Page 36 of Protection (Mobsters + Billionaires 2)
He shifts in his chair. “I'm glad they'll be able to find any soldiers who get lost or kidnapped. They got into my patents because they can, and we've cooperated where we can, but it’s a bit of a sore spot for me.”
“Why? Because they stole your patent?”
He shakes his head. “No.” He lets out a sigh. “I mean, yes, but it’s less about the money and more about how they targeted the protective polymer we came up with.”
“Really? What’s so special about the polymer?”
“We knew we’d be putting these trackers in things that take a beating, like athletic gear and toys. So if a kid chews on their toy and destroys the tracker, then the toy becomes a very expensive plaything. We needed a material that was flexible and strong and indestructible. It starts off as a liquid before drying into an impenetrable solid. The government figured out they can spray it on the inside of their armored vehicles so the people inside don't die from a roadside bomb.”
“Sounds positive.”
“It is! But they’ve also developed advanced hollow-point bullets that don’t even shrug when passing through a bulletproof vest. And there are way more bullets than tanks in the world, so a big net negative. It’s something we didn't anticipate, and I would one hundred percent take it back if I could.”
“But those bullets aren't available commercially, are they?”
I shake my head. “No, but they are available on the black market. My polymer kills people, and I don’t know how to make up for that.”
“Now I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds,” I say, quoting Oppenheimer.
Mads grins at me. “Did you know Oppenheimer was reciting the Bhagavad Gita?”
“Was he?” I ask. “That’s Hindu scripture, correct?”
Nodding, I shrug. “I’m not particularly faithful, but I don’t think his interpretation of the passage was quite right. Though…yes. I suppose I feel very much like he did back then.”
I’m curious to know more, but the captain comes back on, letting us know we’re almost on the ground. The landing is, of course, soft as butter, and I aim for the spacious lavatory to change into the ridiculously expensive—and gorgeous—suit that Mads bought me.
Before making my way back, Mads stops me and hands over a portable phone charger. “Here, just in case you need it.”
“Thanks,” I say, touched by his thoughtfulness.
Even after washing up and changing, I can’t help but feel a little silly. Mads is beautiful in his suit, but I look like a funeral director. I’m self-conscious as I exit the bathroom.
Mads, typing away on his phone, asks, “You okay, Anthony? You were in there a—oh.” Taking in my getup, he whistles under his breath. “How did that get better looking on you?”
My cheeks heat, which I cover with a withering glare. He hitches on an inhale, his teeth working his lower lip as his eyes follow the lines of the suit.
My disreputable imagination gifts me with a visual of fucking him up against a wall while I wear this suit, his typical jeans around his ankles, that puffer jacket of his rucked up his back while his little ass jiggles with Each. Pounding. Thrust.
Fuck me, Anthony. Right there, right there, uhn…uhnn…in his soft, stilted voice.
“The car is waiting,” I croak out, shaking my head as though that’ll reset the scenery in my mind.
No joy.
Thankfully, we’re whisked away in yet another chauffeured car through the highways of Vienna. I grasp onto the gorgeous architecture and historical landmarks for dear life, letting them reset the goddamn boundaries in my head.
Hella inappropriate to think of your client that way, Edge. Get your shit together.
But it’s Mads.
My focus finally returns when we’re met with a roadblock about a mile from our destination. We have to pull over so they can verify my background and have bomb-sniffing dogs examine our car. I know my position as Luca’s right-hand man is unknown to the international community, but official background checks still make me nervous.
Mads and I are standing off to the side, and he is absolutely shivering in his boring gray wool coat, even in the bright sunshine. I take off my scarf and wrap it around him, laughing because I have to wrap it a few more times than I usually do for myself.
He grips the scarf, sinking his face into the soft material, inhaling deeply. I tilt my head as he looks up at me through his dark fringe of eyelashes, his brown eyes sparkling.
“What?” I ask, suddenly self-conscious, wondering if he understands how lost I get when I gaze into his eyes for any length of time.
