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1
Bennett
There wasn’t anywhere left to go.
Our quarry was trapped — Leander at one end of the alley; I at the other. The man darted back and forth, as if to see which of us would be easier to escape. The answer was neither.
“Poor little mouse,” Leander purred, closing the distance in fluid strides.
I tsked the man, matching Leander’s steps. “Didn’t run fast enough.”
“Or far enough.”
The thief backed up until he could go no further, cornering himself against a mint-green wall.
“Wrong pocket, amigo,” I said with a dark smile.
“Youdoknow how much I hate thieves,” Leander concurred.
“Almost as much as liars.”
“Now that we’ve caught him, whatever shall we do with him?” Leander cocked his head, a chilling smile on his lips.
I glanced up in faux thought, drumming the tips of my fingers on my chin. “He did make us run all this way…”
“And interrupted a perfectly pleasant evening.”
“So rude.”
“I abhor rudeness.”
The man flung Leander’s wallet on the ground and held up his hands, blubbering in a string of Spanish and snotty tears. Something about kids. Food. Hurricanes. Blah blah blah. Woe is me.
“How can he make amends to you, my love?” I asked, taking a step closer to the man.
Leander studied him with narrowed eyes, his head held high, like the dark prince he was. “Historically speaking, what was the punishment for theft?”
“When caught in the act?” I replied with a feral smile. “Muerto.”
The man’s eyes widened, renewing the blubbering.
Leander’s smile spread wider, matching mine. “Ah, yes. Death.”
“Lo siento,” the man pleaded, clasping his hands together. “Por favor.”
Up close, he was even more pathetic. Half a foot shorter than either of us and as scrawny as a teenager, despite being twice as old. If he’d simply asked for assistance, his fate would have been much, much different. Both of us could afford to be charitable in the right situation. But getting a little handsy with Leander’s back pocket, taking what wasn’t his? Assuming we’d be none the wiser because my tongue was down down Leander’s throat? Unacceptable.
But that wasn’t even the worst of it. No, the worst part was making me run with a fucking hard-on. Was there no decency left in the world?
“Alright then,” I sighed, looking at the man sadly. “If you insist.” Pulling a steak knife from the small of my back, I plunged it into the center of his abdomen, all the way to the handle.
He grabbed my hand with both of his, a stunned expression on his face. If he thought the move would stop me from twisting the blade viciously or from yanking it sideways to sever more of his internal organs, he was wrong. A wave of blood gushed over my hand, letting me know I’d hit the artery.
“Vaya con Dios,” I murmured to the dying man. Ripping the knife out, I took a step backward, away from the spurts of blood. Without me literally pinning him in place, the man slid down the wall, leaving behind a streak of glistening black on the pale stucco.
I started to reach for my handkerchief when Leander strode forward. He grabbed me by the back of the neck and yanked me in, kissing me hard. His forward momentum and the force of the kiss drove me backward. I nearly tripped over the dead man’s feet before Leander slammed into the wall, knocking the knife from my hand.
My newly-freed hands caught Leander’s face, as much to steady myself as it was to pull him closer. He didn’t seem to mind the blood smeared on his jaw, just as I couldn’t have cared less about the fact we were in the middle of San Juan, where anyone could waltz up and find us.
