“Tell me,” Rafael asked, after a particularly aggravating exchange. “What do you want to achieve with all this?”
Summer met his gaze without flinching. “I want a life away from the cartel,” he said, gesturing around them at the trappings of the cartel. “A life where I’m free to love who I want, do what I want, and not have to pretend to be something I’m not.”
The life he described seemed impossibly soft and easy, far removed from anything Rafael had ever known.
“And what would you do with this life?”
“Oh, so many things.” Summer bit his lip, closing his eyes like he was picturing it. “Lazy mornings in bed. Afternoons exploring art galleries or walking by the sea. A job in a cafe, maybe, or…or a clothing store. Talking to people. Listening to them. And at night, I’d go dancing my friends. Or,” and he opened his eyes, “just spent a quiet evening at home, cooking with someone.”
His cheeks reddened, and Rafael grit his teeth. The simplicity of it all tugged at Rafael’s heart.
“Sounds like a fucking fairytale,” he muttered, shaking his head.
Rafael pushed it away, recognizing the dangerous path thinking of this would lead him down. He couldn’t afford to dream of a life outside the cartel, not when he was so deeply entrenched in it. He belonged to this world, and there was no escaping it.
“That’s a pipe dream,” he said harshly. “Just a fantasy.”
“Maybe,” Summer replied, seemingly unfazed by Rafael’s words. “But at least I know what I want. Can you say the same?”
Rafael clenched his jaw, the question lingering in the air between them like a challenge. As much as he wanted to deny it, part of him envied Summer’s conviction, his unwavering sense of self even amidst the chaos that surrounded them.
Rafael shook himself. Enough of such thoughts. Time for another lesson.
“Get up,” Rafael ordered gruffly, trying to keep his voice steady. “You’re going to do some chores around here.”
Summer looked at him with a mixture of surprise and incredulity, but he complied, turning to offer Rafael his bound hands. Rafael’s eyes lingered on Summer’s delicate wrists as he untied him, the red marks from the ropes standing out against his pale skin. Rafael resisted the urge to soothe those marks with his fingers.
“Where’s your mop?” Rafael asked.
Summer shrugged. “I don’t have one.”
“Then you’re washing the floors with a rag,” Rafael said. For a moment, Summer looked like he might argue, but then he sighed, stretching his arms above his head.
“Fine,” he said.
He went to the cupboard under the sink and brought out some rags and a bucket. As he watched Summer put the bucket under the tap, Rafael thought that if he were a woman, he would make a good wife. His movements were graceful and precise, and there was something undeniably alluring about the way his auburn hair fell across his face as he concentrated on his task.
How soft and beautiful Summer was, so different from the rough, hardened men of the cartel. It struck Rafael once again that Summer had deliberately left the cartel behind, and he wondered how many men he’d been with since then. Surely, it couldn’t have been that many? After all, it had been less than a year.
His thoughts began to drift, images of Summer entwined with faceless men bubbling up in his mind. Rafael imagined Summer submissive in bed, remembering the things Summer had told him days ago, though he didn’t believe them for a second. He could see it now, Summer on his knees, mouth full and eyes pleading, or bent over, taking every inch of a stranger’s cock and begging for more. In every scenario, Summer was the one being taken, and the thought sent a jolt of arousal through Rafael, who had himself only ever been the dominant one in his encounters with men.
He shook his head, trying to shake off the intrusive thoughts. It was dangerous territory, letting himself get carried away like that, especially with Summer so close, and looking so damn tempting.
Rafael wanted to believe that Summer had never done the things he’d said he had, but still, he wanted to know if Summer had really sold himself, if he had gone that far.
“How do you make money to support yourself out here?” Rafael asked, willing Summer to tell him the truth.
Summer looked up from the sink and smirked. “Well, if you must know, I turn tricks for dirty old men. They just can’t resist this pretty face.”
Rafael’s jaw clenched and a wave of anger washed over him. The thought of Summer offering himself up to sleazy strangers made him seethe with jealousy. He hated the idea of someone else touching what he couldn’t have.
“That’s disgraceful,” he spat out.
To his surprise, Summer rounded on him angrily, his green eyes flashing. “And what about you, huh? Have you ever bought sex, Rafael?” Rafael hesitated, not wanting to admit the truth. Summer took his silence as confirmation. “Yeah, I thought so. Why are you getting all high and mighty then? My friend fucks people for money, and she’s the most wonderful person in the world. The men who pay for sex are at least as sinful as the sex workers they pay. So why don’t they get treated with disdain, huh?”
Rafael’s confusion deepened as he considered Summer’s words. He had always seen whores as beneath him, but now, faced with Summer’s fierce defense of his friend, he wondered. Was he really any better than those he’d looked down upon?
He realized he couldn’t dismiss Summer’s words as easily as he would have liked. The idea left a bitter taste in his mouth.