Vincent groaned loudly, the sound muffled by the roar of the bike engine beneath him. His back ached, his legs cramped, and his wallet felt lighter with every damn mile.
"Forty-five minutes," he muttered under his breath, lips twisting in annoyance. "Forty-five goddamn minutes of endless road and not a single hotel. What is this, some cursed stretch of land where people don't sleep?"
Marcus clung behind him, silent as always, his chin hovering just above Vincent's shoulder. Vincent's inner voice was far less restrained.
Oh, god. My time's evaporating, my money's bleeding out, and I'm still no closer to getting that four-digit key to paradise. Millions!! Godamn billions locked behind the memory of a man who barely remembers his own name. What kind of cosmic joke is this?
Just when he was ready to throw the bike into the nearest ditch out of spite, the darkness ahead split open with buzzing neon. A strip of pink and violet lights blinked in uneven rhythm, painting the cracked asphalt with a sleazy glow. The sign overhead sputtered: Velvet Dreams Motel.
It wasn't just a motel. Even from a distance, Vincent caught sight of women draped along the entrance like living ornaments. They leaned against poles, skirts barely covering thighs, smiles sharp as knives.
Vincent's lips curved upward in relief. Finally, a break. A room, a bed… and a little fun to wash the exhaustion off my bones.
He slowed the bike, rolling it toward the garish entrance. Marcus shifted behind him, eyebrows furrowing.
"Why… why are we stopping here?" Marcus's tone was cautious, edged with unease.
"Because," Vincent said without missing a beat, "we're spending the night here."
Marcus's fingers tightened against the seat. "This place… it doesn't look safe. We can find another hotel—"
Vincent chuckled, already swinging his leg off the bike. "Safe? Cariño, I've slept in worse places than this. Besides, you heard me groaning for the last forty minutes. I'm not riding another mile tonight."
Before Marcus could protest further, movement sliced between them. A woman with glossy lips and a neckline that defied gravity draped herself across Vincent's shoulders like they were old friends. Her perfume hit him in waves, sticky-sweet and intoxicating.
"Well, well, handsome," she purred, fingers tracing the collar of his jacket. "Looking for company tonight?"
Marcus's mouth snapped shut, his eyes widening. Vincent only chuckled, sliding his arm around her waist as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
"Company found," he replied smoothly, letting himself be tugged toward the door. Over his shoulder, he called out, "Come on, cariño. Don't just stand there."
Marcus followed, his jaw tight, silence pressing heavy between his steps.
---
Inside, the motel was worse than the outside promised. Music thumped low and dirty, mingling with the haze of cigarette smoke. The air smelled of spilled beer, cheap perfume, and sweat. Dim lights cast everything in shades of red and gold, like a hell Vincent could get comfortable in.
And he did.
The moment they stepped in, Vincent was swept into the current of bodies, laughter, and teasing hands. The woman at his side tugged him toward a corner table, her fingers dancing up his chest. Another leaned in with a wicked grin, whispering something against his ear that made him smirk.
Vincent leaned back in his chair, legs spread, already half-drunk on attention.
"Drinks," he called to a passing waiter, not even sparing Marcus a glance. "Something strong. Don't be cheap."
His hands wandered, his flirtations flowed, and for once, he didn't care who was watching.
But Marcus was watching.
From the corner of the room, Marcus stood stiff, his back pressed against the wall like he needed the anchor. A drink appeared in his hand—he wasn't sure if he'd asked for it or if someone shoved it there. His fingers curled around the glass until the cool edge dug into his palm.
His gaze never left Vincent.
Not when Vincent laughed too loudly.
Not when Vincent's hand slid across bare skin.
Not when Vincent kissed the back of someone's hand like he'd forgotten Marcus was even in the room.
Another woman approached Marcus, her heels clicking against the sticky floor. She leaned in, her hand bold against his chest, her lips forming an invitation.
"Hey, sweetheart," she said, pressing close, her hand sliding toward his arm.
Her touch lasted barely a second.
Marcus turned his head slowly, and his glare cut through her smile like a blade. His eyes—usually soft, lost, almost childlike—had hardened into something unrecognizable. Something dangerous.
Marcus's eyes snapped to hers, a dark, piercing glare so sharp it sliced the air between them. There was no confusion in it, no absentminded softness, no harmless forgetfulness. For the briefest flicker of time, his face twisted into something deadly. Something raw.
The woman faltered, withdrawing with an awkward laugh. "Okay, okay… no touching. Got it."
The woman faltered, a nervous giggle tumbling out as she tried to brush it off. But Marcus's hand snapped up, swatting hers away with a sharpness that made her stumble back. She muttered under her breath and disappeared into the crowd.
Marcus turned away, snatching a drink from the tray of a startled waiter. He raised it to his lips, watching Vincent. Always Vincent.Marcus lifted the glass to his lips, though he didn't drink. His knuckles had whitened around it, veins standing stark against pale skin.
Across the room, Vincent, oblivious, leaned into the hooker on his lap, whispering something that earned him a giggle. His laughter carried easily across the room. Oblivious to the way Marcus's gaze had shifted.
The sweet, confused young man was gone. What lingered in the shadows of his expression was something far darker. His eyes gleamed, not with sadness or longing, but with possession.
As Vincent leaned closer to the woman at his side, Marcus's grip on the glass tightened until it threatened to shatter.
And then—slowly, deliberately—Marcus smiled.
It wasn't warm. It wasn't shy.
It was a smile that promised one thing.
Mine ... only Mine.
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PLEASE SUPPORT PRETTY LADIES AND HANDSOME GENTLEMEN ,
WITH GIRLS IN LAP,
VINCENT 😉
WITH DEADLY POSSESSIVENESS ,
MARCUS. 😈