Mickey blinked, his sparkling eyes darting between Benito and where Gianna had stood a split second ago. “Me? I’m at work, man. What are you doing here?”
Work. Benito zeroed in on the ID hanging around Mickey’s neck, nestled against his chest.
His cut chest, with the pale skin and messy scrawled ink.
Two worlds collided.
Benito shook his head, blood roaring in his ears. Emotions—too many to count—battering every sense. This isn’t real. It couldn’t be. For as much as he’d spent the last few days wishing Mickey would magically appear in front of him, that kind of shit didn’t fucking happen. There was no logical reason for Mickey to be on the stairs of Barnfield Court flats. No reason at all.
I’ve imagined him. Jesus fuck. I’m losing my mind.
As the seconds ticked by, it was the most rational explanation Benito could think of.
The alternative was Mickey had been fucking with his family the whole time he’d been tapping Benito for sex. The club. At his house. Rosetta had been in debt for months. How did he find me? Did Asa send him?
“Beni?” Gianna struggled against Benito’s death grip on her. “Let me go.”
No. But if he was having a psychotic breakdown, Gianna needed to be as far from him as possible.
He let her go.
Gianna darted in front of him. She ran towards the figment of Benito’s imagination and jumped up and down in front of him. “See? I told you he’d come. He’s got the money. Tell him, Beni. Tell him you’ve got the money.”
Mickey blinked and seemed to reanimate. His sandy brows raised, disbelief colouring his handsome features. “You’re her brother?”
“I am,” Benito ground out. “And I already fucking asked you who the fuck you are, so you’d better start talking.”
“You asked me what I was doing here,” Mickey retorted. “Not who I was.”
Benito felt like he was underwater. His hands and arms ached from digging, and the hour of sleep he’d snatched was nowhere near enough to keep his head from spinning off his shoulders. He was frozen, body and mind.
Couldn’t think.
Couldn’t speak.
Gianna came back to him and pried the mud-stained envelope from his hand. She opened it and her eyes bugged out at the thick stack of notes stuffed inside. “How much is here?”
Benito shook his head. The smell of the wet earth was still lodged in his nose, but somehow, he couldn’t remember.
Gianna handed the envelope to Mickey. “Take it. Tell them we paid.”
Mickey said nothing. Gianna glanced back at Benito and seemed to notice for the first time the tension straining the air. Tension that had nothing to do with the money changing hands and everything to do with the words she’d missed while fixated on the envelope. “Wait. Do you two know each other? How?”
Mickey opened his mouth.
“From the gym,” Benito blurted before Mickey could speak. “He’s a prick who hogs the weight benches. Fucking figures now.”
Mickey’s gaze flickered, stormy. He schooled his features and inclined his head to Gianna. “Whatever I am, your little sister is better off inside, don’t you think?”
Benito’s brain engaged. He gripped Gianna’s shoulders again and guided her upstairs, feeling the heat of Mickey behind him, following.
He’s got my money.
More unnamed emotions spun Benito’s head. More fury too. At himself. At Rosetta. At Mickey for slamming together two parts of his life he’d never imagined entwining. He could count their encounters on one hand. Half a fucking hand. But somehow he’d spent the last few weeks relying on them—and the promise of more—to keep him grounded. To keep him fucking breathing. Now it was gone. All of it. And he couldn’t comprehend why.
They reached the landing. Gianna slipped inside. Benito shut the door behind her and turned to face Mickey, blocking him from the flat. “You can’t come in.”
“I know.” Mickey’s brows cinched. “We can do this out here.”
“Do what?”
Mickey waved the envelope. “What we both came here for. How much is in here?”
“Two grand, give or take.”
“Where did you get it?”
“What’s that got to do with anything?”
“Everything.” Mickey gave Benito an unsubtle once-over. “Especially as you have two phones stuffed in your pockets and this cash doesn’t look like it came from a bank.”
A breeze block took up residence in Benito’s throat. You’re a fucking idiot. You brought too much. But as Mickey’s flinty gaze pierced holes in him, it dawned on him that it wouldn’t have mattered. He sees me. Benito didn’t know what that meant or why it mattered, but the realisation winded him all the same. “Who are you?”
“I’m your mum’s housing officer at DOSHA, Benito. What part of that aren’t you getting?”
“For how long?”
“A year. Maybe more. I haven’t talked to her in a while, though. And I only met your sister a few days ago.”
Mickey’s stare remained fixed on Benito’s pockets before he seemed to shake himself. He folded his arms, still clutching Benito’s envelope, and leaned against the banister railing.
Benito took in his clothes, not that different from the shirt and jeans he’d worn to Freefall and yet a world away from the low slung pjs he’d answered the door in two days ago. Two days. Damn. It felt like a lifetime. Or a fucking fever dream. “I didn’t know. About any of it. I’d have fixed it if I had.”
“Which still begs the question, how? Not being funny, mate, but they’ve never mentioned you. Like, at all. I didn’t know you existed until your sister carjacked me.”
“She did what?”
“Came up on me on the Lakes Estate and banged on my car window. Scared the shit out of me, but I can’t fault her initiative.”
A reluctant smirk twisted Benito’s lips. “Sorry about that.”
“Don’t be. Just tell her not to do it to anyone else. It’s a snake pit out there.”
“You think I don’t know that?”
“I don’t know what to think. My brain’s in bits right now.” Mickey’s voice roughened on the last few words. He let his arms drop and shook his head. “This is fucking mad.”
Benito sucked in a shaky breath. “True that. I’m having a hard time believing it’s a coincidence.”
“You think I came onto you in a sex club with the purpose of rinsing your savings to pay your mum’s rent arrears?” Disbelief coloured Mickey’s face again. “That’s more ridiculous than what’s actually happened here.”
“And what’s that?”
“Exactly what you said. A coincidence. And believe me, it’s as fucked up for me as it is for you. There’s a reason I party at a club two hours from where I work.”
Benito’s mind raced, grasping at fragmented threads, trying to piece them together. But he was tired, running on empty. He couldn’t keep up. “This needs to end,” he said. “Whatever it is, it needs to stop.”
“Which part?”
“All of it.”