Demented (Atlantic City’s Most Wanted #2)

Chapter Seven

If Noir thought life was empty before Lazarus, it was nothing compared to after he walked out. Sometimes, Noir would turn sideways while drawing, expecting his feet to land on Lazarus’ lap. The heartbreak would hit all over again from just a moment of forgetfulness. Other times, the anger would try to creep in. Noir hadn’t shunned Lazarus for his line of work. Each time those moments came, Noir had to remind himself Lazarus had never hidden himself. From night one, he had been completely honest, letting Noir choose to stay. Hell, maybe Lazarus saw drugs as worse than murder. Then again, he had killed people too. He was no prize. Not really.

Such a short few months shouldn’t have affected him the way they had, but when a person had never experienced real love, it was addictive. It was impossible to not become a sponge, soaking up everything life had withheld. Each day that passed, Noir felt himself losing more of the warmth Lazarus had brought into his life. Soon, he would be completely cold again.

“You have a visitor, Your Highness.”

Noir glanced over his shoulder.

Heath stood in the doorway. He was all smiles. “Are you seriously still sitting in your robe at two in the afternoon?”

Noir didn’t experience an ounce of guilt. He had no reason to dress. “I have nowhere to be.”

Heath crossed the room and claimed the spot beside him on the loveseat. Lazarus’ spot. “I truly expected to find your man relaxing at your feet.”

“I’m not sure you can call him my man, since I haven’t heard from him in three weeks.”

Heath stretched his legs out, settling in like he lived there. “Did you self-destruct?”

That was a fair question. Maybe—in a way—he had. “It’s possible. I can’t tell any longer.”

Heath slapped Noir’s knee and squeezed. “Get dressed. We’re going to the country club. We can get some drinks and socialize. Get out of your fucking robe, for fuck’s sake. This isn’t good for your mental health.”

Noir bit back a groan. “I hate the club. Everyone stares at me like I’m part of a menagerie—like I’m not a real person. Now that’s not good for my mental health.”

Heath met his stare. He looked more serious than Noir had ever seen. “No one is real.”

Noir held his breath. It was the first time he heard anyone in his circle admit to feeling like him.

A sad smile touched Heath’s lips. “That’s the big secret. We’re all just putting on a show together, dancing to a silent tune. The only thing you can do is put on the best goddamn act anyone has ever seen. Win the mother fucking best actor of the year award. But whatever you do, don’t disappear into your head. You’re not beating the game. You’re just losing your soul. Go get dressed. If you don’t want to go to the country club, we’ll find a nightclub and get lost in a crowd. But you’re not staying here and drowning.”

Noir swallowed. He genuinely didn’t want to go anywhere, but Heath was right. Noir felt himself slipping away to a place of no return. So he had lost the only person who truly knew him to his core. There had never been much of a chance Noir could hang on to him. Lazarus had given him five beautiful months. Noir would treasure the memories, but it was time to accept his role. Noir had been born to be nothing but a symbol—untouchable. Only a face. He knew his place. It was time for Noir to accept he was cursed to be alone. That was how it would always be.

Air ruffled Lazarus’ hair. He rode through the streets, trying not to think or feel. His home in Arizona still waited for him. He wasn’t sure why he hadn’t returned yet. His work was done here. There was no mystery to solve or grand villain to slay. Lazarus should go home, polish his weapons, and await his next job. There was always someone who needed killing. This wasn’t his town. He had no idea why he stayed.

His phone buzzed. Lazarus slowed. No one knew his number unless he gave it to them. His phone was encrypted and didn’t exist on paper. There was no trail to follow to find it. An incoming text likely meant a new target. Lazarus pulled into the first empty parking lot he came to. With his feet braced, keeping the bike balanced, Lazarus took his phone from his pocket and checked his message. It was a blocked number. He opened it and an image appeared on the screen. Noir lounged against a bar next to a young, and objectively sexy guy. The man was probably the same age as Noir. Noir wore his typical bored royal expression. The guy next to him, talking close to Noir’s ear, was all smiles. The dude looked like a player. Lazarus didn’t see him, though. He couldn’t tear his gaze away from Noir. His eyes looked dead. The light had left him. Lazarus dropped his gaze to the text attached to the image.

Blocked number: Come get your man before someone else does.

Lazarus couldn’t begin to guess who sent the message. All he knew was he couldn’t do this anymore. Lazarus couldn’t keep telling himself he had never really known Noir. He knew him. They knew each other. Lazarus had always recognized the crazy in Noir’s eyes. It had been like looking in a mirror. Likely, they were the only two people on the planet who understood them. Lazarus would be goddamned if some young buck swooped in and took his place. The more he thought about things, the more furious he became. Noir had a lot of fucking nerve. He had told Lazarus he loved him, yet he was out with someone else. Noir should damn well know Lazarus could never leave him. Lazarus was angry, but he would never completely walk away. He couldn’t. Noir was an addiction. He focused on the image again and let the rage build. The anger fed him. Noir looked broken. How dare he?

Lazarus shoved the phone back inside his pocket. He tore from the parking lot. Lazarus didn’t need to call around to find Noir. He had stolen Noir’s phone and shared the guy’s location with himself a long time ago. Lazarus would never let him get away. It took him less than ten minutes to tear into the parking lot of an exclusive bar. There wasn’t a car in the lot under a hundred thousand. He barely had his bike parked before he was headed for the door. The doormen exchanged a glance at Lazarus’ aggressive approach. It was obvious they had never dealt with anyone like him.

Lazarus ripped open the door.

“Sir, this is a members-only establishment.”

“And we have a dress code,” the second guy added—like it mattered since he didn’t have a membership.

All eyes turned his way as Lazarus stormed inside. The music didn’t exactly screech to a halt, but literally everyone froze at the sight of him. Even though Lazarus wore leather boots and pants along with a sleeveless shirt, he didn’t for one second think that was why he had stunned the crowd into silence. Lazarus felt murderous. He couldn’t even begin to imagine how he looked. Yet the two pesky doormen still kept trying to shoo him out. There were some vague threats about the police. Lazarus didn’t truly hear a word. His full focus was on Noir. Like everyone, Noir’s gaze was locked on him. Unlike everyone else, he didn’t look afraid.

Lazarus pushed a doorman aside and ate up the distance between Noir and him. Noir didn’t flinch or run. Lazarus grabbed two handfuls of Noir’s shirt and hauled him forward. He went nose to nose with him, ensuring Noir saw the truth in his eyes.

“You’re mine.” His mouth slammed down on Noir’s so hard, he tasted blood. He devoured Noir, taking the kiss he was owed.

“Can he do that? Can someone just kiss a prince?”

The whispered words were the first to penetrate his rage.

Noir chuckled against his lips. His arms encircled Lazarus’ neck.

Lazarus pulled away and pressed his forehead against Noir’s, holding his stare. “I see you. None of these fucking people see you. I do. You are real to me. How dare you come here with someone else?”

Noir kissed him, killing the last of Lazarus’ rage.

“Sir, for the last time, we seriously have to ask you to leave.”

Noir pulled away and leveled a cold stare at the doorman. “Are you seriously accosting my guest right now?”

The guy floundered like a fish. His mouth opened and closed several times before finally finding his voice. “Of course not, Prince Noir. It’s just—”

At the man’s audacity to approach Noir, Noir’s guards closed ranks, blocking anyone’s access to get close enough to speak. They turned their backs on Lazarus and Noir, hiding them from sight and keeping them safe. Giving them privacy.

Noir stroked Lazarus’ face and chest. “I can’t believe you’re here. You shut me out. I didn’t think I’d see you again.” He stole a sweet kiss. “I’m so goddamn sorry, Lazarus.”

Lazarus covered Noir’s mouth with his, cutting off that nonsense. He held Noir’s face gently between his hands, treasuring him. “Stop. I love you. Please stop.”

Noir held his stare, looking shocked. “What?”

“You heard me. Let’s go. We have shit to talk about.” He didn’t wait for Noir to agree. Lazarus stooped, grabbed Noir, and tossed him over his shoulder.

“Did he just toss a prince over his shoulder? No way this is happening right now.”

Noir pressed his face against Lazarus’ back and laughed.

Lazarus couldn’t stop smiling on the way to the door. Like a well-oiled machine, Noir’s royal guard stayed tight knit around them, all the way out the door. Lazarus never looked to see what became of the boy trying to take his place. That guy didn’t matter. No one did. Noir belonged to Lazarus. It was time Noir understood it.