Page 34 of Covert Desires

I don’t want to.

There’s something so addictive about that desperate look on Nico’s face when those blue eyes go from cold to needy. It changes him; humanizes him.

Is it ethical? Fuck no.

Is it normal? Also no.

Does it make me want it less? I hate to admit it, but no.

That’s why damn near impossible to figure out what to do next.

I am reluctant to accept Nico’s offer for help—as much as I could use the extra muscle to catch up.

What stops him from just tying me up again? Given half a chance, I’m sure he’ll correct his first mistake of letting me live.

But, at the same time, I’m also getting tired of swapping out the waterproof bedsheets and cleaning up his shit (literally). I can’t keep him tied to that bed indefinitely.

Option C is ratting him out and letting him face the music. If he killed the Don, there is no way they’ll let him live.

I don’t know if he did it, but he sure as hell seems capable. It would explain why he’s hiding out here.

But that option puts me at risk. Dealing with one mafia asshole is one thing. Dealing with a whole lot of mafia assholes is another. I didn’t work this hard to build myself a new life, a new identity, to just blow it all up because I can’t handle a little brat.

None of these options are ideal, no matter how many times I repeat them in my head.

It takes four days of listening to Nico’s bitching and whining before I come up with Option D as I’m enjoying my sunrise coffee on the porch, the air already thick with an oppressive heat that will only get hotter, stickier.

Chucking the last of my now-cold coffee back in a single gulp, I head to the inn’s storeroom.

In the left corner, there’s a false wall only I know about, safe from any workers who might let their curiosity get the better of them.

I place my finger on the hidden scanner, unlocking the secret closet space where I keep what little I’ve decided to horde from my years as a private military contractor in the years that followed my Special Forces reign.

I was the fucking best mercenary money could buy. For nearly a decade I lived like I was unstoppable, a god. It was way more fun doing private contracts than following orders from the government; I was in my element.

When I gave it all up, I couldn’t resist keeping a few items. You never know when enemies could come knocking again.

Sure, after five years of peace, I’d grown complacent. But I never got rid of the box.Just in case.

The particular item I’m looking for today is a one-of-a-kind beauty I designed myself, my pride and joy.

It’s a bit unorthodox, sure, but it’s proved itself helpful many times before.

Nico’s eyes widen with suspicion when I return with my new gadget.

I’m sure the calculating bastard is trying to figure out what this contraption is, but he’ll realize soon enough.

The explosive collar feels heavier in my hands than I remember. I designed it for situations exactly like this—when a simple threat isn't enough, and I need absolute control.

The collar itself is a sleek band of reinforced metal—deceptively thin yet impossibly strong. Inside it, a series of intricate circuits and small explosive charges are carefully embedded, designed to deliver a deadly message with the push of a button.

A close-range device, it’s of no threat to anyone other than the wearer. But to make sure everything is as it should be, I double-check all the wires again—just in case. Everything is as it should be.

Walking slowly, I approach my uninvited guest cautiously, every muscle in my body tense as those blue eyes track my moves.

“What is that?” Nico asks, eyes narrowing as he pulls against the restraints that show little sign of giving in.

"Hold still," I command, my voice cold and steady, not bothering to answer his question.

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