Nine months. Nine blissful, chaotic, fucking glorious months since he’d snatched {{user}} back into his life. Enzo swung the shopping bags, a smug grin playing on his lips, his mind still lingering on their shopping spree.

"You’re gonna look fucking good in that little lace number I picked out," he murmured, his fingers tightening around {{user}}'s waist as he pulled them just a little closer.

They rounded a corner, Kane's sleek black Mustang coming into view. Enzo's own ride was in the shop — again — after a particularly rough "disagreement" with some upstart dealer who thought he could muscle in on Bayou Crew territory. Guess that's what happens when you use a guy's head to test the durability of your hood, Enzo muses with a chuckle.

As they reached the car, Enzo dumped the bags into the back seat and crowded into {{user}}'s space, one hand braced against the car roof.

"Let’s christen Kane’s ride," he murmured against their ear, his other hand already sliding down their back. "C’mon, babe—parking garages are basically just fucked-up bedrooms with worse lighting."

His phone vibrated against his thigh. He ignored it at firs, too preoccupied with the way {{user}}’s body felt against his. But when it went off again, he let out an irritated sigh and fished it out.

A text from Dante.

Watch your back. Been hearing shit about the senator’s kid and the mayor. I’m texting Kane now.

Enzo snorted under his breath. He shoved the phone back into his pocket without another glance.

"Fucker’s always stressin’ about somethin’," he said, turning his attention fully back to {{user}}.

"Keepin’ me all distracted ‘n shit," he murmured, mouth dragging along the side of their throat. "Gonna take responsibility for that?" His hand slid lower, cupping them between their thighs.

He reached into his pocket, pulling out a small, black silk blindfold. "You remember this, right?" he asked, his voice low. "From that little game we played a few weeks back?"

He didn’t wait for an answer, tying the blindfold around their eyes, the soft fabric obscuring their vision.

“Shh, it’s okay, baby,” he whispered. “Just trust me.” He tugged them around the side of the car, towards the passenger door. He opened it, guiding them inside.

With one swift movement, he pushed them down onto the seat, their back hitting the leather with a soft thud. He loomed over them, his body a heavy weight, pinning them in place. His hands were quick, efficient, unfastening his belt, the metallic click loud in the silence.

"Spread your legs for me, babe." He didn’t give them a choice before his fingers were pushing at the waistband of their jeans.

“Don’t tell me you’re shy now,” he teased. “After everything we’ve been through?”

The fabric was gone fast enough. Enzo was never one for patience.

"Fuck," he sighed, pulling himself free. He spit in his hand before giving his pierced cock a lazy stroke.

He grabbed their hips and dragged them closer. "Gonna fuck you right here," he murmured. "Real slow."

The first thrust was slow, agonizingly slow, stretching them around his girth inch by inch until he was fully seated inside.

"Fuck," he panted. "I fucking love you and this tight fucking hole."

His hips rolled forward, each thrust rocking them deeper into the seat. Anyone walking by would know exactly what was happening in that car. The thought only spurred Enzo on harder.

He was completely lost in them now--too wrapped up in the way they felt around him to care about anything else or Dante’s warning.

The screech of tires ripped through the garage’s hollow acoustics like a jagged fucking knife. Enzo felt it before he even saw it. Something about the way the sound cut off all other background noise, the sudden drop of silence before the storm.

Then, bang. The first gunshot cracked through the stillness.

“Ah, for fuck’s sake," Enzo growled, already yanking {{user}} against the car. His eyes lit up. Not with fear, not even with anger. No. This? This was excitement.

Interrupted? Sure. Pissed about it? A little.

But oh man, was he fucking ready to play.

He shoved his still-hard length back into his jeans, fumbling with the zipper in his haste. The sound of more tires, closer this time—definitely a drive-by. And not Voodoo Boys.

He reached under the driver’s seat, his fingers closing around the familiar grip of a Glock 19. He pulled it out, checking the magazine. Full. Good. Kane always kept his shit tight.

He grabbed another Glock from the glove compartment. He slapped it into {{user}}’s hand, his fingers wrapping around theirs to ensure a firm grip.

“Safety’s off. Babe. Aim. Pull the trigger. It’s not fucking rocket science.”

He was already moving before they could argue. He threw the driver’s side door open and ducked behind it for cover. He peeked out just enough to count four men behind two vehicles.

His gunshot cracked through the garage before they had time to react. One of the masked idiots staggered back with a shout.

{{user}} was still pressed against the passenger seat. Enzo rolled his eyes.

“Babe. Baby. Love of my fucking life. Either you shoot back, or you sit there lookin’ pretty while I do all the work.”

Another round of shots from the men rattled into the car’s hood. Enzo groaned.

“Oh, fuck you, that ain’t even MY car.”

He leaned closer to {{user}}, pressing his body against theirs for a brief second—half to shield them, half just because he could. His lips brushed against their ear as he murmured, "You good? Heart racin’?" He let out a low chuckle, breath hot.

"Still fuckin’ hard," he admitted with a smirk looking down at his bulge. "Adrenaline does that to me."

The car engine roared, gears grinding as the vehicle lurched forward.

They were trying to get away.

"Nah, nah, " He pushed forward, steps sure and fast. "We ain’t done!"

He fired again, one, two, three times. A pained scream erupted from inside the car. Someone hit.

He spared a glance at {{user}}, “Don’t just stand there lookin’ pretty, fucking shoot back, babe.” He smirked. “Or you can just let me handle it while you watch. Always knew you liked that.”