Anti-Hero (Wild Heart Ranch Book 4)
Anti-Hero: Chapter 9

“Ant!” Hopper shouts, running down the hall as the elevator doors open. He practically snatches me out of the car and twirls me around. “I’m so glad you’re here!”

Hopper turns to the man walking up behind him. “Brother! He’s here! He’s here!”

Hopper’s brother is Luca Stefano, mob boss and, according to Erik, a really nice guy. Fingers crossed.

“Yes, Hop. I see that,” he says in a fond, amused tone. Something tells me this is a conversation they’ve had more than once. Turning to me, Luca sticks out his hand. “Hi. You must be Ant. I’m Luca. It’s nice to meet you.”

I’m timid as I shake his hand. “Hi, Luca. Um…Hopper talks about you all the time. It’s nice to put a face to all the stories.”

Luca slides a look at Hopper. “You’ve been telling stories on me?” he asks, a bit of mobster coming through in his voice.

Hopper shrugs. “What’re you gonna do about it? He’s my buddy. I trust him.”

Luca shifts his glance back to me. “Then I guess I trust him as well.”

More than a mere statement of trust, I hear the warning in his tone. Erik mutters something under his breath and steps in front of me. Luca’s eyes widen as he stares up at Erik’s towering figure.

Rolling my eyes, I step in front of Erik and push him back. “You are such a Neanderthal.” Turning to Luca, I hold out my palms. “I’ve killed way too many people for you not to trust me, if only because Hopper knows where all the bodies are.”

Luca, far from seeming dangerous, hides an amused smile as he looks between Erik and me. “Well, well, well. This night just got real interesting. What’s your poker game like, kid?”

“Please don’t call me kid. Also, I’m pretty damn good unless it’s dangerous to be good. If that’s the case, I suck.”

“Ixnay on the idkay, got it. You’re allowed to be good at the game. Though my buddy Mads may give you a run for your money.” Gesturing to the hallway, he says, “This entire floor is split between me and my husband and Anthony and Mads. Still, maybe we should go inside before continuing to speak of murder.”

“Yeah, probably smart,” I shoot back, grinning.

He leads us inside his apartment, which has a dark vibe but still manages to be bright. The sheer amount of well-cared-for greenery in the space tells me a lot about the kind of man Luca Stefano is.

As we start toward the library, a beautiful, lean man with light-purple glasses coordinating with his dapper suit stops us. After bussing Erik’s cheek, he leans in conspiratorially. “Sherry’s on a tear tonight. Somebody taught her how to bluff, so consider yourself warned.”

Erik sends him a broad smile and, not gonna lie, a not-small amount of jealousy tightens my chest. That is until the fashionable man turns to me and introduces himself.

“We’ve never met before. I’m Ford, this one’s husband,” he says, tilting his head toward Luca as he pulls him close.

Chill out, dumbass. No way Erik would ever go after Luca’s man.

I grin and shake his hand. “Hi, Ford. I’m Ant.”

Hopper, who’s standing behind me, bounces on his toes. “Ant is my buddy. I told you he was coming tonight. He’s here! He’s a great poker player and almost as good at killing bad guys as I am.”

I can see why Luca wanted us to come inside. Hopper doesn’t have much of a filter.

Ford chuckles. “Well, if you’re a friend of Hopper’s, then you’re already a friend of mine.”

Erik grumps at me again, muttering, “Do you tell everyone that you kill people?”

Hop tips his head to the side, confusion in his eyes. “Friends share things.”

Luca drops his chin to his chest, shaking his head. “We’ve talked about this before, Hop.” He stops to kiss Ford’s cheek, then continues, “The billionaires don’t like it when you talk about your extracurricular activities in front of them.”

Hopper scratches his chin. “How can it be extracurricular when it’s my job?”

I crack up. “Never change, Hop. Never change.”

Hop wrinkles his nose. “Why do people keep saying that to me? Why would I ever change? I’m awesome.”

Another man joins us, and given the electricity crackling in the glance he exchanges with Hopper, it’s easy to guess who he is.

I stick out my hand. “Hey there, Agent Hughes. My name is Ant.”

Former FBI Agent—and current philanthropist billionaire—Liam Hughes grins as he nuzzles Hop’s temple. “No wonder Hop is so excited. He’s talked about nothing else today.”

Luca excuses himself to the kitchen and Hopper leads us into a breathtaking library.

“Holy fuckballs,” I curse under my breath as I take in the gorgeous floor-to-ceiling books and honest-to-God green-felt poker table.

Erik laughs at my reaction. “These folks don’t kid around on poker night.”

“No shit.”

I curse again when I recognize some of the people in the room. I mean, yes, Hop told me they play with billionaires, but I thought he may have been exaggerating.

“Oh my God. You’re the guy who told off the owner of that sporting goods business,” I say while pointing at the guy in question.

“Joe,” he says, grinning broadly, “and this—”

“—is the guy you were yelling at! Wolfe something-or-other!”

They share a look and then…a kiss.

“It’s true,” Joe says in a thick Brooklyn accent, looking deeply into his man’s eyes. “Then I went and married him.”

“Rand,” his husband says, reaching across to shake my hand. “And for the record, I deserved it.”

Just like that, the nerves I’ve had about meeting all these fancy people go away. Erik said New Orleans’ stuff makes me a multimillionaire, so…I guess that means I’m among peers?

While I’m still gaping at everyone, a tall, stern-looking guy stands and directs us to two open chairs. He and Erik exchange a nod, and I crack up.

Erik hip-checks me. “What?”

“He’s like your long-lost brother or something.”

“We don’t look anything alike.”

“Yeah, but you both have that same disapproving look.”

“We’re not disapproving,” the guy says, breaking his silence. “We’re observant. Vigilant for the people we care about.”

Erik leans in. “If you think he and I are so much alike, you should check out his husband,” he says, pointing to the short, dark-brown guy sitting next to him.

“Ugh. Ignore these two,” says the man in question. “They’re both so serious. He’s Anthony, and I’m Mads, by the way.” He gets up and shakes my hand and…huh. Our accents are different, and I’m a little shorter than he is, but physically, we’re pretty damn similar.

“I like your jacket,” I say, admiring the lime-green puffer. “Bold fashion choice for the middle of summer.”

“Thank you,” he says, wrapping himself in the noisy fabric. “These two make fun of me all the time.”

Mads and I roll our eyes and both mumble whatever.

His eyes light up, and he wraps his arm around mine. “We are going to be great friends, Ant. I can just tell. Here. Anthony, move down one. Ant is sitting next to me.” He pauses, cracking up. “Hey! Ant and Anthony!”

“His name is Antonio, which is Anthony in Spanish, so it’s like they have the same name,” Hopper says, so close he startles me.

“Fuck, dude. You’re like a cat burglar.”

He grins, and I turn to Mads. “Please don’t call me Antonio.”

“Yeah, he and I don’t like our given names,” Hopper says, hugging me from the side. “For the same reason.”

Liam raises his brows. “Hop, not your story to tell.”

Hopper sends me an apologetic grimace. “Sorry.”

“You’re good, Hop.”

Just then, Luca walks into the library bearing fancy cocktails for the group and introduces us to everyone else around the room. It’s clear these people are family in the same way my friends back home are, and despite the bank accounts represented at this table, I feel at home.

Soon the game begins, and I lean in, knowing this is going to be a fun night.

AFTER SEVERAL ROUNDS of poker and whatever amazing cocktail Luca made for us, Erik and I finally have to beg off. Thankfully, we don’t have very far to go. Hopper and Liam live a few blocks over, but Hop’s got an apartment in this building. It’s where he paints, and he’s generously letting us stay there while we’re in New York.

“Hop massively undersells his painting ability,” Erik observes as we walk in.

The paintings have a familiar feel, like maybe I’ve seen this style before, but they’re all him.

Erik taps his chin. “I think I know where Hopper got his nickname from.”

“Yeah?” I ask, falling face-first into the mattress on his floor. “Holy shit, this is a ridiculously comfortable bed. Like, his sheets are so soft and thick. Silky, but not slippery.”

Erik walks to the bedding, grinning down at me from his giant’s perspective as I start taking off my clothes. Once I’m down to my underwear, I fall back into the plush bedding, loving that this place is a space where art is made.

Rolling onto my belly, I tug on Erik’s jeans. “Sorry. I got side-tracked by this bed. Where did Hopper get his nickname from?”

As much as Hopper, Anders, and I talk freely about our lives, past and present, I wonder if we spend too much time talking about murder and not enough time learning the important details.

Like where one of my closest friends got his name from.

“Looks like Hop takes his painting cues from Edward Hopper,” Erik says, his eyes falling to my turquois briefs—with white piping—before stepping back and taking another look at the paintings on the wall.

I pull my phone from my pocket and Google the name.

“I recognize this picture,” I say, showing the familiar painting of the diner to Erik.

Chewing on my thumbnail, I follow the progression of the paintings around the room. “Yeah…similar. But maybe a little like one of those classical paintings too.”

Erik nods, his eyes flicking to my underwear—my crotch, really—before refocusing on the gorgeous paintings. “Vermeer meets Hopper. But make it autobiographical,” he says, stripping off his shirt, followed by his shoes and pants.

I make space for him as he removes his socks, and we get under the covers, both of us down to our underwear. Somehow, this feels even more intimate than letting him rinse me off after this morning’s activities.

I’d be nervous about sharing a bed with Erik fully clothed—there’s a real possibility I’ll glom onto him in the middle of the night or something else equally embarrassing—but being in our underwear makes me want to do more than hug him.

A lot more.

But this day has been approximately thirty years long, and as soon as I flip on my belly, I’m out.

I SLOWLY COME around the next morning, still sleepy but smiling at the smell of freshly brewed coffee. Blinking my eyes open, I spy Erik in the kitchen wearing fashionable workout wear—a gift from our new friends last night—and his hair is loose. There’s an almost golden light from the morning sun, and he looks younger somehow, the perma-crease between his brows relaxed for once.

I stretch before slowly rolling out of bed and walking up to him for a quick morning hug.

“Hey.”

“Morning,” he rumbles, pulling me in tight.

Fuck, he feels good against my skin. I want to rub myself all over him…which is why I pull away and root around in my overnight bag for my pajama bottoms.

“There’s plenty of cream and sugar for you to ruin your coffee with,” he says, watching me as I pull the pants up over my ass. Refocusing on his coffee, he continues, “I’m about to head out for a quick jog. You good?”

“Sure. Hopper should be here—”

I’m interrupted by a knock on the door and go to open it.

“Hop!” I let him in, finding myself on the receiving end of one of his big, effusive hugs.

“I brought pastries,” he announces, holding up a slightly hug-crumpled box.

Erik comes over and takes a mini bear claw, toasting Hopper with it. “Thanks for lending us your place, man.” He turns to me with a quick smile. “I’m heading out now.”

“Okay.”

He leaves, and Hopper turns to me with round eyes.

“Looks like you two finally got it on,” he says, tilting his head toward the unmade bed.

I snort. “Not exactly.”

His disgruntled scrunch-face mimics exactly how I feel about the situation. I fidget with my fingernails, a question on my tongue.

“Hey—you okay?” he asks, setting down the box. “Did something happen?”

“Uh, no?”

“Then what’s this look?”

I take a deep breath.

“You and me—we’ve shared our sordid pasts, right?”

“Sure.”

“Mind if I ask you about something that isn’t murder-related?”

“Of course,” he says with a sweeping gesture.

I hesitate, then…fuck it.

“How did you transition from that life to having sex? Like, real sex.”

He shrugs. “I had sex with someone who didn’t treat me like an object.”

“Oh.” Makes sense. “Did you have to do it a few times before it felt okay? Or, like, does it still feel weird?”

Hopper grabs himself a cup of water, looking thoughtful. “No. The difference was pretty obvious from the beginning. Like, sex with someone who respects you is on a different planet in a different galaxy than someone who knows you’re there against your will and is going to fuck you anyway.”

“It is?”

He gestures as though it’s obvious. “Uh, yeah. Sex with someone you care about? Someone you love? Forget about it.”

“Really?”

“One hundred percent. So…does this mean the big Viking finally made his move?”

I shake my head. “No, but…he’s looking at me differently. Like, at my body.”

“Do you like that he’s looking at your body?”

I shiver, thinking about the hug this morning. “Yeah. I do. A lot.”

“And he isn’t calling you kid anymore, is he?”

“Not after I broke his nose.”

Hopper throws his head back, laughing. “That’s brilliant. He’ll have no choice but to fall in love with you now.”

I lift my shoulders. “I dunno. He said he’s not a relationship kind of person. Still, I wouldn’t mind having him treat me nicely with no clothes on.”

“What’s your gut telling you?”

“That he’s attracted to me and feels conflicted about it. Like, if he’s genuinely attracted—”

“Of course he is. Everybody saw it last night.”

I flush.

Hopper lifts his chin. “So if he is attracted—which he totally is—what do you think’s stopping him?”

“This is just a guess, but if something happens remotely similar to anything some john liked once, he’ll freak out. Hell, I might freak out too.”

Hopper rolls his eyes. “That’s not how it works. For what it’s worth—and I’m really just guessin’ here—I don’t think you’ll freak out.”

“No?”

“Nah. You’re ready,” he says with enough confidence that I decide to believe him.

“Okay,” I say, then lean in. “I, uh, I think he likes that I’m small. Not because he can imagine me as a kid, but because the size difference is fucking hot.”

“Hell yeah, it is—you saw Mads and Anthony last night.”

“God, they are so sexy. I can imagine…”

“Exactly. Anthony isn’t gross because he likes the little guy. Mads isn’t gross because he’s all about Anthony’s muscles. Everyone wins.”

“I guess I’m also worried, like, everything I know about sex is from that life. So if he likes something…”

Hopper puts his hand on my shoulder. “Hey. First of all, context matters. There’s a huge difference between have to and want to.”

“True,” I say, thinking about what I’ve jacked off to in my imagination.

“Second of all, my theory is, if I had to live through that shit, then I get to use what I learned for my own pleasure. Hell, lots of people use past abuse in kink as a way to take shit back. When Liam handcuffs me to a chair and puts a gun to my head, it is a very, very different feeling than when the closet guy did it.”

“Liam puts a gun to your head?”

“So fucking hot,” Hopper says, biting a knuckle. “Though Anthony told us the gun has to be empty.”

“Something tells me you ignore his request.”

Hopper’s grin is telling.

I chew on my thumbnail. “So, like, if I happen to know Erik’s a super demanding top, it’s okay that I really, really want him to boss me around and dominate me a bit…?”

“Totally normal and healthy. At least, according to Hedy.”

“How weird is it that we have the same therapist?”

“Not weird at all. How many people are like us?” he asks, rather reasonably.

“Not many,” I say, grinning at my friend. I fuss with my coffee, adding a bit more sugar. “So…how do you think I should go about convincing him to stop ignoring this thing between us?”

“Easy. You still get horny when you kill someone?”

“Fuck yes.”

“Tell him you’re going to go with one of Luca’s escorts after our little murder-fest tonight, and that’ll take care of it.”

“You think?”

“The way he looked at you all last night? No way in hell he lets one of Luca’s guys touch you.”

The thought of Erik being jealous…yeah, that’s sexy.

“Hey, Hop? You ever think what would have happened if you’d been one of Luca’s guys instead of where you ended up?”

“Hell yeah. Why do you think Luca is so good with his people? Sure, he wanted to do better than our father, but when he realized what’d happened to me, he doubled down.”

“Luca’s a good man,” I observe, my emotions a mix of sad and grateful.

“He is. And we are too.”

I hold out my fist and Hop bumps it. “Alright. Let’s plan out how we’re gonna kill these motherfuckers.”

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