8. Back Stabbing Husband
811 Words
The next morning, Elian woke up to a silent house.
His limbs felt like lead, and his eyelids felt so heavy he could barely open his eyes. The first thing he noticed was that the penthouse was quiet, on instinct his head turned to the side, and found the space beside him empty. He lay there for a moment, trying to recall fully what happened the day before. His body ached in the best and worst ways, bruises blooming across his hips, bite marks on his shoulder, the grip of Dex’s hand still imprinted around his throat, though it was gradually fading away.
He sat up with a grunt and his hair wild as his gaze sweeped the room. Again, no sign of Dex, there was no mocking presence of him looming around. Just the faint scent of his cologne that lingered against the skin.
He frowned, rubbing a hand over his face. Maybe the bastard had gone for a run or to smoke or to brood somewhere else after last night’s… whatever the f**k that had been. Elian told himself he didn’t care. In fact, Dex's absence was a relief. No infuriating smirk to deal with first thing in the morning, and mostly, no sight of his stupid smug face ruining his day.
He swung his legs out of bed and padded to the bathroom, splashing cold water on his face. He looked up in the mirror and damn…he was a mess. The mirror showed the evidence of their night, reddened skin, messy hair, he looked f****d out. The thought alone made his jaw clench.
He walked back into the bedroom and grabbed his phone from the nightstand. His checking for messages and missed calls. There was nothing, which was quite strange….
He walked out of the bedroom searching around with his eyes, but there was still no sight of his husband around.
“Dex?!” He called out and got no response. He really wasn't home.
That was when the first thread of suspicion tugged at his mind.
Elian opened the tracking app he’d installed on Dex’s devices, hoping he hadn't figured that out too. Thankfully he didn't, because the dot was moving, far from the penthouse, heading toward the industrial district on the east side. The same district where their stolen shipment had disappeared.
His thumb froze over the screen.
“You son of a b***h,” he whispered.
The realization settled deep in his guts as he stormed back into the bedroom. Dex hadn’t gone for a f*****g smoke or a run. That motherfucker had slipped out while Elian slept, after f*****g him into exhaustion, after whispering all that possessive bullshit about them working ‘together’, and gone after the weapons alone, without him. Like Elian was some fragile little wife to be left behind while the big bad Don handled business.
Under the shower, even as cold water rained down on him. All the heat from last night curdled into pure, blinding rage. Dex had played him again. He f****d him, then left him sleeping like a satisfied pet while he went to clean up the mess Elian's jealousy had caused.
Elian laughed at the ridiculousness of the situation, he couldn't believe this was happening. Actually, he could believe it, but he was still shocked nonetheless.
Getting out of the shower, he moved fast, yanking on the first clothes his hands found, black shirt and pants. His fingers trembled with fury as he strapped on his knives. The silver blade he’d held to Dex’s throat last night went into his sleeve, as always. Like an old friend.
He couldn't do without his knives, but today, Elian was just holding them for support, because he was angry. And a gun would do a faster and quicker killing than knives, cause he was damn ready to kill any motherfucker that came his way.
“You wanted to play husband?” Elian talked to himself as he snatched the Glock from the nightstand, checked the magazine with a sharp click, and shoved it into the holster at his side. “Fine, let's f*****g play.”
The elevator ride down felt endless. His reflection in the mirrored walls stared back at him, eyes wild, lips pressed into a thin line, hair still damp from the quick shower he’d forced himself to take. He looked every bit the Virelli heir, mad, crazy, and murderous.
The doors opened to the underground garage and he wasted no time before climbing into his black SUV, starting the car. He checked his phone again, watching as the tracker on his phone blinked steadily, mocking him with Dex’s location.
He gripped the wheel until his knuckles turned white.
“I’m going to kill that f*****g bastard,” he snarled through gritted teeth.
Then he slammed his foot on the accelerator and sped out of the building.
- Writer
