The Thief and The Gangster (Firsts and Forever Stories Book 7), page 1
THE THIEF AND THE GANGSTER
Firsts & Forever Stories Vol. 7
ALEXA LAND
U.S. Copyright 2022 by Alexa Land.
All rights reserved. No reproduction, copy or transmission in whole or in part of this publication is permitted without express written consent from the author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either used fictitiously or are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, business establishments or locales is purely coincidental.
This gay romance contains sexually explicit material.
It is intended for ADULTS ONLY.
Dedication
This is dedicated to my readers, whether you’re new to my books or have been reading them for years. December, 2022 is my ten-year anniversary as a published author. It also marks ten years writing in the world of the Firsts and Forever Series. It’s meant so much to me to get to tell these stories and bring my characters to life, and it’s only possible because of you. Thank you for your support.
Contents
Acknowledgments
1. Adriano
2. Jack
3. Adriano
4. Jack
5. Jack
6. Adriano
7. Jack
8. Adriano
9. Jack
10. Adriano
11. Jack
12. Adriano
13. Jack
14. Adriano
15. Jack
16. Jack
17. Jack
18. Adriano
19. Adriano
20. Jack
21. Adriano
22. Jack
23. Adriano
24. Jack
Epilogue: Jack
Acknowledgments
I’m so grateful for my amazing, talented team—Kim, Melisha, Anita, and Kelly. Thank you for all you do to make my books the best they can be. Special thanks to Amy, Valerie, and Jamilla for your help along the way.
1
Adriano
The blond at the bar was trouble. I knew it the moment I saw him.
There was mischief in his smile, and in this coy game he was playing. Two men were vying for his attention, and even though he’d been encouraging them and letting them buy him drinks for the better part of an hour, his gaze kept straying to me.
He had my full attention as I circled like a shark. The bar was a free-standing island in the center of the room, so I did a slow lap all the way around, weaving through the Saturday night crowd while closing in on the only man in here who’d captured my interest. It allowed the anticipation to build, so by the time I reached him it was palpable.
I slid in between this guy and one of the douchebags in a cheap suit, who’d been trying and failing to seal the deal. Finally, I got a good look at my quarry. He’d been cute from a distance, but up close he was perfection. He had the face of an angel and was almost too pretty, but his short, scruffy beard provided some balance.
Just because I liked figuring people out, I tried to guess his age. I would have said late twenties, except for those big, green eyes of his. It wasn’t the delicate lines at the corners that drove the number up. Instead, it was that tinge of skepticism, which suggested he’d been around the block a few times and learned some hard lessons along the way. I placed him at maybe thirty-three, thirty-four.
A flirtatious smile curled his full lips and drew my attention. That was one hell of a mouth. Luscious, that was the word for it. I really wanted a taste, but not yet.
I looked away long enough to order two shots of top shelf tequila from the bartender before turning back to this guy and asking, “Want to get out of here?”
This amused the blond and annoyed Cheap Suit Guy in equal measure. Blondie asked, “Just like that? Aren’t you going to buy me a drink first?” Meanwhile, the second douchebag who’d been hitting on him—probably with a pipe dream of a three-way—had already given up and wandered off.
I handed him one of the shots and said, “I just did.” Then I picked up the other one and clinked our glasses together before tossing it back.
He downed his without so much as a flinch and smirked at me, holding my gaze so steadily that it felt like he was issuing a challenge. I grinned at him and tossed a hundred-dollar bill onto the bar top, then turned toward the door and held my arm out.
My kid brother would call dropping that C-note a flex—needlessly showing off, in twenty-something speak—and he’d be right. But I figured this guy would notice and appreciate it. He seemed the type, someone who didn’t grow up wealthy but was ambitious and looking to upgrade his station in life. It was written all over him, from his expensive haircut and artfully subtle highlights to that aspirational blue suit—probably the very best quality he could afford, but not quite in the big leagues.
Sure enough, he glanced at the hundred and reached some conclusions about me, the same way I’d reached some conclusions about him. Then he linked his arm with mine.
Cheap Suit Guy wasn’t giving up easily, though. He got in our way and asked me, “What do you think you’re doing?”
He had balls, I’d give him that. At six-two and with my big build, it was obvious I could crush him like a bug, but his arrogance and sense of entitlement bolstered his courage. I shot him a look that a smarter man would have heeded as a warning and said, “I’m taking doll face home with me. What does it look like I’m doing?”
Cheap Suit turned his attention to the blond and tried another tactic. “You’re leaving with this asshole, just like that? After I bought you three vodka tonics?”
The blond bristled at that and growled, “What the fuck did you think, that you were buying me for the price of three cocktails? That’s not how this works, you self-important, entitled prick! Besides, I paid for those drinks—not with money, but with the hour of my life I spent listening to you droning on and on about yourself. Newsflash, investment banking isn’t that interesting, and if you were any good at it you wouldn’t be wearing that polyester atrocity you’re trying to pass off as a suit. Want some advice? Stay away from open flames, because that cheap-ass fabric would go up like a fucking dumpster fire.”
I was grinning ear-to-ear as we stepped around the shell of a man Blondie had just eviscerated. Cheap Suit Guy muttered, “You two assholes deserve each other.”
“It’s your fault, you know,” my companion told me, as we headed for the exit. “If you hadn’t taken for-fucking-ever to make your move, I wouldn’t have had to spend my evening listening to that douchebag talk about himself.”
“It looked like you had a good thing going there, so I wasn’t sure if I should cut in. Who am I to stand in the way of a nice, old fashioned spit-roasting?”
“Ha! In their dreams.”
I held the door for him, and once we were outside, I handed my ticket to the valet. While we waited for the car, he asked, “So, do I get to know your name? Or are you cultivating a whole man of mystery vibe to impress me?”
I produced a business card and handed it over as I said, “I’m Adriano Dombruso. My friends call me Reno.”
He barely glanced at the card. Instead, he pinched it and ran his thumb over the surface. I almost laughed. He was checking out the paper quality and feeling for the embossing. He might as well have asked for my bank balance at that point, since that little move was clearly meant to gauge how successful I was. Maybe my five-thousand-dollar bespoke suit was too subtle. In fact, it probably was. I’d selected the top quality, black wool fabric not for flash but for substance.
He stuck the card in his pocket and shook my hand. “Jack O’Donnell. Why is your nickname a tacky little city in Nevada?”
“It started because my kid brother Romy couldn’t say my name when he was a toddler. The best he could do was Reno, and somehow it stuck. I like it, because it makes me think of him.”
“Sounds like you two are close.”
“We are, and I couldn’t be prouder of him. He’s an EMT back home in Vegas, and all about helping others. The kid’s basically a saint.” Not that he’d asked, but I couldn’t pass up an opportunity to brag about my baby brother.
Those intelligent green eyes held my gaze as he teased, “And what about you, Reno? Are you a saint, too?”
I smirked and told him, “No, Jack, I’m definitely a sinner. Once we get to my apartment, I intend to illustrate that point vividly and repeatedly.”
He raised a well-groomed brow. “Repeatedly? You sure your mouth isn’t writing checks your dick can’t cash?”
That little brat. “What are you suggesting, that I’m too old to get it up more than once?”
“I’m just saying, once a man hits forty, the plumbing isn’t always up to code.”
“I’m thirty-seven, thank you very much.”
“Apologies. That’s obviously a huge difference.”
“That smirk makes me want to put you over my knee. Just saying.”
“You love this smirk. It’s what drew you to me.”
He wasn’t wrong. “So, now you know how old I am. What about you?” He was going to lie about his age. I’d put money on it.
“You want to know how badly you’re robbing the cradle? I’m twenty-seven, Gramps.” He knit his brows at my snort and asked, “You don’t believe me?”
“Sorry, doll face, but you’re thirty-t
“You know what? Fuck you. I’m going to go see if I can get that spit roast back on track.” He was joking, but he was a little insulted, too. To make his point, he took a step toward the bar, and I caught his hand and pulled him back to me.
“It wasn’t meant as an insult. You’re a man, not a boy, and that’s a good thing.”
“Whatever. I’d already been considering Botox. I think you just made up my mind.”
“Don’t you dare.” I tilted his chin up with two fingertips and told him, “This face is a work of art. You don’t fuck with something so beautiful.”
He frowned as he met my gaze. “You think you can tell me what to do?”
“I doubt anybody can. But maybe someone should try.”
Before he could reply, the valet joined us and said, “Pardon me, Mr. Russo. Your car is ready.”
After I thanked the kid and slipped him a twenty, Jack turned toward my ride and exclaimed, “You absolutely ancient prehistoric fossil! Of course this is what you drive!”
I grinned at that and ran my gaze down the length of the convertible as I informed him, “This gem is a 1962 Cadillac De Ville. If you say one bad thing about her, I’m driving off without you.” It really was gorgeous—about a mile long with a pristine black paint job, white wall tires, and a red leather interior.
“No, don’t do that. I’ll asphyxiate in a thick, black cloud of exhaust fumes if I’m standing here while you drive off. What does this get, a mile a gallon? Every time you turn the key in the ignition, you can probably hear polar bears weeping.”
I walked over to the car and shot him a look as I opened the passenger door. “So, are you going to stand there and rant, or are you going to get in my gas guzzling, ozone depleting relic and come home with me, so I can fuck you into oblivion?”
“The latter.” He flashed me a smile as he hurried past me and climbed into the Caddy.
As I slid behind the wheel and put the car into drive, I said, “You know what I’m looking forward to? A nice, long blow job.”
“So, it’s been a while, huh?”
“It’s been about six hours.” Why did I say that? My most recent blow job had happened months ago, not earlier this evening. But I didn’t like his assumption that I hadn’t gotten any in a long time. “The part I’m looking forward to is you not talking because your mouth is full.”
Jack burst out laughing and called me an asshole. Then he said, “Joke’s on you though, because I’m fluent in ASL. That means I can keep talking even with your cock down my throat.”
He signed something in what really did look like authentic American Sign Language, and I asked, “What did you just say?”
“I said poor, weeping polar bears.”
I chuckled at that and pointed out, “Okay, yes, this car does have a big engine. But it’s all been modernized, so it’s not as bad as all that.”
“Uh huh.”
“Why do you know ASL?”
“So I can communicate with my best friend.” He turned to look at me and abruptly changed the subject. “Why’d you give the valet a fake name?”
“Because I’d like to keep a low profile while I’m here in San Francisco.”
“You blew it when you handed me a business card with your real name on it.”
“You weren’t someone I wanted to lie to.” Except about the blow job, apparently.
“But that’s what you’re supposed to do with guys you pick up in bars.”
I frowned and asked, “Lie to them?”
“Of course! Create a whole fantasy for them.”
“So, for example, tell them you’re twenty-seven instead of thirty-five?”
“Thirty-four, and once again, fuck you. But yes, exactly. I’ll be lying about being twenty-seven until I’m forty. Fifty, if the Botox works.”
I grinned and told him, “It’s good to have goals.”
“Agreed.”
“So tell me, Jack O’Donnell, what do you do for a living?”
He waved a hand dismissively and said, “I’m in acquisitions, but let’s not talk about work. I’d much rather talk about who was blowing you a mere six hours ago.”
Shit, he wasn’t letting that go. I deflected by asking, “Jealous?”
“Cautious. If there’s a husband or boyfriend in the picture, then—”
“There’s nobody,” I assured him. “I just got lucky earlier this evening when I stopped off for some coffee.” Fuck, this was getting worse by the minute. And this was why lies were such a bad idea—they usually spiraled out of control.
“Hey, we all need hobbies. If yours is being a man-whore, more power to you.”
“So judgmental! How long’s it been since the last time you had sex?”
“A nice, respectable twenty-four hours, thank you very much.”
“And that’s so much better,” I muttered.
“It is! Call me hopelessly prudish, but one sexual encounter a day is generally my limit.” He turned to look at my profile and added, “Plus, if it’s only been six hours, I’m not even sure you’ll be able to get it up again.”
“I didn’t finish earlier. He had to go back to work.” Still spiraling and becoming more ridiculous by the minute. It was too late to back out and admit I was full of shit though, so I just had to roll with it.
“Well, that’s what happens when you let random Starbucks baristas blow you in the parking lot. They only get fifteen minute breaks, you know. That’s usually not enough time for the extra frothy cappuccino treatment.”
I chuckled and told him, “You have a way with words.”
“Thank you.”
“He didn’t work at the coffee house though, and it wasn’t a Starbucks.” Please let this topic die soon!
“I’m glad you clarified that. Those details are obviously important.”
“They are.”
After a beat, he said, “I suppose I should actually be thanking Mr. not-a-Starbucks-employee. If he hadn’t left you with a case of blue balls, maybe you wouldn’t have been out cruising for ass tonight, and I’d have been forced to resort to the matched set of douchebags.”
“You wouldn’t really have let either of them take you home, would you?”
He clicked his tongue and asked, “Now who’s being judgmental?”
“I’m just saying, neither of those men were good enough for you.” We’d pulled up to a stoplight, so I turned to meet his gaze and added, “Not by a long shot.”
2
Jack
This guy was smooth. He knew all the right things to say, like that last comment about those men not being good enough for me. He was right, but we’d met all of fifteen minutes ago, so what was he basing that on? It was obviously just an attempt at buttering me up, same as calling me beautiful.
Annoyingly, I was starting to let my guard down with him, and it was so important not to do that. He was a player, no doubt about it. The fact that I’d found him in a total pick-up joint just a few hours after getting his dick sucked confirmed it.
Okay, yes, I’d been in the same sleazy bar, but that was different—I was there to work. The fact that I’d told this guy I was in acquisitions made me grin. Uh, no. I was a thief, plain and simple, and I’d been out looking for my next score.
It never ceased to amaze me how many men were perfectly willing to allow strangers into their home. Forget bypassing alarm systems or breaking and entering—all I had to do was find some douchebag with a hard-on, and I was in. We’d have a few drinks, and then I’d tell him I was going to use the bathroom. Instead, I’d pluck a few valuables and slip away before he had a clue what was happening.
