Page 112 of Damián

They’re just talking, but they’re incredibly close. The man is leaning intimately into Oliver’s ear, and Oliver is actually smiling.

What the fuck?!

Who is this guy?

And… Why does he look so familiar?

Oh, Dios, no…

Por favor, no… I pray as I isolate the man’s face and run a quick reverse-image search.

Dozens of pictures instantly flood the screen from different tabloids and paparazzi sites. In half of them, he and Oliver are together. They’re leaving parties, sitting on couches with lines of coke on the table, or whispering entirely too close to each other.

But the last photo on the search makes my blood run cold: the man has his arms wrapped tightly around Oliver, and it looks as if he is kissing Oliver’s neck.

He is one of Oliver’s ex-hookups…

What the fuck is he doing with him?

I check Oliver’s recent picture, and I pay attention to the background. The place has square tables made of glass, black flooring, velvet curtains dividing the sections, and then I see it, way into the background, the purple neon VIP sign that leads into a corridor.

Mierda!

I slam the laptop shut, snatch Leif’s car keys off the desk, and storm toward the back exit. But I don’t make it two steps before Leif blocks my path.

“What are you doing?”

“I know where they are.”

“And you’ll do what, exactly?” Leif asks, holding his ground. “Walk in and grab a drink with them?”

“They’re at Purple Velvet.”

“Oh, crap…”

“What’s Purple Velvet?” Tae asks, and it makes sense he wouldn’t know; the guy despises anything that involves physical human contact.

“It’s a club with VIP back rooms you can rent to have sex,” Leif explains, while still blocking my damn path.

“And your fake boyfriend is there right now with Jason Momoa?” Tae gasps.

“He is not Jason Momoa,” I snap, glaring at him.

Tae shrugs. “He looks like him.”

Alexios leans closer to Tae and whispers, “I thought so too.”

“Leif, move,” I warn him.

“I can’t. You are very agitated, and I don’t want you to do something stupid.”

Tae reaches out and pulls him back. “Come on, Leif, we need to trust that Damián knows what to do, and that if he fucks up, he’ll call us.“

“Promise you’ll call if you need us.”

“I promise,” I say, and he finally moves away.

“And please don’t shoot anyone!” Leif screams as I run down the hall to a vending machine that’s also a secret elevator.