Read Dark Soul Vol. 2 for Free Online

hobble to his room. First floor. Clearly his lucky day.
    He managed to shut the door, hoping that Silvio could still get through it, then made it to the bed. Sitting down hurt. Fal ing back hurt worse, jolting more pain through him that threatened to engulf everything. He lacked the strength to lift his legs, didn’t manage to force them up, the strain on his ribs unbearable. He closed his eyes, tried to somehow get through the pain and just pass out.
    When his consciousness finally, thank God, began to fade, it might just as well have been death as exhaustion.
    The door opened. Scuffing noises on the cheap carpet. He opened his eyes. A dark shape against the darkness of the room, lit only by errant neon light from the street outside. “Stefano?”
    Silvio. Thank God.
    “Here.” Stefano croaked. God, his chest hurt. The kind of relentless, terrible pain that wore down all defenses, all willpower, turned even a wiseguy into a crying kid.
    “Can I switch on the light?”
    “. . . Yeah.” Breathing hurt. Stefano tried to push himself up, but he was too weak.
    Silvio switched the light on and stood there in his black bike leathers. His dark eyes widened for a moment, but not in horror or shock; just a nocturnal predator getting used to different light conditions.
    “What happened?”
    Stefano shook his head, not surprised when that hurt like fuck, too. “Help me.”
    Silvio moved closer, set his helmet down and knelt beside the bed, looking right into Stefano’s face. “I’m here. What do you want?”
    “Just be here.”
    Silvio reached for Stefano’s legs and lifted them onto the bed.
    That took some pressure from his spine, and Stefano hissed as the pain seemed to lessen a bit. “Move up.”
    “Can’t.”
    “You got here. You can move.”
    Stefano accepted the logic. It all seemed less bad when he wasn’t alone. With gritted teeth, he managed to push himself up far enough that his legs had room on the bed. Silvio climbed onto the mattress, too, and the irony did not escape Stefano that this was the first time they were in bed together, in a cheap charge-by-the-hour motel, and no one was in the mood for sex.
    “Donata?”
    “She’s frantic with worry. She said a bunch of Russians plucked you from the car.”
    “They killed . . .”
    “Cesare.”
    “And Vince.”
    “No, he’s not dead. He was shot in the chest, but he might make it, the surgeons say.”
    “Thank fuck.” Stefano closed his eyes again, nearly passing out from relief, as though not knowing had been the main thing keeping him together.
    “They choppered him to a trauma center. They’ll call if anything changes. Speaking of which.” Silvio pulled his phone from the insides of his leather jacket, tapped the screen a few times and put it to his ear. “Mrs. Marino? I found your husband. He’s all right. I’ll get him home.” He glanced Stefano over. “He looks like he was beaten, but no serious injuries I can see. Yes, ma’am. I’ll take care of him. I’ll be in touch. No, ma’am. Please.” Like she was thanking him. “Yes, I’ll call you immediately.” Silvio tapped the screen again and slid the phone back into his pocket.
    “How bad are you?”
    “Not . . . good.” Stefano pressed his lips together.
    “Okay. Don’t speak. I’ll touch you, okay?”
    “You do,” Stefano answered. You do touch me.
    Silvio’s fingers carefully trailed over his neck before they got anywhere near his torso. Then Silvio opened Stefano’s jacket and ran his hands along col arbones and then ribs, making Stefano wince.
    Regardless, he registered how gentle Silvio was, and that the touch would have felt good if anything could feel good now. “Any broken bones?”
    “Ribs are bad.”
    “Yeah.” Silvio touched his hand, ran a thumb along the red, sore welt from the plastic restraints around his wrist. “They tied you up and kicked the shit out of you.”
    “’s about the extent of it.”
    “You might have internal