
“Or?”
“Or I’ll shoot you in the knee and put you in.”
“With what? We just went through a metal detector.”
An unholy, devastatingly attractive smile appeared on Damien’s face. “I know.”
“Imaginary bullets won’t do much to me, young man,” Angelo said. “Why don’t you tell me who you’re working for.”
Damien cocked his head to the side and gave Angelo a very appealing smile. “Why don’t you get in the car and find out?”
“I’d love to, but I have court in the morning,” Angelo sighed. “Perhaps we could take a raincheck for a more mutually agreeable time?”
“Perhaps you could get the fuck in the car,” Damien growled, his demeanor shifting in an instant. “I do have a gun, Mr Vitali.”
“And yet you can’t bring it to bear right now. Better luck next time, boy.”
Angelo turned around.
Something heavy and hard hit the back of his head.
And that was that.
Until he woke up. His skull was throbbing, and a familiar round steel bore was hard against his head.
“Gun,” Damien smiled, holding the barrel to Angelo’s forehead. “Neat magic trick, huh?”
Angelo kept his head still, but flicked his eyes around to check the environment. Obviously Damien had managed to get him into the car and take him elsewhere. He was in a warehouse of some kind. A cliche, but for a reason. You could get up to a lot in a warehouse. There was much room for activities.
Damien made a clicking sound. “Eyes here,” he said, his voice deep with satisfaction and triumph. “You’re going to want to listen to me, Angelo.”
Angelo directed his gaze back to Damien, but he was still paying attention to his surroundings. His more immediate situation was pretty clear. He was bound to a simple four-legged chair, his ankles and wrists restrained with thick plastic cable ties. Simple and cheap, but effective.
Damien took his time before speaking. He was relishing this. Good. He should.
“They told me Angelo Vitali was almost impossible to catch,” he said, smirking. “You were about the easiest person I’ve ever grabbed. You didn’t put up any fight at all.”
A smarter man might have given more thought to that fact, but Damien was obviously too cocky to think, even if he wasn’t stupid.
“Well, good for you,” Angelo said, restraining a patronizing smile. Damien was brimming with pride and he didn’t have anyone to tell. It was a difficult position to be in, Angelo could relate.
“Yes,” Damien agreed. “Good for me. Not so good for you. I was sent to take you for a reason, Angelo. You’ve been making a lot of enemies lately.”
Lately? Angelo had been making enemies forever. Damien was young enough to be brimming with joy at the idea of retribution, but Angelo had known this moment was coming for years. He hadn’t known what day it would be, or who would be holding the gun, but he’d known one day it would all come to an end. That was what set him apart from the rest of the criminal underclass. Unlike men who thought if they were just smart enough they’d get away with their crimes, Angelo knew one thing for certain: nobody gets away with anything. Ever.
He wasn’t frightened. He had meditated on this time. He had done as the ancient Japanese did and thought of a thousand ways he might die, a hundred horrible deaths every day. Whatever Damien might have in mind, it would be nothing compared to the territory Angelo had already covered in his head.
Damien’s pause drew on dramatically, but Angelo was immune to the tension. It didn’t matter. Whether that lead entered his skull now or in thirty years time, it was coming. He had been a dead man walking his entire adult life.
Angelo had often thought that it would be Bobby who finally killed him, but this end might not be so bad either. Certainly, his captor was adorable. Damien had shed the hooded sweatshirt and sport coat and was now wearing a form fitting t-shirt which presented his muscular frame to excellent effect. Angelo smiled. This boy was beautiful.
“I’ve been sent to kill you,” Damien said. “But killing you isn’t enough. You don’t deserve a simple bullet. It’s too good for you.”
He pulled the gun away from Angelo’s head, decocked the gun, and put it down on a table a few feet away.
“I’m going to hurt you first,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. His forearms rippled appealingly with the motion and Angelo felt his body responding not just to Damien’s obvious physical appeal, but to the intensity of the situation. Ther
e was no arousal like the kind to be experienced in times of life and death.
“Oh?” Angelo asked the single syllable question because Damien seemed to be expecting some kind of response.
“That’s what you do to men, isn’t it, Angelo? You tie them down and hurt them until they break?”
“It’s a little more sophisticated than that, boy.”
“Is it? Tell me.”
“I could tell you a hundred times over and you wouldn’t understand,” Angelo smiled. “It’s not something that can be explained by words. It’s something you have to feel.”
“You think I wouldn’t feel it?”
There was no way this boy would understand in a hundred years. He still expected Angelo to panic and beg for his life. Damien was no doubt a dangerous man, but he was not yet as dangerous as he could be, because he still clung to his existence. No warrior who wanted to live could be considered to have reached his full potential.
Damien reached into his pocket and pulled out a dog eared, folded piece of paper. He held it up to Angelo’s eyes.
“You know what this is?”
“I couldn’t begin to imagine,” Angelo said, humoring him.
“It’s a list of things you’ve done to people over the years, Angelo. There’s some pretty twisted shit on here. You’re responsible for a lot of pain and suffering.”
“People always choose their own pain and suffering when they deal with me,” Angelo said calmly.
“You set traps for people and you let them walk into them.”
“I tell people what will happen if they don’t do as I say. They choose the consequences.”
“Not always. If ever,” Damien said, his eyes narrowing as his temper flared. “You’re full of shit, Angelo. You’re a liar. And you don’t do what I do. I’ll pull the trigger, but you won’t put the bullet in the man yourself. You get him to do it to himself. So that’s what I’m going to do to you.”
He was angry. Interesting. This wasn’t just a professional hit. This boy had some personal affair he was avenging. Angelo was sure of that, but he certainly didn’t recognize Damien, and he was sure he would if he had met him before. Those eyes and that jawline weren’t forgettable.
“This is personal for you,” he said, keeping his voice even. “But you and I haven’t had dealings before.”
“Are you sure?” Damien’s eyes gleamed. “You don’t know what lives you’ve touched, Mr Vitali. You think you’re a genius. You think you can control the world, but there are things you can’t control. And there are people you never see coming. I’m one of them.”
“In that case, let me give you a piece of advice,” Angelo said, sitting up as straight as his bonds would allow him. “This is the one and only thing you’ll be able to trust that comes out of my mouth.”
2
So he admitted being a liar. Damien wasn’t impressed. Angelo Vitali was a piece of shit. It didn’t matter how handsome or charismatic he was. Damien hated the man, and he intended to make Angelo’s death one to remember. Still, Vitali had stayed quiet for most of his captivity, so it was about time he had something to say.
“I won’t believe this or anything else, but go ahead.”
“You should kill me,” Angelo said. “If you don’t kill me soon, I’ll have you, my boy.”
I’ll have you, my boy. The words made a shiver run down Damien’s spine. He knew Angelo’s reputation all too well, and being in the man’s presence, he could see how men were seduced by him. Angelo was very handsome. He had incredible bone structure, the sort which would have suited a model or Roman Centurion equally. Damien found his eyes drawn to Angelo’s full lips and dark eyes almost equally. Those eyes were a danger all of their own. But Damien had no intention of falling prey to Angelo’s charms. He had already seem the havoc this man wrought when men fell under his sway. There was absolutely no way Damien would make the same mistake so many others had made.
“I don’t think so,” Damien laughed derisively.
Angelo looked at him with those deep dark eyes and smiled an unholy smile, soft and yet dangerous. “If you hold me longer than twenty four hours, I win and you lose. If I were you, I’d kill me now. Take that gun, put a bullet between my eyes.”
Damien knew what Angelo was doing. He was trying to get this over with more quickly. Angelo was smart enough to know what the various tools Damien had assembled were for. He’d put money on Angelo having used most of them on other people.
Shaking his head, Damien put his hands on his hips, his muscular body casting a shadow over his captive.
“I know how you operate, Mr Vitali. But here’s the score. I’m not a lost little twenty-two year old gangster with no real ties you’ve captured as a favor to Mason Malone. I’m not a nearly closeted sexually frustrated FBI rookie either. I’m in my thirties, I have you tied up, and I’m straight. You have no power over me.”
Everything Damien said was true - except for the part where Angelo had no power over him. For some reason Damien couldn’t fathom, much less begin to explain all the power in the room seemed to be on Angelo’s side. Most people panicked when you tied them up, strained against the bonds and sweated up a foam. Usually by now a man would literally stink of fear, but Angelo was cool, calm and collected.
“Straight.” Angelo’s lips quirked. Everything Damien said, and all Angelo addressed was the sexual component. Typical.
“Yes, some men still are,” Damien allowed his natural sarcasm to emerge.
“Naive boy,” Angelo purred. “Nobody is straight.”
“I’m pretty sure they are.”
“No. Not a single soul,” Angelo smiled. “I have been with women and men, and I have never met anyone who could not be seduced under the right circumstances.”
“These aren’t those circumstances,” Damien snorted.
This really wasn’t going the way Damien wanted it to. This was supposed to be the part where he intimidated Angelo and lathered him up with anticipation for the pain. Instead it was turning into a conversation about the fluidity of sexuality.
He needed to get control of the situation. He needed to scare the shit out of Angelo. He was about to reach for the gun, but he realized that wouldn’t do anything. Not to Angelo Vitali. The man had probably had a thousand guns pulled on him in his lifetime.
“Something sharp. Or hot.”
“What?” Damien frowned at Angelo.
“You’re looking to make an opening impact, so you need to show me you’re limitless in your ability to inflict pain. The scalpel would be a good choice, medical connotations frighten a lot of people. Or the blow torch.”
“I don’t have a blow torch.”
Angelo made a tutting sound. “You should always keep a blow torch handy, boy. It can be used to harm or to help. Singeing skin, or cauterizing wounds, even sterilizing equipment at a pinch. Very handy.”
Damien cut his eyes at his prisoner. “I don’t need tips, Mr Vitali.”
He reached out and picked up a hammer.
Angelo nodded approvingly. “Simple, but brutal. Good choice.”
“Shut the hell up!” Damien raised his voice.
“Sorry,” Angelo murmured, composing his features in a condescending sort of way.
Damien didn’t detect so much as a glimmer of fear on Angelo’s face. Well, he’d soon see about that. He looked pointedly at Angelo’s right knee and lifted the hammer. Angelo’s brow didn’t so much as twitch, not even when Damien bought the hammer singing through the air in a vicious arc.
This was when they usually screamed. But Angelo didn’t make a sound. He just watched, as if he wasn’t actually a part of the situation at all.
Damien stopped short of Angelo’s knee cap. He wanted the man to be able to walk.
“Changed your mind?” The slight mocking tone to Angelo’s voice made Damien’s temper flare. He swept his hand through the air again, this time it was his left, and the back of his palm and his knuckles made solid contact with the left side of Angelo’
s face. The man’s head was thrown to the side as the satisfying sound of flesh on flesh echoed through the room.
It was then that Damien saw what he was looking for. It was only there for a split-second, an expression of fury which flared in Angelo’s dark gaze, and was gone as quickly as it had come.
“You’re going to regret that, boy,” Angelo said softly, drawing his head back to a neutral position and expression.
“Am I? I don’t think so.”
He’d found the perfect way to make a statement. Slapping a man’s face didn’t harm him seriously, but it did give him a short, sharp shock and it was a powerful statement of control.
“I’ll give you fair warning,” Angelo continued in those same calm, quiet tones which made the hair on the back of Damien’s neck stand up. “Whatever you do to me, I will do to you double.”
“You’re shackled to a chair.”
“I won’t be forever.” Angelo looked Damien dead in the eye and Damien felt an unsettling sense that Angelo was right. Somehow, he was going to escape.
“There’s nobody coming to rescue you, and I’m not going to let you go,” Damien said. “You’ll stay under lock and key until the day you die. Which will be the day I am done exacting vengeance for each and every one of your victims.”
“I don’t have victims,” Angelo said, with a hint of impatience. “People come to me and the consequences unfold. They will for you, just as they do for the others.”
Damien took a deep breath and looked at Angelo with a begrudging sense of admiration. That slap had taken him aback, but he was already trying to reassert himself with threats. Bringing him to his knees was not going to be as easy as Damien had thought.
Angelo’s trick was to seduce a man, to make him destroy himself, rather than acting directly, so Damien’s plan wasn’t to beat him or torture him. It was to let Angelo experience the full horror of that kind of manipulation on the receiving end.