Page 5 of Beneath the Light of the Moon
Rolling his eyes, Mikko turned to the source of the voice, perturbedthat his friend had somehow read his mind, yet mocked him.
Typical.
Cristiano had pulled up behind him along the curb, his gray Mercedes sleek in the fading light of the sunset that hadjustconsumed his mind. While they’d talked on the phone a night prior, Mikko was still glad to see his friend in person. Sarcasm and all.
Flipping up his visor, Mikko met Cristiano’s humorous gaze. “And here I was going to say how much I missed you.”
“A lie if I’ve ever heard one.” Cristiano stood on the edge of the curb beside where Mikko had maneuvered his Yamaha R6 motorcycle into a parking spot, a grin plastered on his face.
Shaking his head, Mikko swept his kickstand down as the sounds of the city filtered in around him. He grimaced as cars sped by, faster than was necessary in the heart of the city and distant sirens grew into a cacophonous swell around them, reaching a crescendo grating on his nerves.
Oh, Portland, how I’ve missed you,he internally scoffed.
But that wasn’t what held his attention.
It was the shade of Cristiano’s hair—a light powderyblue.
His friend noticed the infinitesimal flick of Mikko’s eyes, his mouth already opening, “If you sayonemean thing about my hair,” Cristiano started, “I’ll make you take care of Ivan by yourself.”
Closing his mouth beneath his helmet, Mikko swallowed his words and swung his leg over his bike.
Cristiano clicked the fob in his hand, and the Mercedes’ headlights flashed amber, glinting off his white smile. “Didn’t think that would actually work.”
He spun the keys around his pointer finger. The streetlights around them would soon flicker on, nighttime blanketing the city once the sun set the rest of the way.
“Fuck off,” Mikko mumbled, tugging the gloves off his hands andtucking them into the pockets of his riding jacket.
“I would if I could, butyouhave a tendency of scaring any prospects away,” Cristiano teased, “but here I am, still trying. Obviously.” He gestured toBubblegumbehind him. The infuriating shade of pink on the sign glinted off the glass buildings nearby, but all Mikko could think about wasThe Portland Social’sarticle. A headache was building behind his eyes.
A line was forming outside the door, opening time almost upon them. It was one of the many establishments Mikko owned, his real estate development business renting out dozens of properties within city limits.
Regardless of how this night would end, he suspected it would begin as an evening of Cristiano blowing off some steam.
“Although, if you’re giving me permission to kill two birds with one stone…” his friend continued, words trailing off before he punctuated them with a devious wiggle of his brows.
Socking Cristiano in the arm, he walked by him with a tired sigh. “I’m going to demote you.”
“Personally or professionally? Because the former is impossible; I’m afraid you’re stuck with me forever, sweetheart.”
A small smile threatened to spread across Mikko’s lips. His friend’s nicknames were always cringy and appalling, but he wouldn’t have it any other way. “I’ll find a way to make you disappear,darling.”
“Oh, sounds ominous.”He fell into step with Mikko. “But consider me interested.”
“Let’s get this night over with, yeah?” Mikko hated coming here, and any other place like it. The music was always too loud and the stifling weight of bodies pressed around him made nausea churn in his gut. So many people in one room wasaskingfor trouble.
It made him anxious.
If the deviants he employed and paid knew that, he’d be in trouble.And if Cristiano knew, he would laugh his ass off until he fucking cried.
“Whatever ya say, boss.”
Cristiano dodged Mikko’s second playful punch.
“Since when did this place get so busy?” Mikko asked as he finally slipped his helmet off, relishing in the cool air brushing across his cheeks.
“Since forever, you just don’t get out.Ever.”
Mikko’s hand gripped his helmet tighter, his companion’s words stinging with truth. His mind wandered back to last night, the crisp taste of vodka erasing his lonely, shut-in evening.
