For fuck’s sake. He wasn’t a faggot. No matter how pretty that mouth was, his physical attraction to a boy didn’t sit well with him. He didn’t like what he couldn’t understand or control. It was also inconvenient as hell. He ought to be thinking about the best use he could get out of Whitford’s only son and heir. Instead, he had spent minutes petting the boy’s soft curls and staring at his mouth. Unacceptable. And it was completely unacceptable that he had relented and ordered the guards to feed the captive better only because the boy batted his eyelashes and asked him prettily.
Roman sneered, disgusted and irritated with himself. He should have starved the kid. He should have starved him until those pretty lips became pale and chapped, until those rosy cheeks hollowed out from malnutrition, until the boy turned ugly and pathetic. How an ordinary, bull-faced man like Richard Whitford had managed to produce a son who looked like that was a goddamn mystery.
Roman threw his cigarette into the ashtray and pressed a button on the intercom. “Bring me a bottle of vodka, Vlad.”
He could sense Vlad’s surprise even without seeing him. “But you don’t drink,” Vlad said slowly. “You never drink.”
Roman murmured, “You’ve always had a penchant for stating the obvious, Vlad.” His voice hardened. “Get me that bottle now.”
“Give me a minute,” Vlad said, probably realizing Roman was in no mood to tolerate his insolence this time.
Vlad had been his head of security for almost ten years. He was very loyal—he was one of the few people Roman trusted implicitly—but Vlad tended to forget himself, expressing his disagreement with Roman’s actions in situations most people would never dare to.
The door opened and closed.
Vlad walked in and placed a bottle of vodka on the desk, his pale brows drawn together. He opened his mouth but shut it upon meeting Roman’s gaze.
Roman stared at the bottle in front of him. His mouth was dry and the urge to drink was definitely still there, but he squashed it easily enough. He hadn’t touched alcohol in fifteen years and he had no intention to do so ever again. He was still in control of himself and his life. He was still in control.
One boy with cocksucking lips wasn’t going to change that.
“Take it away,” he said, satisfied.
Vlad didn’t comment, just took the bottle back. His gray eyes observed him in silence.
“What?” Roman said without any inflection.
“What are you going to do with Whitford’s brat?”
Roman lit another cigarette and took a long drag. “Haven’t decided yet. I didn’t exactly plan this.” The boy had practically fallen into his lap.
Vlad cocked his head to the side, his expression curious. “It’s very unlike you to act impulsively.”
Roman shrugged with one shoulder. “I know a good opportunity when I see one.”
Vlad nodded slowly. “So does that mean you’ll use the boy?”
Use the boy.
“Of course I will use the boy,” Roman said, looking at the bottle still grasped in Vlad’s hand. He dragged his eyes away. “Whitford needs to be taught a lesson.”
“And pay what he owes you,” Vlad said.
“It’s not even about the money,” Roman said, eyeing the cigarette in his hand. “The Englishman played me.” He thought of Michail’s lifeless eyes and crushed the cigarette in his hand. “No one gets away with that.”
“Don’t you think it’s cruel to drag the kid into it?”
“He’s twenty-three years old,” Roman said flatly. He had checked. Twice.
Vlad snorted. “It’s hard to believe, isn’t it? If I didn’t know better, I wouldn’t give him a day over sixteen. He looks so…innocent, I guess.”
Roman shot him a sharp look. “Why the sudden interest?”
Vlad shrugged. Was he avoiding Roman’s gaze? “He’s interesting. In the past week he never cried once, didn’t go into hysterics even when he was brought in. He’s practically a perfect captive.”
Roman continued studying him, watching Vlad grow uncomfortable under his scrutiny.
“Is that so?” Roman said.
“Yes.”
“He has bruises on his face,” Roman said, watching his head of security. “And from the way he was breathing, his ribs are at least bruised. I gave no such order.”
Vlad swallowed.
Roman didn’t soften his expression, watching Vlad squirm. It wasn’t that he gave a fuck when his men roughed up his “guests” a little. But he didn’t tolerate it when his orders weren’t carried out precisely. He hadn’t given his men permission to touch his newest acquisition.
“You know how the lads get when they’re bored,” Vlad said, still not quite meeting his eyes.
“I know,” Roman said. “But it’s your job to rein them in.”
Vlad nodded, his wide shoulders slumping. “It won’t happen again,” he said, turning to leave.
“Did you participate, too?” Roman said.
Vlad froze.
“I thought so,” Roman said, very softly.
“Look—” Vlad started, his ears red. “It happened only once. I know I shouldn’t have done it, shouldn’t have let it happen, but it was fucking freezing outside and I had a few sips of vodka to warm me up and—I know it’s no excuse—”