His head was pounding.
It had begun as a dull ache during lunch and had turned into a throbbing pain by four in the afternoon.
Zain hated feeling ill. He hated other people seeing him in that state even more.
Unfortunately, the headaches had been his frequent companion for the past decade. They came and went randomly, each time leaving him snappish, moody, and sometimes nauseated.
There wasn’t a medical reason for his headaches; Zain was as healthy as a bull. His doctor insisted that his headaches were just the result of stress and too much work.
Whatever their reason, when a headache set in, Zain’s tolerance of other people tended to hit an all-time low—Salma always said he turned into a bit of an ogre. She was one of the precious few people he could tolerate in this state, thanks to their old friendship and her excellent massage skills. Theirs was a steady friendship with benefits—or at least it had been, since he hadn’t enjoyed the benefits this year at all.
When Zain had felt the headache become worse that afternoon, he should have gone to her straight from his office. But he had wanted to go home.
To Aiden.
“Like this?” Aiden said softly, massaging his scalp with his fingertips.
Zain hummed in assent, even though the pressure was a little off. Salma would have given him a much better, professional massage, but just the thought of lifting his pounding head from Aiden’s lap, getting into a helicopter, and going to Salma was very unappealing. Aiden might be unskilled, but his touch was comforting. It soothed him, made him feel good in a way that wasn’t physical. Which was a thought Zain didn’t examine too closely.
“You poor thing,” Aiden murmured, leaning down and kissing him on the brow.
Zain gave him a baleful look.
He must have been losing his touch, because Aiden only smiled at him. “Is the light too bright? I can turn off the lamp.”
“No,” Zain said, loathing the thought of Aiden removing his hands from his head and moving away.
“All right,” Aiden said, brushing his thumb between his brows. “I still think you get these headaches because you frown too much. You should smile more. I’ve read somewhere that smiling is very beneficial for your health and stress levels.”
Normally, it irritated Zain to no end when people attempted to engage him in conversation when he had a headache this bad. But to his surprise, he found that he didn’t mind Aiden’s chatter. Aiden had a good voice, soft and smooth, and he didn’t speak too loudly, ever so mindful of Zain’s discomfort.
“Are you too hot? Do you want me to turn up the air conditioning?”
Zain hated being fussed over. He wouldn’t tolerate this nonsense coming from any other person. But Aiden was so ridiculously kind—kinder than he deserved, frankly—that Zain couldn’t bring himself to say anything rude. In fact, to his befuddlement, he found that there was a part of him that… liked all the fussing. He might not be in any mood for sex right now, but having Aiden’s attention on him felt right. He should always be the focus of Aiden’s attention.
“I’m not too hot,” Zain said. “Just keep doing what you’re doing.”
The pleased little smile Aiden gave him made something vicious twist in his chest. It left Zain feeling wound up and breathless, so he closed his eyes, unsettled.
Later.
He would think about the issue later.
***
Zain shut down his computer and was about to leave his office when his secretary told him that there was a man who wanted to talk to him.
“Tell him to make an appointment,” Zain said, irritated that he even had to say it. “I’m done for the day.” He had actually planned to leave sooner. Aiden had been mopey lately. If Zain had to guess, it had something to do with the approaching Christmas. He probably missed his family.
Zain pressed his lips together, the thought unpleasant for reasons he couldn’t explain.
He just detested moping of any kind. That was all.
Presents. He would buy Aiden a few Christmas presents to cheer him up. That should fix the issue.
“I tried,” said his secretary over the intercom. “But he refuses to leave.”
Zain frowned. “Call security. Why are you bothering me with this?” He switched the intercom off and started quickly gathering up the paperwork that was strewn about on the desk. Some of it needed his immediate attention. He’d have to take it home with him.
The sound of the door opening didn’t make him lift his head. But the sound of heavy footsteps that definitely didn’t belong to his lanky secretary did.
“Buono sera,” said the man.
Zain straightened up, his eyes narrowing. He pressed the button of his intercom. “Salih, I told you to call security.”
The man shrugged with a smile, letting his jacket fall open, revealing a holstered gun.
Zain went still.
“Your secretary decided to take a break,” the man said in English, but he didn’t speak it as a native speaker, his Italian accent very strong.
Zain considered calling security, but they wouldn’t be of much use to him floors away. The man was armed. Armed and dangerous. There was something about the way the man carried himself that made it obvious that he wouldn’t hesitate to use his gun.
“What do you want?” Zain said.
“My name is Lorenzo,” the man said, with a smile that didn’t touch his eyes. “I’m just here to ask you a few questions, Signor Rahim. You answer them, and I go away.”
Zain sat down in his chair and regarded him coldly. “You have three minutes and then I’m calling security.”
Lorenzo—if his name really was Lorenzo—sat down in the chair across his desk and studied him with sharp, intelligent eyes. “You attended a party in March.”
Zain didn’t tense up, but it was a close thing.
Inwardly, he cursed. It had been too much to hope that finding Aiden’s friends and helping them get home wouldn’t have consequences. He might have taken precautions to not give away his identity, but the girls knew where they had been initially sold.
No good deed went unpunished.
That said, he still didn’t regret doing it. Aiden’s reaction alone had been worth it.
“I attend a lot of parties,” Zain said, holding the Italian’s gaze steadily. “You’ll have to be more specific.”
“That one was special. It had a discreet auction happening, with very exotic, expensive merchandise.”
“I’m afraid I don’t follow you.”
Lorenzo gave him a long, assessing look.
Zain met his gaze head-on. Let him look his fill. He would find nothing on his face.
“Hmm,” Lorenzo said before pulling out a photograph from his pocket. “And you’ve never seen this man?”
Zain glanced at the picture. Although he’d expected it, seeing Aiden’s picture still felt like a blow to his gut.
“I don’t think so,” Zain said. “Even if I have, I don’t remember. I don’t have a good memory for faces. Now, are you done wasting my time?”
Slowly, Lorenzo got to his feet, his eyes still boring a hole in Zain’s face, no doubt looking for any signs of lying.
“Fine,” he finally said gruffly. “But if you’re lying, you will regret it, signor.” The threat was delivered with calm confidence.
“Get out,” Zain said, staring him down.
He didn’t relax once the man was gone.
He reached for the phone on his desk and contacted his head of security. “A man just left my office. Use CCTV cameras to track him and get me information on him. Who he works for, what he’s doing here—and how he was able to incapacitate my secretary and get into my office to threaten me with a gun when I’m paying millions for my security.”
There was a sharp intake of breath. “Yes, Sheikh,” Abdullah said stiffly.
“Call me when you learn who he is.” Zain hung up and got to his feet, his body thrumming with agitation. Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he strode out of his office and called the head of security of his island. “Is Aiden in the house?” he said, keeping his voice low.
There was a moment’s pause. If Hakim was surprised by his question, he didn’t let it show. “Yes,” he said. “He was seen entering the home theater half an hour ago, but we don’t have cameras inside the room.”
Zain’s shoulders relaxed a little. He got out of the elevator, heading toward his helicopter. “Put two men outside the room. All of you are to be on high alert. Security must be tightened. I’ll have Abdullah brief you.”
“Yes, Sheikh.”
Zain hung up and got into the helicopter. “Home,” he said. “As fast as possible.”
Despite his instructions, the ride seemed to last longer than normal, and he felt wound up by the end of it.
The home theater was guarded by two security guards.
“Return to your normal posts,” Zain ordered before pushing the door open.
Aiden was seated on the floor in front of the TV, a pair of headphones covering his ears, gripping a controller in his hands. There was an endearing look of concentration on his face: his brows furrowed, his full lips pursed tightly, eyes glaring at what was happening on the screen.
He didn’t hear Zain enter, of course. Anyone could have entered and stolen him.
Zain grimaced, trying to eradicate the thought. Aiden wouldn’t be stolen. He had to be Zain’s first in order to be stolen from him, which was the line of thinking that was… that he had been trying to eradicate for months.
Aiden must have noticed him in his peripheral vision—he turned his head and smiled widely. “Zain! You’re back!”
Zain stared at that smile for a moment before clearing his throat and clasping his hands behind him. “I am.” He wanted to ask Aiden whether he’d seen anything suspicious around the house, but that would give away that there was a problem.
The problem wouldn’t exist if you’d gotten rid of him immediately after you decided to do so. It’s been months.
His lips thinning, Zain walked closer and sat down on the couch behind Aiden. The younger man immediately leaned back, resting his cheek against Zain’s knee as he resumed playing his game.
Zain stared at him. He didn’t move his leg away.
He utterly despised this—what he’d been turned into. By a boy, no less. Zain had never been one to hesitate. Once he made a decision, it was carried out. Until Aiden.
His decision to let Aiden go didn’t seem to matter. He didn’t seem capable of following through. If he were honest, it wasn’t all that hard to get Aiden out of the country. With his connections, he could accomplish it within days. He’d already done it for Aiden’s friends last month, which had earned him a bone-crushing hug from Aiden—and an adoring look that made him beyond uncomfortable. Uncomfortable and greedy for more. The fact that Aiden hadn’t questioned why Zain was able to get his friends out of the country so easily but couldn’t do the same for him was something Zain was grateful for—because he had no satisfactory answer.
He simply didn’t want to do it.
That was the crux of the issue.
He didn’t want to let Aiden go. Just imagining putting Aiden on a plane and never again being on the receiving end of his smiles, touches, and lighthearted, teasing chatter made a vicious feeling twist his stomach into a hard, toxic knot. He’d never experienced this sort of possessiveness before. He felt like a dragon hoarding his treasure jealously, ready to breathe fire at whoever threatened to take it away. It was ridiculous and unacceptable. And a million other things.
“All right, I’m done,” Aiden said, switching the PlayStation off. The mere existence of this stupid console was proof of how bad things had gotten: Aiden had briefly mentioned wanting to play a new Spider-Man game, and Zain had bought him the console—and the collector’s edition of the game.
Aiden crawled into Zain’s lap and looped his arms around his neck. “Hey,” he said with a small, fond smile. “What’s got you brooding now?”
Fond. He had no business looking at him this way. Sometimes Zain wanted to shake him. He might not have kidnapped Aiden himself, but he had treated him horribly at the beginning. Zain didn’t deserve this fondness. He didn’t deserve these soft smiles.
He still craved them like a thirsty man craved water in the desert. He wanted everything—every smile, every millimeter of skin, every molecule.
“You’re weirding me out,” Aiden said with a soft laugh.
“Stop that,” Zain bit out.
Aiden blinked. Cocking his head to the side, he looked at him curiously. “Stop what?”
“Stop being—” He cut himself off. It wasn’t the language barrier. He’d never spoken as much English in his life as he had done this year. The language came naturally to him these days. No, it was… He didn’t want to put his thoughts into words. Make them real. Make it obvious how bad this shit was.
His jaw clenching, Zain said tersely, “Have you already forgotten that I’m your owner, not your—friend?”
Aiden blinked a few more times before smiling. He had the nerve to look amused, the little shit. “Translation from Zain-speak: I’m experiencing some soft, icky emotions, so I’m going to overcompensate and act like an asshole. Did I get that right?”
“I don’t act like an asshole. I am an asshole.”
Aiden grinned. “I know. You’re a dick, there’s no denying that. Now kiss me, you grump. I missed you.”
Zain buried his hand in Aiden’s hair and crushed their lips together.
Aiden was still smiling as he kissed back.
***
Aiden was fast asleep beside him when Zain’s phone buzzed with a notification.
Zain reached for it and tensed up when he saw who the message was from. It was his head of security, Abdullah. Apparently, he had the information he wanted.
Carefully, Zain pushed Aiden’s leg off him and got out of the bed. Aiden made an unhappy little noise but didn’t wake up, hugging Zain’s pillow instead.
Tearing his eyes away, Zain walked onto to the balcony and called Abdullah. “You know who he is?”
“Yes,” Abdullah said. He sounded uncomfortable. “I was able to identify him using my connections in the intelligence agency. The man is an Italian—”
“I gathered,” Zain said, very dryly.
“He’s a member of the Sicilian mafia, Sheikh. Rumor has it, he’s the right hand of the new boss.”
Zain frowned. It made no sense. He’d never had any dealings with the mafia. Why would they even be looking for Aiden? He lived half a world away from Italy.
“I’ve also found out that Lorenzo has approached several high-profile businessmen lately, for reasons unknown.”
Probably the other attendees of the party Aiden was sold at. Lorenzo clearly knew Aiden had been sold at that party but wasn’t sure to whom.
But it could be only a matter of time before he found out. The auction might have been anonymous, but as Zain had proved, that didn’t guarantee anything. Granted, it had taken Zain considerable effort to find out who had bought Aiden’s friends, and he could only do it because he had access to all CCTV cameras in the city.
“Anything else?” Zain said.
“Not much. But Lorenzo has at least twelve men with him. And they all seemed armed.”
Zain hung up and returned to the bedroom.
He stared at Aiden’s sleeping form for a moment.
Then, he climbed into the bed and pulled Aiden into his arms, pressing his back flush to Zain’s front. Somehow, it wasn’t enough. Burying his face in Aiden’s neck, Zain held him tighter and carefully slipped his cock back into Aiden’s well-used, still-wet hole. There was no urgency to his desire this time. He just wanted—needed—to be inside him.
It had nothing to do with the fear that he could be taken away.
He didn’t fear that. He was going to get rid of Aiden. But on his terms, when he decided to do so.
He wouldn’t let anyone interfere with that, Italian mafia be damned.
“Zain?” Aiden mumbled sleepily. “Do you want me to go to my room?”
“No,” Zain said, tightening his arm around him. His. He was his. “You will always sleep with me from now on.”
So that no one can steal you while I sleep.
