Chapter 20
kissing emoji
It had been a while since Holden got to indulge in a good stalking. The simple task of showing his ID to the bouncer took on new pleasure, the knowledge of his purpose fueling his excitement. The early March night at his back and the warm crowd of bodies before him—a thrilling liminal space.
Cicada straddled multiple demographics. Far enough from campus not to be overrun with students—but close enough and cheap enough that some trekked over anyway. Holden’s classmates considered Cicada the nice bar. The non-students making up most of the crowd probably considered it trashy.
The bouncer nodded him through. Holden slid his wallet back into his pocket. The wallet was oversized. Not enough to stand out, just enough to hold the extra tools Holden needed.
Including a key to the utility closet, next to the ground floor bathrooms.
Holden had been here before, and studied the layout with James and Kit.
The ground floor was a bar, dance floor, and stage.
No live band tonight, so the stage was just an elevated extension of the dance floor.
Upstairs was a loft with tables and booths, and servers running up truffle fries, truffle tater tots, probably truffle pretzels too. Downstairs was a quieter bar.
Loud, chaotic, everyone preoccupied with their own experience. Few friends and plenty of strangers. This was a perfect hunting ground.
Last time Holden followed someone was that pervert Mr. Tweed jerking off on campus. Disappointing, no murdery payoff. The time before was stalking Kit—also no murder, but not disappointing at all. Having Kit was better than murder.
Holden wouldn’t get to murder anyone tonight either. Probably.
Hopefully Kit was watching now. Holden resisted the urge to wave at the cameras. Instead, he casually moved to the ground floor bar and ordered a beer.
From the redhead woman bartender. Not the blond man bartender Terry was dating.
Holden tipped, closed his tab, and surveyed the scene. He didn’t have to look far to find the target.
Terry was an unassuming man in his thirties. Not bad looking, a little soft around the middle, trendy haircut. He didn’t look like a secret crime boss’s assistant, which was the point, Holden supposed.
Terry leaned against the bar, talking animatedly to the blond bartender. Mr. Blond Bartender looked distracted and bored. How very sad.
Now Holden just had to wait for an opportunity. Steal Terry’s phone, hide in the utility closet. Disassemble the phone, install the bug. Reassemble the phone, return it. Probably to the bar as a lost and found item.
Holden was good at this part. Patient. Not reckless. Which was why he wasn’t worried, even though James was setting him up with the option to fail.
Just an option. Not inevitable. If Terry noticed Holden taking his phone, that would be bad. But Terry wouldn’t notice, because if Holden didn’t find the right opportunity, he would walk away, mission incomplete. Holden was willing to help, not to martyr himself.
Down the bar, Terry’s face darkened. He shoved away from the bar and stomped towards the dance floor.
Mr. Blond Bartender rolled his eyes but kept glancing at Terry. Kit would love the drama.
Holden took his time, swallowing down the last cold sip. Then he left the empty bottle on the bar and moved in slow pursuit.
He never saw the appeal of dancing. Exertion needed a purpose. Burning off his murderous rage in the gym, or on the lacrosse team in high school. Running until sweat dripped into his eyes. Moving for joy? Companionship and intimacy with people who didn’t matter?
Terry swayed in the crowd, sweating beneath the swirling lights. He was drunk. Perfect.
Holden counted to three, forcing down his revulsion, then slid into Terry’s space.
“Hey,” Holden said into Terry’s ear—loud, to be heard over the music. “My boyfriend is watching. Can you help me make him jealous?”
Terry pulled out of Holden’s grasp, enough to look him up and down. His next glance over to the bar wasn’t subtle, but he probably thought it was. “What a coincidence,” Terry said, plastering himself against Holden. “Mine is too.”
He turned around, throwing his head back on Holden’s shoulder.
Holden gritted his teeth and moved with Terry’s drunken gyrations. He just needed to put up with this until he could grab Terry’s phone—which was currently digging painfully into his thigh.
Hopefully Kit wasn’t watching right now.
“Wow,” Kit said, venom on his tongue. “Could this guy be any more shameless?”
James chuckled and scooted over on the chair. “Look who’s talking.”
Kit perched on the edge of the chair as offered, ignoring the affectionate mockery. He had more important concerns, like the man currently flailing against Holden like a slutty octopus. “Are we sure he’s dating the bartender? He’s not dancing like he’s dating the bartender.”
“Don’t just blame poor Terry,” James said. “It takes two to tango. Or whatever the fuck they’re doing.”
“Holden will hear from me later,” Kit muttered darkly.
James patted Kit’s thigh. “I’m sure he’ll love that.”
Holden probably would, because he loved Kit being jealous. Weirdly, Kit enjoyed being jealous too. The fire and thorns felt right twisting inside him. Not hypocritical. Kit and his men were developing systems that worked for them, and what worked didn’t have to be identical for everyone.
It would be one thing if Kit thought Holden might actually stray. But Holden wouldn’t. Kit found it weirdly comforting that Holden would rather kill this guy than fuck him.
Kit liked being special to Holden.
“Fuck,” James said suddenly.
Kit jumped up. “What’s wrong?”
James pointed. “Two people just went into the utility closet.”
“Fuck,” Kit echoed. On the dance floor feeds, Holden and Terry were hard to see. Everything was dark and moving. “What’s Plan B?”
There weren’t many options inside Cicada. This wasn’t James’s territory. All they had was access to security cameras and a copy of the keys.
James leaned back, the myriad screens illuminating his stern face.
“Plan B, wait until they leave the closet. Plan C, Holden brings the phone here. Plan D, Holden drops the phone off without bugging it.” James tapped his fingers.
“I’ll give the closet-crashers five minutes, then text Holden to move to Plan C. ”
“What about the bathroom?” Kit asked. He didn’t like any of the delaying plans. More chances for Holden to get caught. But he didn’t like giving up either.
“He’d have to be quick. He’s good with the installation,” James said grudgingly, “But there’s only so quick you can do it.”
Except an idea percolated through Kit’s mind. Very similar to a ploy they’d used before, on his very first date with James.
“He can take his time if he has an excuse to stay there.” Kit messed up his hair. Should he bring his sweatshirt? No, it was chilly outside, but looking slutty was too important. “I have an idea.”
James whipped around. “Don’t you fucking dare.”
Kit was already at the van door. “It’s a really good idea,” he assured James.
Then he jumped out of the van.
Kit’s phone buzzed like a fucking vibrator as he sped down the street. The cool spring night prickled his bare arms. Just a few blocks left, but he was already regretting abandoning his sweatshirt.
He checked his text messages on the seventh buzz. As expected, angry emoji and “get your ass back here this instant, young man!” from James.
As he read, a new message pushed the rest up.
Sexy: Stop checking your phone as you walk at night! Someone could sneak up on you!
Which meant James had him on CCTV.
Kit replied with a kissing emoji, then put his phone away. This operation would be safer with him on the ground. James was way more motivated to protect Kit than Holden.
The line at the entrance was short. Kit quickly found himself in front of the bouncer, who squinted at his fake ID.
“What’s your star sign?” she asked, holding it at an angle Kit couldn’t see. “Libra? Pisces?”
Nice try. Kit had rehearsed that one. “Christ, I don’t know. Year of the Dragon?”
She glared at the ID for another moment, then waved him in.
Heat seized Kit’s bare arms, chasing away the chill. The club’s interior felt more chaotic in person, compared to the surveillance screens. Knowing James was watching was comforting. Kit sidled between other patrons, piecing together his memory of the layout.
Searching crowds was rough at five foot three. Why the fuck was everyone so tall?
Kit floundered to the staircase and climbed a few steps for a better view. Leaning over the railing, he finally spotted Holden’s blond head.
Holden was leaving the dance floor, making an unsteady beeline towards the closet. He must not have checked his messages.
Kit abandoned the stairs to give slow, crowd-impeded chase.
The dim light confused his eyes. Every other person looked like Terry, or Holden, or the photographs he’d seen of Nazario Bradach.
But Holden’s form, once Kit caught him, was unmistakable.
Strong, graceful, turning before Kit even said anything.
Like Holden sensed his presence on a spiritual level.
Delight brightening his face, Holden snagged Kit by the shoulder.
“I knew you were watching,” Holden purred into Kit’s ear. “Were you jealous?”
They had to press together to hear each other. Holden’s touch curled like hot steam around Kit’s bare arms. Exciting. Distracting. “I was not,” Kit protested. But he wasn’t good at resisting Holden’s intense stare. “Okay maybe, but that’s not why I’m here.”
He tugged Holden toward an empty booth, where they could talk out of the crowd. Holden followed obligingly, then in turn tugged Kit into his lap. Confident hands traced Kit’s spine through his tank top, pulling him closer.
Holden’s eyes gleamed in the darkness, like he wanted to devour Kit. Right here in public, with James watching on the cameras.
“Not that I’m unhappy to see you, darling,” Holden said, cupping Kit’s ass. “But what are you doing?”
Kit rocked into the touch. This was a good act, right? Important for the mission?
Definitely important. Kit inhaled the scent of Holden’s skin, then exhaled a shallow kiss onto the corner of Holden’s mouth. “Someone else is fucking in the closet. I’m here to help with Plan B.”
Holden stopped his slow massage of Kit’s ass. “This isn’t Plan B. James and I agreed on Plan B. This isn’t even Plan C or D.”
“Weird,” Kit said innocently. “I could have sworn Plan B was me dragging you into a bathroom stall, so we can pretend to fuck while you install the bug.”
Holden froze. Then he let go of Kit’s ass—bad. Then he grabbed Kit’s jaw—good.
“I fucking love you.” Holden stole a harsh, sweet kiss. “Let’s do this.”
Ducking his head to hide his stupid grin, Kit followed Holden to the bathroom. Their fingers intertwined, palms heating together.
Entering the bathroom muffled the noise. Everything was gray and red inside. There were other guys, which Kit had somehow failed to anticipate. Skin crawling with embarrassment, Kit avoided eye contact, but Holden showed zero shame as he steered Kit to the farthest stall.
The stall door shut with an awkwardly loud crash. God, anyone could hear them. This was extremely different from Kit’s restaurant murder date with James. That had been a private bathroom.
Then Kit couldn’t think about anyone else, because Holden shoved him against the tile wall and drank every breath from his lips. Kit whimpered, caught with an insistent grip on his hair.
Could James still see him? Kit tried to remember if any of the camera feeds showed the bathroom. That would be a gross violation of privacy, but that didn’t necessarily mean they didn’t. Kit didn’t think there were any—he probably would remember witnessing said privacy violation—
Holden’s thigh shoved forward, splitting Kit’s knees apart. The weight and friction against Kit’s cock drove every last thought away.
“Beautiful, gorgeous, perfect,” Holden whispered in Kit’s ear. He sounded reverent, but far more controlled than Kit. “Unzip your jeans, then touch yourself for me.”
Kit reached obediently, then paused with his fingertips at his zipper. “Wait,” he said, struggling to drag himself back to the mission priorities. Terry was out there in the club, presumably noticing that his phone was missing. “We don’t have time. You need to—”
“Yeah, I’m gonna do that.” Holden’s grip on Kit’s hair loosened into a caress, then fell away. His wicked smile lingered like a touch. “While you touch yourself.”
Kit’s breath hitched.
“You want it to sound real, right?” Holden murmured. He pulled out a pair of latex gloves and put them on as he instructed. “Don’t hold back. Let me hear your cute little noises.”
Submission coursed hot through Kit’s veins. His cock ached.
Holden left Kit slumped and trembling against the wall. “One more thing,” Holden added, drawing out his wallet of supplies. “Don’t stop touching yourself—but don’t come.”