27. Kendrick
Chapter twenty-seven
Kendrick
“Stop looking at me like that.”
“Like what?” Spencer asks innocently. “How do you even know how I’m looking at you?”
I don’t need to face him to know. I can feel his eyes boring into me “We’re working.”
“This is boring . I want to go shoot someone.”
“Take it up with Hunter,” I say absently. The boss threw three cases at us as soon as we were in the door, and the unfortunate truth is that it’s always a bunch of paperwork to start with before we can stalk the streets. Spencer isn’t usually quite so restless, though.
“Now there’s an idea.”
I anticipate his move and grab the arm of his chair, dragging it toward me before he can get up. “Don’t even think about it.”
“It was your suggestion.”
With a sigh I drop my pen on the desk and turn to face him. “Come here.” He doesn’t need any more coaxing than that to climb into my lap. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m scared, Ken. I’m so fucking scared of you getting hurt again.”
Not quite what I thought would come out of his mouth. I should have known, after last night. He shoved extra guns all over the apartment—like we didn’t have enough already—and made me sleep with a knife under my pillow.
“Hey,” I soothe, running a hand down his neck. “I’m not getting hurt again.”
“You don’t know that.”
“No.” It’s not a guarantee that anyone can make. “Just like I don’t want you getting kidnapped again, but you have a knack for getting yourself into trouble.” If he thinks that doesn’t keep me up at night, he’s wrong. We’re both carrying the scars from those few days. If we let it, it would consume us until we couldn’t leave the house without paranoia eating us alive.
I take his face in my hands and force him to look at me properly. “Whatever happens, we’ll get through it. We always do. Greer is gonna find this guy, and everything will be fine. He’s not the first criminal to try their shot at running. No matter where he goes, we’ll find him. He’s not even the worst case we’ve ever had.”
“Do you remember that beard guy?” Spencer laughs, and I like the sound much better than the fear. “Jericho was ready to rip his throat out with his teeth. Then quit and live out the rest of his life in the woods with the squirrels.”
“We don’t have squirrels in Australia.” He could have gone to New York with our killer friends, I guess.
“I think Greer still has nightmares.”
Oh, he definitely does. “Greer is a nightmare.”
“Well, fuck you too,” the man himself says from the doorway. “I should have brought my stapler. You’d be so much prettier with a dent in your face.”
“Your love language needs a little work.” A lot of work, in fact. Six is the only one who likes it.
Spencer buries his face in my neck and licks at my skin. Trying to ignore the way my entire body comes to life in an instant, I focus on Greer.
“Looks like you’ve figured yours out,” Greer replies. “I need to talk to you guys about what you know about Jack and the rest of your case. There might be something that can help us track this guy down.” His gaze flicks to where Spencer is sucking on my skin and rotating his hips on my lap. “When you’re not busy.”
“Yeah, give me, um—” I bite back a groan and cup the back of Spencer’s head, urging him on. “Like five minutes?” Spencer bites down and worms a hand between us, reaching for my dick. “Make that fifteen?”
“How about we head to yours after work for dinner, and Six can meet us there? You owe me some of that beef bourguignon.”
“Yeah, that—” I don’t finish, tugging Spencer up into a kiss. I vaguely register the door clicking closed before all my focus and attention is on Spencer, squirming in my lap. I gather him closer, and he moans, sweeping deeper into my mouth.
There’s something about the kiss, like it’s twisted wrong. Carrying a darkness that isn’t usually there. Not pleasure for the sake of pleasure. Spencer’s using it to mask himself, and I won’t allow that.
When he tries to sneak his hand under my waistband, I grasp his wrist, halting him. “Spencer, stop.”
“You don’t want it?” Spencer asks, a tinge of hurt in his voice.
“Baby, I will always want you. There’s never an instance where I won’t want you. I could be six feet under, and I would still want you.”
He tenses and presses his fisted hands against my chest. “That’s not happening,” he says furiously.
The crux of the problem. “Not anytime soon.”
“Not ever.”
“Life doesn’t work like that.”
“When you go, I go.”
I won’t argue with him, not when I would do the same in his place. We’re tied together, in life, in death, and far beyond that. He’ll never go somewhere I can’t follow, because I would follow him anywhere, no matter what that means or the consequences. “Nothing is happening to either of us.”
“It might. There’s a psycho out there that’s been watching us, one who has a weird fixation with murder.”
“Murdering women. It could be a sexual thing, which means we don’t fit the pattern.”
“And those that get in his way,” Spencer says stubbornly. “I highly doubt he had sexual fantasies about Irene.”
“You never know. Don’t judge people’s tastes.”
“She doesn’t fit the pattern any more than we do. You can’t deny there’s some risk here.” He flattens his hands, his nails digging in. “And if something happens to you again, I can’t—”
“Hey, hey.” I slide my hands under his and grasp them. “We can’t guarantee safety, we can’t. But we also can’t let it control us. We do what we can, and we enjoy what we have.” I kiss him gently, keeping it that way even as he tries to deepen it. Getting into the habit of using sex, or physical pleasures, to cover our issues… it’s a slippery slope I don’t want to go down. “Next week we’re going to see the psychologist Hunter referred you to, and we’re gonna talk about this.” He relaxes slowly as I rub my thumbs on his neck. “It’s okay to be scared. I’m terrified, too, Spence. The idea of you being taken from me again leaves me in a cold sweat. But that can’t be what we’re reduced to. You mean too much to me for me to be a constant source of stress for you. I can’t promise I’ll always be okay. I can promise that I’ll do my best to always be careful and to always be there for you.” Sweeping his hair from his forehead, I trail down his cheek, feeling the light day’s growth of stubble. “I want that same promise from you.”
“I promise.”
The next kiss is more tender, better.
About us and nothing else.