𝘾𝙊𝘿𝙀𝙋𝙀𝙉𝘿𝙀𝙉𝘾𝙀 - Rio x Reader

•Chapter 30•

It was like the universe was playing some sort of sick joke. There he stood, right in front of you— in nothing but a pair of gray sweatpants. In any other scenario, his bare, toned torso would've enveloped you in a drooling trance— but this wasn't any other scenario— you were fuming.
You didn't so much as have the opportunity to fully comprehend his presence before a firmly gripped your arm and pulled you into the room.

"What the fuck?", was the very first thing out of your mouth as he closed and locked the door.

You were met with his back as he peered through the curtain— careful to not pull them back too far. Your eyes followed him to the door as he examined the night outside through the peephole. Your attention trailed down the toned, tanned skin and finally saw the familiar black grip of that gold plated gun— tucked into his waistband.

"What are you doing?", you asked, more questions blooming as his behavior grew paranoid.

He didn't quite answer at first, watchful eyes scanning the area for whoever or whatever the hell he was looking for. When he finally turned around, it wasn't the same Rio you'd been getting to know. A coldness had swept across him. His jaw was locked— the right side of his lip quirked slightly downward- eyes penetrating and emotionless. Deja Vu iced your veins.

"Where's the wire?", he asked, his voice a hard gravel. It was the same tone he had the first time you'd met him.  It was as if the last few weeks hadn't happened and that you were the enemy again.

And in his mind, you were.

"Wire?", you asked, the meaning missing you completely.

"That innocent act ain't gonna get you far, darlin'. Where is it?", the question carried the hint of a threat.

He watched as your brows furrowed and lips pulled slightly downward. "Rio, I have no fucking idea what you're talking about.", you huffed out of frustration, blowing a stray piece of hair out of your face.

His eyes narrowed and a dry chuckle rumbled through his bare chest. "No? Okay, so the DEA rolls in to talk to you, I leave — didn't tell anybody where I was going. Now suddenly you're here. Shit just ain't adding up."

Your tongue presses into your cheek and a scoff escapes you. "You think I'm talking to the DEA.", you stated almost matter of factly.

"You really expect me to think this is a coincidence?", he asked, his tone grew slightly in volume.

The accusation shouldn't have rubbed you like sandpaper the way that it did. You weren't part of the same world as he was. Hell, you'd spent the majority of your life making sure you didn't turn out like your parents. But being falsely labeled as a snitch ignited a fury within you just as it would anyone in the game.

"If I was going to the goddamned cops- don't you think I would've done it the night you stuck a fucking gun in my face?", it was nearly yelled at him. Not that it mattered— the only other human being was across the building.

And there it was, that look.
The fire behind your eyes had went ablaze. The soft downward pull on the corners of your lips. He marveled in it for a moment. You were a work of art— captivating in the soft glow of the lamplight- he wanted nothing more than to treat you as you were— pin you against the wall along with the other paintings and give you every reason to scream.

His desires were quickly tainted by the task at hand— the wire. If you were working with them, they would have given you one. An idea popped into his head, an absolutely inappropriate one, satisfying both sides of his subconscious. "Strip."