Chapter 19
“Time to go, my slutty little partner in crime.”
“I can’t believe you didn’t want to tell me,” Kit said—his attempted pout coming out more seriously than he intended. He hiked his foot onto the armchair to re-tie his shoe. Not because the knot was bad. He just needed something to do with his fingers.
Across the bedroom, James packed various tiny techy things into various larger techy things. He looked sleek and sophisticated in a charcoal long-sleeve, not intentionally undercover. “Are you mad, pretty boy?”
“I’m not mad,” Kit said, which just made him sound mad. He yanked his shoelace excessively. “Really. I’m not.”
James clicked a secret drawer shut, then closed the non-secret door it was hidden in. “It’s okay to be mad.”
He was quiet today, in that way that Kit struggled to be mad against.
“I get it,” Kit said. “There’s not a real reason to include me in this. I just… want to be involved, because it’s about you.”
Couples shared hobbies, right? Watching football, playing video games, jogging if they were lunatics, jigsaw puzzles, avenging their family’s murder…
A small smile ghosted over James’s lips. “I appreciate that, more than you know.”
Four people were involved in tonight’s plan. Carla would drive one of her personal vehicles downtown, dropping James and Kit off at an already-parked surveillance van. Then she would park separately and go out for a conspicuous drink at a local sports bar, while Holden walked right into Cicada.
Which was a night club Kit had never been to. It was close to one of the neighborhoods Uncle Ed told him to avoid, when he returned to San Corvo last year. Neighborhoods controlled by other gangs, probably including the Rat Kings, except Kit hadn’t heard of them at the time.
One of Nazario Bradach’s employees frequented Cicada. According to James’s intel, he was dating one of the bartenders, for a given value of the word dating.
This employee was their target tonight.
Not to kill or kidnap, unless things went very wrong.
“I’m a little surprised you didn’t tell Bishop,” James said, tucking the last few items into a duffel bag. “Or Darius.”
“You didn’t want me to.” Kit sighed at James’s raised eyebrows. “Okay, I didn’t tell Bishop because I’m mad at him. And I didn’t tell Darius because he might tell Bishop.”
Bishop couldn’t stop chipping away at the mortar between Kit’s bricks. Digging up things Kit maybe shouldn’t have buried. He would do the same to James.
“He can be a fucking pain, can’t he?” James abandoned the gear to stalk towards Kit. He moved like a panther. “I did want to tell you about tonight’s plan, you know.”
Kit sat up, dropping his foot with its perfectly laced shoe. “No, I don’t know that.”
James’s approach forced Kit’s chin up to keep eye contact. “That’s why I looped Holden in.” He stopped inches away from Kit’s knees and touched Kit’s chin. Held him in place. “There was a seventy-five percent chance he would tell you.”
Kit swallowed against James’s fingertips. Direct eye contact didn’t usually feel this distant. “You could have made it a hundred percent by telling me yourself.”
“I’m a coward,” James said softly. “I’m afraid of involving you, but I also want you tangled up in everything I do. I wanted someone else to make the decision.”
Protectiveness welled up inside Kit, tender and painful. “I’m worried about you.”
James released Kit’s chin to chase his jugular, down the ticklish skin of his throat to the bruises stinging just below his neckline. The echoes of Darius’s teeth.
Kit exhaled. “You haven’t been yourself.”
“I’ve been entirely too much myself.” James smiled, relaxing into self-deprecation. “A sad, pathetic little man, beneath it all.”
No. That was a maudlin route Kit refused to follow James down.
“You’re not little,” Kit said, obviously sweeping his gaze up and down James’s body. “The rest, though…”
James laughed, and to Kit’s relief, it sounded genuine.
“We should do something fun,” Kit said. “This weekend.”
“Like a date?” James asked, still tracing Kit’s throat. His collarbone.
“Yeah, a date.” Kit leaned forward, pushing Darius’s bitemarks into James’s fingers. “You could kidnap me and tie me up in the attic.”
With a happy sigh, James breathed a kiss through Kit’s lips. “You really know how to cheer a man up,” he murmured, barely pulling away.
“Only sad, pathetic men like you,” Kit taunted—in a breathless, kiss-starved sort of way.
“We’ll see who’s pathetic by the time I’m done with you,” James said, and each word blazed through Kit’s veins.
“Nnnmph,” Kit answered intelligently.
James stepped back, the monster. “Time to go, my slutty little partner in crime.”
Kit counted to ten, then twenty, then thirty, before he was composed enough to stand up.
Downstairs, Holden and Carla were playing chess in the living room.
They were each as stone-faced and silent as the pieces.
Carla was dressed in her usual work clothes—sensible shoes and a shockingly pink floral blouse.
The jacket currently slung over the couch would conceal the lump of her firearm.
Holden was dressed to go out. Dark gray jeans, a weirdly nice-looking dark gray t-shirt—did he get that from James?
—and a subtle smudge of eyeliner. No firearm for him, even though he was tonight’s field operative.
While James and Kit watched from the surveillance van, Holden’s task was to intercept the target and steal his phone.
Usually that would be Bishop or Darius’s job. But both of them would wait for more information. Kit agreed with James. This was how they could get more information in the first place, and opportunities like this might be rare.
Odds did not look good for the target’s relationship with the bartender.
Carla abandoned the chessboard to exchange quiet, cryptic words with James. Holden moved directly to Kit.
“Hey, sweetheart.” Holden blatantly inspected Kit, then reached out to fix Kit’s hair. “Missed you.”
The stroking fingers were so comfortable, Kit wanted to purr. “Missed you too.”
Under Holden’s intense gaze, Kit felt every trace of James’s touch on his body. As if Holden’s eyes were a blacklight, picking up traces of…
Wow, that metaphor got very bukkake very quickly.
“What are you thinking about?” Holden asked.
Kit glanced at Carla, who was definitely in earshot. “It’s very weird. I’ll tell you later.”
“I love when you get weird, darling.” Holden finished fixing Kit’s hair—then beamed and ruffled it into a mess again.
“Hey!” Kit complained, covering his head.
Jingling metal interrupted whatever Holden had planned next. Carla shook her car keys at all of them. “We’re going,” she said, and took off for the garage.
“You ready?” Kit asked, flushing.
“Depends.” Holden winked. “What’s my reward if I do a good job?”
Nice fucking try. Kit wasn’t going to contemplate rewards, not when he was about to ride in Carla’s car for half an hour.
“You’ll have to do a good job and find out,” Kit said loftily, then fled for the garage.
James’s nerves settled as he entered the surveillance van.
For the past few months, his thoughts had burned with paralysis. He craved action but lacked information. Demanded blood but feared staining more people with it. Love and friendship caught like fishhooks beneath his skin.
But Kit wouldn’t hold him back. That was James’s own fear, building a wall of unfair expectations. Kit was becoming so sweet and playful that James sometimes forgot their first date, when Kit aided and abetted a murder.
Now, Carla was already dropping Holden off. Holden would wait a few blocks away until James signaled that the target was in Cicada. Once Holden was inside, communication would be more difficult.
The van creaked. James yanked the door closed, and Kit hovered over the panel of dormant surveillance tech.
“How does this work?” Kit asked.
“Push the big red button,” James said.
Kit raised his hand, then hesitated. “The one that says Do Not Push?”
James leaned over, his chest pressing against Kit’s shoulder blades. He lightly gripped the back of Kit’s hand. “I’m hilarious, aren’t I? I can push it if it makes you nervous.”
James couldn’t see it, but the eyeroll practically echoed around the van. Kit decisively jabbed the button, and the van’s interior lit up with a constellation of screens. Blue and white flickered, then settled into camera feeds.
The desk, built-in chair, and equipment took up the front half of the van, with bench seating in the back. That was useful when someone wanted to rest on long stakeouts. James contemplated blowing off some steam instead—but there was no time.
“Let me take the seat, babe,” James said, with a soft kiss in Kit’s hair.
Kit slid out of the way as James reluctantly let go. Settling onto the padded chair, James started confirming the feeds all connected to the correct cameras.
“Is Terry there yet?” Kit asked, eyes flitting from screen to screen. He always liked calling targets by their name. Like Melissa Vespers.
James tapped a few keys, his heart rate settling with each click. Excitement sharpened into watchfulness. The feeds came from security cameras all around and inside Cicada. James ran the past few hours of the front door feed through a rapid scanner—and got a hit from the facial recognition.
Zoom in. Play a few seconds for a better angle. Zoom in again.
“There,” James said, smug, and pulled out his phone to text Holden.
James: he’s in, with a five-minute head start
Holden sent back a ferris wheel emoji.
“What the fuck does that mean?” James demanded. “Fuck, I don’t understand slang anymore.”
Kit leaned over his shoulder. “It doesn’t mean anything. He’s just fucking with you.”
“Fuck.” James flipped off the blurry image of Holden crossing one of the more distant feeds. “I thought Darius was annoying.”
At least Holden appeared to be moving on schedule. Working with Holden was a risk. James still didn’t like the guy. But he understood Holden, which was more important. The aggravating piece of shit was clear about what he wanted.
And he was a quick learner, which made him perfect for the job in more than one way.
Kit twisted his sweatshirt off, revealing a loose black tank top.
“Is it too warm in here?” James asked.
Hair mussed, Kit peered at the screens again. “I’m good now.”
James leaned over, bumping his shoulder against Kit. “So I should turn the heat up and see if you take more clothes off.”
This time, he could see Kit’s eyeroll.
“Why aren’t you handling this yourself?” Kit asked. “You’re usually more hands-on.”
James stood for a better view of the top feeds. Less important angles, but it paid to be thorough. “Terry might recognize me, especially since he works for Nazario. I’m very famous around San Corvo. It’s even possible we’ve met in person.”
“Possible?”
James sighed. “Look, I try to acknowledge the help’s existence.
But Nazario has so many assistants.” Eyes still on the monitors, James added, “Also, the club is too crowded for precise footage-tweaking. If anything goes wrong, I’ll have to wipe everything.
That will look too fucking suspicious if I’m at Cicada. ”
The CEO of San Corvo Security happened to be at a club when their system malfunctioned?
That kind of PR disaster would draw too many eyes.
Ideally it wouldn’t matter. If everything went according to plan, Holden would return Terry’s phone before he realized it had been stolen.
Ideally.
“You don’t care if Holden gets recognized,” Kit said slowly. “If Terry notices Holden, he could identify him later.”
James swiveled his chair around and drew Kit closer by one tense wrist. “I don’t want Holden to get recognized,” James said seriously. “I respect your inexplicable infatuation with him.”
Kit’s lips pursed stubbornly. “You don’t want it, but you’re willing to risk it.”
“Holden’s willing to risk it, too.”
“James,” Kit complained.
James tugged him even closer. “I promise, I’m not secretly trying to get him killed. If I was, I wouldn’t bring you along.” James paused. “Wait, is that more or less reassuring?”
Kit allowed himself to be pulled until his knee braced against the chair seat, between James’s thighs. “Christ, I don’t know. More, I think.”
“Good.” James toyed with Kit’s bare forearms. So slim and pretty.
He might have a forearm kink now. He kinked on every part of Kit’s body. How were elbows so fucking sexy?
Small bruises scattered inside Kit’s left forearm. James didn’t remember marking Kit there recently, which meant it must have been someone else. “Who left these?”
Kit jumped, then stared at his pale wrist between James’s fingers. “I don’t remember.”
James pressed next to a bruise, planning to move closer, because Kit liked that. Usually. This time, Kit pulled away.
“We should keep watch,” Kit said, evading James’s grasp. Flashing lights from the interior Cicada feed danced across his face.
“So responsible.” James reluctantly looked away from his pretty little boyfriend, just as Holden entered the club.