9. Eight
The training room felt smaller with Zara in it. Twenty years of behavioral analysis had taught me how to catch the subtle tells that betrayed deeper emotions. But watching my ex-wife circle Xander like a shark sizing up prey, I didn't need specialized training to recognize the calculating gleam in her eyes.
"Again," she commanded, her platinum hair catching the fluorescent lights as she adjusted Xander's posture. "You're not some club twink looking for daddy's attention. You're a weapon. Move like one."
My jaw clenched at her choice of words, but I caught the knowing look she shot me in the mirror. Zara had always seen right through my defenses, even before she'd figured out her own truth. Maybe especially then.
Xander's reflection stared back at us as they repeated the runway walk. Each step was precise, calculated, their hips swaying with deadly grace. The crop top and compression shorts left little to the imagination, showing off lean muscle that spoke of years of serious training. He moved like sex and danger wrapped in one pretty package, and he knew it.
"Better," Zara approved, circling him with professional precision. "But you're still telegraphing desperation. These men need to think they're pursuing you, not the other way around. Make them work for it."
I caught the way Xander's eyes flickered to me in the mirror, seeking validation. Something possessive stirred in my chest at that look. Christ. Twenty years of iron control, and this kid had me ready to snap after one heated glance.
Zara caught the exchange and something softened in her expression. She waited until Xander was focused on his form before sliding over to me.
"He reminds me of myself at that age," she murmured, keeping her voice low. "All that raw need for validation wrapped up in a pretty package. Desperate to be seen." Her eyes met mine, understanding rather than judgment in their depths. "Scared of wanting things they've been told they shouldn't want."
"Zara," I warned, but there was no heat in it. We'd been through too much together for me to really be angry at her insight.
"I'm just saying." She bumped my shoulder companionably. "Some of us figure ourselves out later than others. Doesn't make it any less real." Her smile turned wicked. "Though I have to say, your taste has improved significantly since our marriage. Those legs? That ass? If I wasn't disgustingly happy with Elena..."
"Jesus Christ," I muttered, but I couldn't help the slight smile tugging at my lips. This was the Zara I'd missed. The friend who'd helped me through some of my darkest days, who'd known exactly who I was even when I couldn't admit it to myself.
"Language, darling. What would your pretty little protégé think?" She turned back to Xander, who was watching our exchange with those too-sharp eyes. "Let's see how well you handle... distractions."
Before I could process what was happening, she had Xander pressed against the mirror, her body molded to his back as she guided his hands over his own reflection. "Show me how you'd seduce a mark," she instructed, her voice pure business now. "Make me believe you want it."
My body reacted instantly to the display, cock hardening as Xander's breath hitched. His eyes met mine in the mirror, pupils blown wide with a mixture of arousal and uncertainty that made my hands itch to touch.
"That's it," Zara encouraged, her movements clinical and precise. "Show them exactly what they want to see. Make them forget you're anything but a pretty face until it's too late."
The crack of my cane against the floor made them both pause. "Enough." The word came out rougher than intended. "This isn't a peep show."
Zara released Xander with a knowing look, smoothing her leather pants as she stepped back. "Still so protective, Ash. Though I suppose some things never change." Her eyes sparkled with mischief rather than malice. "You always did have a thing for saving people. Even when they didn't need saving."
She glanced between us, reading something in our tension that made her expression turn thoughtful. "Take five, beautiful," she told Xander. "Hydrate, stretch, then we'll work on your cat walk."
Once he was out of earshot, she turned to me with that penetrating stare I remembered from our marriage. "You know, it took me thirty-eight years to figure out why sex with men never felt quite right. Why I kept searching for something I couldn't name." Her voice gentled. "There's no timeline on these things, Ash. No expiration date on discovering who you are."
"I know who I am," I growled, but the words felt hollow even to my ears.
"Do you?" She raised one perfectly sculpted eyebrow. "Because from where I'm standing, you look exactly like I felt before I met Elena. Terrified of wanting something that doesn't fit into neat little boxes of straight and gay, male and female."
"He's twenty-two, Zara. My trainee. Algerone's son."
"And?" She crossed her arms, unimpressed. "He's also an adult who clearly knows what he wants. The question is, are you brave enough to admit what you want?"
I scrubbed a hand down my face, suddenly exhausted. "It's not that simple."
"It never is." Her smile turned gentle. "But take it from someone who spent way too long trying to be what everyone else wanted. Sometimes the scariest things are exactly what we need." She squeezed my arm. "Elena and I would love to have you over for dinner sometime. Both of you."
The offer caught me off guard. Zara and I had maintained a cordial relationship after the divorce, but we'd never quite managed to rebuild our friendship. Until now.
"I'll think about it," I said finally.
"That's all I ask." She glanced over at Xander, who was very obviously pretending not to watch us. "Now, shall we get back to turning your boy into a proper honey trap? Elena's got some thoughts about his wardrobe that would make your blood pressure absolutely skyrocket."
Despite myself, I laughed. Trust Zara to cut straight through my brooding. "You're a menace."
"You love me anyway." She winked. "Now watch and learn, old man. Some of us actually know how to have fun while we're saving the world."
I watched her saunter back to Xander, already barking orders about proper posture and killing walks. My chest felt lighter somehow, like a weight I hadn't known I was carrying had lifted slightly.
"Again!" Zara commanded, and Xander launched into another strut. His eyes caught mine in the mirror, heat and challenge warring in their depths. This time, I let myself look back. Let myself really see him.
Maybe Zara was right. Maybe it was time to stop fighting what I wanted and start figuring out who I really was. Even if that person turned out to be someone I never expected.
God help us both when I did.
The private shooting range beneath Spade Tower smelled like gunpowder and metal, a scent that had always centered me. Grounded me. I'd set out the Ruger .22 for Xander. It was perfect for beginners with its minimal recoil and simple operation. But watching Xander handle the small pistol with those delicate fingers, black nail polish gleaming against the gunmetal... something twisted in my gut that I didn't want to examine too closely. The way his eyes kept darting to my Sig, holstered at my hip, made that something twist even harder.
"You're gripping it wrong," I growled, moving behind him. "Here." My hands covered his, adjusting his stance. The heat of his body pressed against my chest made my thoughts scatter in directions they had no business going. "Firm but not white-knuckled. Like handling a lover."
Xander's breath hitched as I manipulated his fingers into the proper position. He brought the barrel to his lips, letting it rest there for just a moment as his tongue darted out. "Is this how you like your weapon handled, Daddy?"
Jesus fucking Christ.
"That's not a toy," I snapped, yanking the gun away from his mouth. My cock throbbed traitorously, the image of those pretty lips wrapped around metal burning itself into my brain.
"Focus," I ordered, my voice rougher than intended. "This isn't one of your games. You need to learn how to protect yourself."
But my body betrayed me, pressing closer than was strictly necessary as I adjusted his posture. My hands spanned his narrow waist, remembering how easily I'd pinned him during training. He was so small compared to me, so perfectly sized to—
No. Stop. I didn't know how to process this feeling, this wanting, and I needed to focus on the training, anyway.
"Spread your legs wider," I commanded, kicking his feet apart. "You need a stable base."
"Yes, sir," he purred, and fuck if that breathy submission didn't make my dick harder than it had any right to be. He widened his stance and deliberately pressed back against me in the process. The startled gasp when he felt exactly how hard I was—how big—sent electricity down my spine.
"That for me, Daddy?" he breathed, grinding back experimentally. "Feels like you're packing more than just this gun."
My hand shot to his hip, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise as I yanked him back against me. Let him feel exactly what he was playing with. "Stop," I warned, even as my cock throbbed against his ass. "Or you're going to learn exactly what happens to brats who can't behave. Eyes front," I growled, fighting for control. "Focus on your target. Show me you can handle a weapon properly."
Xander tilted his head, a calculating gleam in his eye. "What do I get if I make the shot, Daddy?"
"This isn't a negotiation."
"Everything's a negotiation." He pressed back deliberately, grinding against my cock. "Come on... don't you want to motivate me? Give me something worth aiming for?"
Christ. The way he said it, dripping honey and sex, made my dick throb traitorously. "Focus on the target."
"Make me a deal," he purred. "If I hit center mass... you'll give me what I want."
"And what exactly do you want?" The words came out before I could stop them.
His smile was pure sin. "You. Pinning me against that wall. Showing me exactly what that monster in your pants can do."
"Xander—"
"Scared I'll make the shot, Daddy?"
Fuck. He had me and he knew it. Something clicked in my brain then about how quickly he'd shifted from fumbling to focused at the mere suggestion of sexual reward. A dangerous realization. A useful one.
"Fine. You hit center mass, we'll... discuss your reward."
Their whole demeanor changed, suddenly laser-focused on the target. Gone was the trembling novice, replaced by someone who knew exactly what they were doing. His hands steadied as he sighted down the barrel, and fuck if that transformation wasn't the hottest thing I'd ever seen.
The gun barked, the shot echoing through the range. The shot was better, at least hitting the target this time, even if it was nowhere near center mass.
"Perfect, baby," I praised without thinking, and felt him melt back against my cock. Something primal stirred in my chest at his response. "Again. Show me what those pretty hands can do."
The next few shots showed marginal improvement, though he was still all over the paper. But the way he responded to praise, to my hands on him... that was fucking with my head in ways I couldn't process.
"Not bad," I said finally, stepping back. The loss of contact made him whimper softly. "Now show me you can break it down and clean it properly."
Xander turned to face me, pupils blown wide as he started stripping the weapon. Instead of their earlier fumbling, each movement was precise. Practiced. The little shit had been playing up their incompetence.
His tongue darted out to wet his lips as he worked. "Like this?" He brought the barrel to his mouth again, this time letting his tongue trace the length of it. "Or should I be more... thorough?"
Images flooded my mind—those pretty lips wrapped around something else entirely, those clever hands working me instead of the gun. The kind of thoughts that made me question everything I thought I knew about myself.
"Enough." My voice came out strangled. "That's not what this is for."
"No?" He set the gun down carefully, stalking toward me with deadly grace. "Then what is it for, Daddy? What dangerous things do you want to put in my mouth?"
In one fluid motion, I had him pinned against the wall, my forearm across his throat. "You have no idea what you're asking for," I growled. "No idea what I'm capable of."
Instead of fear, his eyes lit up with triumph. He shifted deliberately against me, making sure he felt exactly how hard I was. How big. "Oh, I think I have some idea," he breathed. "Question is, do you know what you want yet?"
The words hit too close to home. I shoved away from him before I could do something stupid like find out if his mouth was as talented as he was implying. "Clean up and get changed. We're done for today."
His laugh followed me out of the range, knowing and triumphant. "Whatever you say, Daddy. Whatever you say."
I made it halfway to my office before realizing I'd left my holster in the locker room. Stupid. Careless. The kind of rookie mistake I never made. But Xander had a way of making me forget every procedure, every protocol I'd spent twenty years perfecting.
The smart thing would be to wait. Come back after he was done. But the image of him handling that gun, those black-painted nails against metal, wouldn't leave my mind. Before I could talk myself out of it, I was heading back down.
Steam billowed from the shower area as I entered the locker room. The sound of water hitting tile echoed off concrete walls, along with... Christ. Was he humming "Cherry Pie"?
My holster sat on the bench exactly where I'd left it. All I had to do was grab it and go. Simple. Professional.
Then Xander stepped out of the steam cloud, completely naked and glistening wet.
I froze, breath catching in my throat. Water ran in rivulets down his lean body, tracing paths I wanted to follow with my tongue. His skin was marble-pale except for a scattering of faded scars.
He moved with that deadly grace Zara had been cultivating, all controlled power wrapped in a deceptively delicate package. My eyes tracked a water droplet as it slid down his chest, past the sharp cut of his hip, down to...
Fuck.
"See something you like, Daddy?"
I jerked my gaze up to find him watching me through the steam, a knowing smirk playing on those sinful lips. He hadn't bothered to cover himself. Instead, he stretched deliberately, giving me a perfect view of everything I shouldn't want.
"I forgot my holster," I managed, voice rough.
"Mmhmm." He turned slowly, giving me a view of his back, his ass, the elegant line of his spine. "That why you're standing there staring?"
Heat flooded my face. I should leave. Should maintain some pretense of professional distance. But my feet seemed rooted to the spot as he sauntered closer, water dripping from his hair.
"You know," he purred, stopping just out of reach, "most men would have done something by now. Touched. Taken. But not you..." His eyes raked over me, hungry and knowing. "You just watch. Calculate. Control yourself."
"This isn't—" My voice cracked as he stretched again, all lean muscle and invitation. "This isn't appropriate."
His laugh was pure sin. "Nothing about us is appropriate, Daddy. That's what makes it fun." He reached for a towel, the movement pure performance art. "But don't worry. Your secret's safe with me. For now."
I grabbed my holster and fled before I could do something stupid like push him up against the lockers and find out if his skin tasted as good as it looked. His laughter followed me down the hall, knowing and triumphant.
Christ. I was so fucked.