Eclipse Of The Moon ~ Book 1 of Aaron
Chapter 27
... Is Named Ivan Vargas

Monday 23 June 2003

Ten minutes.

It must have been at least ten minutes since I was thrown and locked inside this car.

Ten minutes since the guy at the front said I was in trouble and pulled the partition window.

Ten minutes that I have been waiting for the gentleman to show up when the chauffeur said it would be five minutes.

Ten freaking long minutes for my mind to run wild, wondering what I have gotten myself into again.

Rather than cower and curl up with my knees to my chest on the right side of the backseat, I should perhaps try to escape, break a window, but my body is so sore from my previous attempt. Unfortunately, I am invisible to any potential passer-by due to the tinted glasses. I could also scream for help... though I might as well be unlucky that the car is soundproof.

However, do I even want to?

That Mr. Vargas... is one of those mysterious people. I hate it when I can't read people and the man is too ambiguous for my muddled perception. I'm sure he must be one wealthy fucker, very clean looking. A man in all his glory, with flaunting authority. Almost scary, and yet, I didn't really feel threatened in his presence. Conversely, I believe I felt safe.

Does safety even mean anything, though?

I was feeling safe in Collingswood, my quiet childhood town, even more so at the shack, and yet, terrible events happened almost a year ago. I was feeling safe in Los Angeles, even more so around Jaden, and yet, I came within an ace of death. Safety has become a word void of significance, especially after the brawl that could have killed me.

Perhaps Mr. Vargas' loud severity should scare me more than I truly am, but I can't ignore the reassuring waves emanating from his imperious and commanding aura either. What puzzles me are his intentions behind the show. What does he expect of me?

And what the fuck is he doing!? It must have been at least twenty minutes now and I don't deal very well with this state of anticipation he is putting me through. It's driving me nuts, so much so that I end up resting my forehead on my knees to calm down.

What should I do?

When the man gets inside the car, I assume that it will unlock all the doors, so maybe I could seize the opportunity to escape?

Good thinking, Aaron, but it might have helped if you'd been looking through the windows...

Indeed, the door on the left side suddenly opens and I barely have time to startle and lean back that Mr. Vargas has sat down and shut it, and the chauffeur is already driving off.

The man looks tense, ready to explode. His lips form a thin line, his brows are furrowed, his jaw is strained, and his entire body is screaming tension, from the stiffness of his shoulders to the white knuckles of his fingers. I swear that if his eyes could shoot bullets, I would probably be dead. I wish I could scream, attack him or try to escape, but his icy expression leaves me frozen on my spot. In fact, the man only briefly gazes at me before he crosses one leg over the other and turns toward the landscape.

So? That's it? No explanations? No yelling?

Quite dumbfounded, I decide to break the silence.

"Where are you t...?" I begin to ask, but a long index finger is raised to shut me up, as if it could work. "Where are you taking me?" I insist.

My seething tone eventually catches his attention, his dry stare flicking to me, and I wish he would turn back to the window. This guy just makes me lose my speech.

"Shut your trap, I'm too pissed to talk for now."

"You... You can't... You can't take me away against my will," I stutter as I shift to face him.

"I think I can," he replies rather calmly, squinting thoughtfully. "Besides, it's probably the best that could happen to you."

"That's called kidnapping," I accuse, but he just rolls his eyes and remains silent. "I'll press charges," I threaten seriously, earning a withering chuckle.

"No problem. I'll ask Anton to drop you off at the next police station. Which identity are you going to give them by the way? Aaron Cox? That would certainly solve one missing case for the police," he trails off meaningfully.

I'm screwed.

I'm fucking screwed!!

Of course I can't press charges against him. If the police check my ID, I will immediately pop as a missing teenager. They will call my parents and I'll be sent back to New Jersey. I can't have that and the bastard knows it.

"So? Shall I ask Anton to drop you off at the nearest station?" he repeats with too much self-satisfaction for my taste.

"Fuck you..." I grumble as I recoil in my corner.

However, his reaction is instantaneous and quite painful. As fingers firmly grasp the front of the hoodie I stole from him, his powerful arm forcefully pulls me to kneel between his legs, making me groan and wince as my sore body complies. I can't even fight when his hand shifts to grab the back of my head and as he tugs on my hair, I just can't avoid meeting the wrath in his eyes.

"DON'T YOU DARE SAY THAT AGAIN!"

No, the man clearly doesn't like to be defied. I am tempted to do so, but grabbing my arms, he pushes me back on the seat before he returns his attention to the landscape.

"I don't want to hear you again until we get home."

And indeed, the rest of the journey is silent. I am too dumbfounded to even react actually. Too impressed to try and thwart him. Once again, I am left with mixed feelings about this man. It's not that I am frightened or feeling unsafe around him, more like bewildered by his impressive personality. With my back against the door, exactly in the same position he set me, I just can't seem to avert my eyes from him for the rest of the ride and as a result, I have no idea where we are when the car eventually stops, parked in front of a beautiful mansion.

What finally kicks me out of my daze is the sound of the central locking. I am ready to dart out, but Mr. Vargas firmly grabs my arm, pulling me back to face him, and this time, it's a new expression on his face that compels me to comply. The man looks contrite, almost worried.

"Aaron, wait a second before you try to escape again," he says in a much warmer voice that sends a shiver down my back. "Please do me this favor, listen to what I have to say first."

I am vaguely aware of the chauffeur hovering by the car, perhaps waiting for a sign to open the door, but all I can focus on is the intensity in Mr. Vargas' eyes as they try to convey the most positive emotions they seem capable of, which somehow achieves to reassure me.

"I'd like you to follow me inside this house and listen to what I have to offer. I'm only aiming at helping you because you obviously need someone to... get you on the right track," he says softly and without contempt. "I'm not going to confine you or torture you if that's what you're afraid of. I just want an opportunity to speak with you, but that can't happen if you run away."

"What's there to say anyway..."

"I believe there's a lot to say," he chuckles. "Listen... here's the plan. Please follow me in, we'll talk... well, I'd mostly like you to answer questions, then I'll tell you what I have in mind. After that, I'll let you ponder on my offer, and you'll be free to accept it and stay. Or reject it and leave. Can you do this?"

His voice bears so much hope; it's almost pleading, nothing like the snarling I heard before, and that's probably what makes me nod in agreement right away, without an ounce of hesitation. Weirdly, I feel like I can trust him. Anyway, it would be silly to escape without my belongings since I know he has them and if I'm lucky, he might even offer me lunch.

"Good. Let's go then," he says in his firmer tone, recovering his earlier sternness as he lets go of my arm and opens his door to get out first before I follow suit.

I'm a bit perplexed by the friendly gesture between Mr. Vargas and Anton, as the first playfully pats the other's chest before they head toward the large mansion. I might have felt offended by the chauffeur's smirk in other circumstances, but the truth is that I'm too busy taking in my surroundings. Unsurprisingly, this place looks like one of those large and luxurious properties with an immense garden, beautifully maintained if I judge by the impeccable lawn, bushes and flowers. As we walk on the asphalt yard, I also note that high cream walls and trees circle the entire estate, allowing a lot of privacy, and that the main entrance goes through an iron driveway gate.

The house looks like it's in an L shape, but once I have passed the large entrance hall that leads into a huge living room to the back and left and an open kitchen to the right, I realize that it might be a T in fact as there seem to be two separate rooms to the far left. I briefly notice a presence by the island counter, but the petite woman quickly disappears in a room at the back.

"Aaron, take a seat on the couch," Mr. Vargas commands as he and the other man head toward one of the doors. "I need to speak with Anton, I'll be right back."

As both men disappear into what looks like a study, I am left alone in the silence of this immaculate home, but rather than obeying to the order I was given, I draw back to the dining space. This side of the house is nearly entirely made of bay windows that, coupled with the white tiled floor and other white walls, provide extreme brightness to the room.

A certain eagerness fills me as I discover the back garden with its nice terrace, more lawn and a swimming pool. What I'd give to dive into the warm water! Then, there's a separate building which has two sides of glass walls, but the windows being tinted, I can't decipher what it holds.

"Okay, let's meet here at 8 tomorrow morning and we can have breakfast together," Mr. Vargas' voice suddenly echoes just as I was about to slide the window open.

Damn! It was fast indeed!

As I spin on my heels, I am faced with an obviously annoyed Mr. Vargas who has folded his arms across his chest and is scowling at me. He remains silent, but I can clearly hear his thoughts screaming I told you to sit on the couch! However, the amusement on his mate's face loosens my slight tension and gives me the guts to hold his stare and cock my eyebrows.

"Fine with me, Ivan," the other man chuckles as he shifts to hug Mr. Vargas and whispers something in his ear. "I'll see you tomorrow!"

Once the chauffeur – or whatever he is, because he seems to be more – has left, Mr. Vargas nods at the U-shape couch. White leather, obviously. Fuck! Everything is so white here that despite the shower I took at the hospital, I'm afraid to stain whatever it is, so when he motions for me to take a seat, I grab a tartan rug from the backrest of the couch and lay it down before I sit down. That makes him chuckle as he settles across from me, slipping his right leg over the left one and folding his arms over this chest.

More silence...

He did say he had things to tell me and questions to ask, but the man remains quiet for the longest time, just staring at me, which only increases the tension in the room. Determined to play his game and to hide my anxiety, I shrug out of his hoodie, discarding it beside me, and adopt a similar position, frowning at him.

"Strong-headed as I thought," he grumbles under his breath, and after a discreet sigh, his expression somewhat softens before he carries on. "Aaron, like I said, I have no intention to harm you. Quite the opposite, in fact. I want to provide you with the help you might need if you're willing to accept the dea..."

"Why would you do that?" I butt in, witnessing a new scowl forming on his face.

"You'll have to learn to stop interrupting me, young man," he scolds me, though without yelling this time. "I really want to help you, and like I said in the car, you'll be free to leave if what I have to offer doesn't suit you. I won't retain you against your will. However, before I can propose an appropriate deal, I need a better understanding of what got you into this situation. I also need to grasp your personality in order to see what'll fit you best. That's why I'd like you to answer a few questions."

"What if I don't want to answer your questions?" I retort with defiance.

"Then I can't help you," he sighs, pausing for a few seconds before he goes on. "I just can't help you if I don't figure you out. I need to understand your background. I need to understand what led you to this situation. I need to understand your needs. It's just a logical chain, Aaron. It's impossible to solve a problem without a minimum of prerequisite."

"I could tell you just anything... lies..." I snort, smiling smugly.

"Do you know what honesty is, Aaron?"

"Of course."

"Then you should know that honesty is key in all sorts of relationships. I don't tolerate lies, not even by omission. If you don't give me honest answers, how am I supposed to provide you with the appropriate help? It's like telling the doctor your head is aching when in truth, it's your stomach that hurts. The meds that he'll prescribe for your head might soothe your stomach pains a bit, but it won't cure it. See what I mean?"

"Yeah, kind of. But why would I reveal so much about myself when you're a total stranger? I don't even know your name!" I accuse in bad faith.

"You do know my name's Vargas, and I'll answer your own questions in due time," he argues with a warm smile.

How the heck does he do that? How the hell can he always leave me with such confusing emotions? There's a part of me that wants to tell him to fuck off because for one, I don't want to give way so easily, and second, I'm certain that none of the questions are any of his business. Then, there's this other part of me that inexorably wants to trust the man, and that's probably what puzzles me because I can't explain this irresistible need.

Mr. Vargas seems to already know a lot about me, more than he should since he retains my personal documents. What if I tell him a little more? That wouldn't commit me to anything anyway.

"Okay, shoot," I grumble as I recline against the backrest of the couch, once again adopting the same position he's in, which makes him smile and chuckle.

"You do have a strong personality, don't you?"

"People usually say I do."

"And yet, that didn't prevent you from getting yourself into a really tricky situation..."

"If you're just going to judge me, you can go fu..." I begin to say, ready to rise to my feet.

"SIT DOWN!" he growls in a tone that compels me to obey. "I'm not judging you, I'm just stating a fact. Now please tell me about your family."

"What do you want to know about my family? I already told you they're uptight Catholics."

"Just tell me more."

"There's not much to say..."

"Go with the basics. Brothers? Sisters? Tell me about your childhood, your parents. You say they're uptight, but how uptight? I come from a Christian family myself and I've never suffered from it at any point, so I want to see if you're... overemphasizing things or..."

"Overemphasizing?" I cut him in a seething tone that clearly exposes my anger toward his dubiousness. "DO YOU THINK I'M EXAGGERATING?" I scream as I stand up and start pacing a bit further away. "Thank goodness, all Christians aren't all conservative bigots, and that's good for you if you never experienced any form of extreme zeal, but I did! My family remained stuck in the early twentieth century, but you want details? I'll give you details!"

As I spit those last words, Mr. Vargas squints at me – though this time, it's not out of anger or contempt, his expression gives out genuine interest – and settles more comfortably in his seat. For what feels like ages when it's probably just an hour, I pour my heart out and ramble on what my childhood and adolescence looked like. From all the religious routines and rituals to my father's strictness, I give him most of the details he is expecting.

Mr. Vargas patiently listens, occasionally furrowing his brows or asking for a clarification, and I am quite relieved to see that he seems to finally understand how rigid my family was as a certain compassion begins to bloom on his face.

"So, if you still think I'm exaggerating..." I breathe out with emotion at some point, almost panting.

"I never said you were," he replies softly. "Take a seat and calm down, Aaron."

"I'm calm," I retort, yet complying with his request as I return to my spot across from him. "It's just... It was getting hard to act. I always had to play a role around them, I couldn't be myself."

"I gather it must've taken its toll on you to adopt the proper attitude around your parents and sisters. What pushed you to run away in the end, if I may ask?"

"Let's say that... adolescence hit me full force about a year ago after I... I..." I stutter with hesitation.

"After you realized you were gay?"

"No, that was way before..."

"Oh, shall I understand you lost your virginity a year ago?" he asks in a serious tone that I can't read.

"Yeah, something like that," I reply, unable to avoid a slight blush.

"So, hormones made it impossible for you to stay any longer in your family. Is this really why you ran away?"

His tone doesn't hold any belittlement, but I can't help feeling offended by his remark. Indeed, if you put it like this, my flee sounds a bit out of place. The thing is that I have deliberately omitted certain details like what happened at the shack or my father's violence – because these are aspects I don't want to revive. However, I could easily mention my old man's last threat, which in any case is what got me to run away.

"No, it's not," I sigh as I suddenly feel edgy, tucking my shaking hands between my thighs and trying to calm down. "Like I said, my parents were quite extreme in their beliefs... they considered same sex relationships as a deadly sin, something they wouldn't tolerate, much less within their family. My father had... found out about my attraction for males and... I had started to rebel at that time, so he took rigid measures..."

"What sort of measures, Aaron?" Mr. Vargas gently encourages me after a few seconds of silence.

"That Thursday night, when he got home, he informed me that he had enrolled me into a boarding Catholic school near New York," I reply bitterly. "I was going to move there over the weekend, and he had also planned for us to meet that association... Courage. He'd planned everything... my future... I was to become a priest... I just couldn't have that, so I packed up that night and left in the morning."

"I see..."

"As if becoming a fucking priest would cure my homosexuality!"

"Watch your language, Aaron!"

"Or what?" I deadpan.

His body tenses right away from my defying tone. As his shoulders and neck stiffen, his lips draw into a thin line like he did previously, but this time, I notice how his right leg crosses even further over the left one, and how his right hand clenches nervously. Never breaking eye contact, he exhales a long breath – very slowly and very silently, but I still get to hear it.

"I bet it must have been a difficult decision to make and at seventeen, it was really brave," he finally comments without sarcasm.

"I had no other choice. I had to break free from my father's bullshit," I snort, witnessing his fingers constrict again.

"Tell me about your journey to Los Angeles, how did you reach California?"

As I explain how it took me about two months to hitch-hike to L.A., Mr. Vargas somehow relaxes and even praises me on my choice for a longer but safer journey by cautiously selecting my rides without yielding to certain drivers' sexual offers – and of course, I don't mention Vance, the one guy I had sex with and who drove me to my final destination.

However, his body strains again and he doesn't compliment me much when I get to the decadence of the last six months. While I recount my solitary routine in January, my encounter with Jaden in February and our move into the squat in March, my own muscles stiffen, and it gets even worse as I relate how I easily grew addicted to the soothing effects of cannabis. Not only does it revive my urge for a smoke, but I also realize how bad I messed up with the vicious circle I fell into between drugs and prostitution.

Mr. Vargas keeps sighing in frustration, his tongue clicking in exasperation, and his head often shakes in disapproval. As much as I would gladly flip him the bird with his questions, I can't help feeling touched by his palpable interest, and rather than anger, it's shame that slowly creeps within me.

"Do you realize how reckless you've been with drugs and the dangers of sexually transmitted diseases?" he asks dryly when I fall silent.

I can only lower my eyes to my lap at this obviousness, words remaining stuck in my throat. Rehashing the last eight months, hunger, lack of sleep, the tension of the past twenty-four hours, my need for a joint, whatever it is, I suddenly feel cold and exhausted, causing me to start shivering. That man is a perfect stranger and yet, his genuine concern affects me deeply, as if he truly cared.

What if I had to tell the same to Joshua, Camden and Mark? Oh my goodness... All this time, I was more or less conscious of my wrong-doings and how my best friends would disapprove, but now that I am facing the consequences, I realize that they would certainly get angry. The disappointment in their eyes would kill me. And yet, I wish I were with them right now. I desperately need their presence, their comfort and their reassurance. I need them mentally and physically. I'd like them to hug me in the same way I always do whenever one of us is in need of affection.

My hands having tightly wrapped around my bare arms, my nails start digging into my skin, bringing me a tiny bit of comfort from the pain.

"Hey, Aaron..."

Lost in my despair, I didn't see that Mr. Vargas had left his side of the couch and moved to sit beside me, one of his hands reaching for the nape of my neck and gently squeezing.

"It's over, Menino, everything will be alright now."

His words come out in the softest voice I have heard him so far, and as his hand shifts to rub my arm, my fingers automatically stop clutching. His warmth almost burns, but his touch feels so good against my skin. I nearly flinch away when his other hand rises toward my face, but I immediately calm down when the back of his fingers come to brush against my left cheek, the light roughness of a ring scraping my skin.

What's this wetness again, though?

Tears... New tears...

Tears due to the recent stress.

Tears because I'm missing my best friends.

Tears because I ditched the one friend I had here and he died.

Tears from the release of pressure while I recounted the last few months of my life.

Tears of rage because I have never felt so ashamed of myself.

Tears because I can't explain this irrational sense of comfort and safety I feel around this cryptic man.

I would like these tears to disappear and to show myself strong, because deep down, I know I am, but it feels like my eyes are trying to evacuate all the sadness, worries, fears and stress. As Mr. Vargas pulls me into his taut chest, wrapping his arms around me, I just let go and cry myself to sleep.

* * *

It's the first time I see this bedroom when I wake up and yet, I don't feel disoriented at all. I know exactly where I am, so I allow myself to enjoy this comfortable king size bed and the thick comforter I am lying on. However, my rumbling stomach sees things differently, which isn't surprising when I see the dusk through the large window.

The dim light allows me to take in my surroundings. I like these walls covered in a light-gray paint that matches the black modern furniture: two bedside tables, a ceiling-high closet next to the door on the left, a chest of drawers by the window on the right and a club armchair on the right side of the bed.

As I sit up, my bruised body reminds me of its soreness, but what strikes me is that I don't remember getting here and that I'm only wearing my tee-shirt and my briefs. Even my socks have gone! I'm in too much pain to feel angry or upset, and in fact, I'm only thankful for the pill and glass of water resting on the left bedside table, next to a note that reads You might be sore when you wake up in an elegant handwriting.

Once I have downed the painkiller, I carefully get up and head out, finding myself in a long corridor with several doors. Almost facing the staircase on my left, I can vaguely hear distant voices coming from downstairs, but an urgent need to relieve my bladder has me push the first door across the corridor. This looks like another bedroom, a much larger one, so I shut the door and try the next one on my right. Good pick! The white-tiled bathroom adjacent to my bedroom holds a large shower cabin, a separate toilet and a double-sink counter.

I am washing my hands at one of the sinks when I hear steps in the corridor, so I naturally expect to meet Mr. Vargas when I return to the bedroom a minute later.

"Glad to see you're awake, dinner's ready," he says in an unreadable tone, holding out a pair of sweatpants that I instantly put on.

"Thanks," I whisper as the man goes to settle in the armchair and gestures for me to sit on the bed.

"How are you feeling?"

"Quite okay, just a bit sore. Thanks for the painkiller and..." I trail off awkwardly as I remember what happened in the morning, "sorry about... earlier."

"Don't, you needed to take it off your chest, and I understand you've been through a lot lately. Now," he continues in a sterner voice, "this has to stop, Aaron. You can't go on ruining your life like this."

The confidence in his tone doesn't only make it sound like a statement, as if he knew what is best for me, but also as an order, as if he had any right to decide what I should do with my life. The rebel in me would happily tell him to fuck off while a wiser side compels me to shut up and listen. After all, he did say he had an offer and I'm curious to hear about it.

"Listen, although you've slept through most of the afternoon, I can tell you still need rest, so here's my suggestion. If that's fine with you, I'd like you to answer a few more questions over dinner, things I need you to clarify, then I'll be able to make an appropriate proposition."

"What proposition? Why would you even propose anything? I just don't get it..."

"Do I need a reason to do this?" he retorts, cocking his eyebrows. "If you absolutely need one, then let's say it'd be a shame to allow such a young man to let his life go to waste when there's so much potential."

"But why me?"

"I told you. Potential."

"Potential..." I snort with heavy sarcasm when I think about the drugs and prostitution. All I have achieved is to have fled from my family, and it was only to follow a path straight to hell. "How would you even know that?"

"Call it a sixth sense or whatever, but I'm pretty good at reading people, and I also pay attention to what I see and hear," he replies with a smug smile. "You're a complex young man, Aaron. Strong in many ways, but weak in others, but I believe it's only a lack of maturity."

"If you say so..."

"It's not only me saying so. Aaron needs to improve his attitude in the classroom. Aaron should participate and listen rather sit and gape. Aaron has huge skills, too bad he doesn't use them. Aaron slacks too much. All fine comments, right? And yet, your GPA wasn't that bad," he argues, making me grunt as I realize that he has had plenty of time to search through my belongings. "What does it say, Aaron? It says that you're capable to do much better and that you need a bit of guidance."

There we go again with the mixed emotions. I'm upset that Mr. Vargas broke into my privacy and read stuff that are none of his business, and yet, I'm not angry because if I'm honest to myself, I must admit that he is right.

"Standing your ground against your parents was very brave and it shows that you have a strong personality, especially in the context you were raised. Your decision to run away and leave for the unknown was even braver, and it shows your strength, the strength of a potential leader. However, your descent into hell demonstrates that you still lack wisdom and maturity. It's not truly a weakness, you just acted like a lot of youths would have, and that's why I believe you mostly need someone to get a grip on your destiny. You're like a wild horse who's lost his way. I can be the one who'll drag you back onto the right path. That's why I want to help you, Aaron."

His words leave me speechless. Perhaps it's his strong authority and the powerful confidence in his voice. Perhaps it's the veracity of his long diatribe that hits me right to the core and feels like a slap in my face. It just hurts to see how I have been messing up lately.

"Tomorrow morning, once you've had a restful night, I'll come up with a detailed offer, but here's the general line," he resumes as he straightens up in his seat. "I'd like you to settle down here, in this house. This," he explains, waving his hand, "would be your room, and I can even have it redecorated if you don't like it. I'll fix you goals that you'll have to achieve within time limits..."

"What sort of goals?" I cut him.

"One will be to stop interrupting me!" he scolds me in a voice that makes me startle. "I have yet to define them, but one might be to graduate and pursue a higher education. Another will obviously be to quit drugs. There might be more. While you live here, I'll provide you everything you need to achieve these goals: a roof, food, and money for whatever you may need. Anything that's not illicit, of course."

"That's... It's... Damn... It's..." I stutter in bewilderment. "I mean... What do you expect in return?"

Mr. Vargas shifts in the armchair, crossing his legs as he leans his left elbow on the armrest for his hand to support his head. His eyes darken a bit and I am frustrated that I can't read his blank expression.

"I'm expecting you to achieve your goals, Aaron. I'm expecting respect and politeness. There'll be rules. Plenty of them. And trust me, you'd better not breach."

"Or?" I snort despite his seriousness.

The brown of his eyes shifts to pitch black as he reclines into the armchair and entwines his long fingers, resting his hands over his middle-section. I thought he would reply right away, but he remains silent for long seconds, and my smirk eventually fades away. It's only when the corners of my lips have resumed their natural position that he opens his mouth to speak, and his voice gives me chills.

"You'll be disciplined."

Discipline? What the heck does he mean with discipline? I had my share of discipline with my father, but in any case, I doubt that the word has the same meaning for Mr. Vargas. An inexplicable wave of shivers discreetly courses through my body, though, at the same time as an appeasing sensation washes over me. I'm certainly in awe in front of his imperious expression, but above all, I feel... cared for? Tended to? Safe?

"Anyway, we'll discuss details tomorrow. Let's go have dinner now," he then says as he stands up.

"Hey, wait! I haven't accepted yet!" I exclaim, finally back to my senses and also rising to my feet to block the access out.

"Staying tonight doesn't commit you to anything, and I'll let you ponder on my offer once you get it."

"And when do I get to ask questions? I don't even really know who you are..." I accuse, my voice faltering as he inches closer to me until my back hits the wall.

Mr. Vargas stretches his arms, his hands resting on each side of my head. The man can't be more than an inch taller than I am, but I feel like he is towering me, and the way he is intensely staring into my eyes leaves me breathless.

"What do you need to know?"

"Dunno..." I whisper, looking down to avoid blowing my morning breath in his face. "Full name? Job?"

"My name's Ivan Vargas as you've already heard. I'm some sort of businessman. I actually own several discotheques, pubs and even a few hotels in and outside of Los Angeles, but I spend most of my time managing my largest nightclub," he explains with pride. "As for the rest, you'll find out in due course, Menino," he adds with a wink as he pulls back and heads out.

Well... I was quite right thinking that the man is filthy rich, but damn! I want to know more!

Published on 13 November 2019

The long wait is over and there you had the new chapter.

I apologize for taking so long, but between the trip to Dubai and work that has been crazy lately, it's been hard finding time to work on the book.

I know some would like more chapters and faster, but it really takes time to edit chapters depending on how good or bad their first drafts are, and it turns out that this one was so bad that I had to rewrite it almost completely, rephrasing everything, then adding or removing details that had changed to make them match with what I wrote later. To give you an idea, I spent over 20 hours on this one, so that's why I can't produce more chapters more often ;)

Anyway, you've gotten to see a bit more of Ivan and discovered part of his house. In the next chapter, you'll get to hear about Ivan's offer at last.