Chapter 22
housewarming gift
Darius wasn’t sure how Miranda even found out he was moving. Evil psychic sister powers, probably. Or a neighbor snitched. Miranda had an infuriating habit of befriending people.
But Darius put aside his phone without answering the text message. She wanted to see his new place, and he needed an excuse to put her off. She could visit after this business with the Rat King was over.
And after he figured out how to spin ‘I’m dating a nineteen-year-old, and so are these other terrible men.’
Kit and terrible man James were currently sitting on Darius’s empty living room floor, taking a break from moving boxes. Darius and Holden—who was currently in class—were moving into the new place first. James’s house was harder to sell than Darius’s apartment.
“Can’t you just hire people to move?” James had complained. “You keep saying you’re rich, too. Rich people hire people.”
“I don’t want strangers handling my firearms,” Darius had pointed out.
Now, over a box of traditional moving pizza, James handed Darius a flash drive. “I have some data I’d like you to look at.”
Darius took it gingerly, like a grenade. “What is it?”
“You remember Terry, one of Nazario’s assistants?” James asked. “These are all his movements from the last two weeks.”
“At least, all his phone’s movements,” Kit said around a mouthful of crust.
Suspicion tickled Darius’s mind. “Are you going to tell me how you got this data?”
“Nope,” James said shamelessly.
Christ, what idiocy had they been up to? But James had a weak spot. Same as Darius.
“What would Kit say if I asked him?” Darius asked.
Kit shoved more pizza in his mouth, wide eyed and innocent.
“Since when was Kit our data guy?” James answered, still breezy. “Don’t ask Kit. I told him not to tell you, and he’d get all conflicted about… wait, maybe you should ask Kit. Make him squirm.”
Mouth still full, Kit flipped James off.
“You’re a fucking idiot,” Darius said.
“Yeah,” James agreed.
Darius sighed. “Was everything safe?”
“Yeah,” James repeated.
“I’m not asking you,” Darius said sternly.
Kit swallowed his pizza. “Everything was safe.” He tucked his feet under Darius’s knee. “But it’ll be useless if we don’t use this data.”
“Fine.” Darius dropped a hand to circle Kit’s ankle, idly stroking the pointy bones. “What’s the headline?”
“He’s visited four different art galleries over the past two weeks,” James said, his amusement gone. “Some of them multiple times.”
Kit looked up. This was apparently news to him too. “He didn’t exactly seem cultured.”
“You’re just mad about him climbing all over Holden,” James accused, but Darius could tell his banter was half-hearted.
“In a very uncultured way,” Kit grumbled.
Darius didn’t want to know. “You think the galleries are a front for something?”
James was quiet for a moment. “My dad was an artist. These are all galleries he exhibited at.”
Shit.
Puzzles didn’t always form a pretty picture. With every piece, reality was harder to deny—Evelyn Zhou really was one of the Rat Kings.
Darius drove the truck to the new house, while James and Kit followed in James’s car. Well, one of James’s cars.
Well, Darius assumed they were following. When he left them, Kit was settled in the front seat, gluing himself to James’s body. Kit offered himself as comfort, distraction, whatever James needed.
Darius had seen it early on—Kit was good for James. It had taken Darius longer to realize Kit was good for him too.
Even longer to realize they were both good for Kit in return, as crazy as it sounded. Months ago, Kit never would have shown his emotions so freely. Comfort and kisses were tools of manipulation, not genuine affection.
The fiery but empty little mannequin chained to Bishop’s staircase was gone.
Kit had always been perceptive, though. Driving along in the rattling moving truck, Darius was glad he’d gone separately. He needed space to bury his lack of surprise.
Darius was the last one to learn about this Terry visiting art galleries. James had already given the information to Bishop, who had more insight. The galleries were fronts for black market exchanges and discreet storage. Mostly drugs and technology these days, but they used to focus on firearms.
Bishop knew about them from his days on the force; the ‘gallery’ owners paid off local cops.
Normal SCPD corruption. Calls from those addresses got handled by certain officers, and nobody else asked questions.
Back then, Bishop wasn’t any better than the rest of the cops.
Fitting in, reinforcing unspoken rules with his own silence.
Bishop was a better man now, or Darius wouldn’t be friends with him. He had no patience for self-righteous hypocrisy. Deception was fine, of course, but Darius didn’t like to deceive himself. He knew who he was: a killer for hire.
Not a good man. But he didn’t put on a uniform and pretend otherwise.
Idling at a stoplight, Darius laughed. No pretending, yeah. Just getting into a truck and leaving Kit and James to distract each other, instead of volunteering information.
Darius could have told James about the art galleries. He probably knew more than Bishop. Half the guns in his arsenal were purchased from those galleries.
Which made sense, of course. It had seemed strange that the Rat Kings’ operation might exist in San Corvo without Darius knowing about it. Turns out, they already had their hands in the underground corners Darius was familiar with.
Darius eased the truck around a corner, ignoring the grumpy pile of traffic waiting behind him. The next street was quieter, leading to one of San Corvo’s wealthiest neighborhoods. A collection of pseudo-Victorian houses sheltering behind wrought iron fences and SoCal-typical palm trees.
One of those houses was their new home.
Kit stared up at the house with rising panic.
It looked larger than the photographs, all rust-red boards and off-white trim. The roof soared unevenly like a mountain range. There were gables, if Kit was correct about what gables were. It was a cross between a protective castle and a cozy farmhouse nest, and it was exactly what Kit had wanted.
Until about twenty seconds ago.
James and Darius were farther down the expansive driveway, arguing next to the moving truck.
Something about why Darius couldn’t have just taken the firearms himself and hired help for the furniture.
The counterargument was that if James couldn’t handle it, maybe Darius would.
Which had the predictable result of James swearing and jumping into the truck.
If they hurt themselves carrying couches, Kit wasn’t calling for help. Because he would be too busy stealing James’s keys, jumping in the car, and driving far, far away, never to return.
Living with James was one thing. That was just mooching off his rich boyfriend. Crashing without paying rent. This was a house purposefully purchased for them. As a unit, all four of them. And the four of them included Kit, which meant this was a permanent residence. For him.
Heavy footsteps stopped behind him. “What’s wrong, Trouble?” Darius asked, massaging Kit’s tense shoulders.
Kit felt even tinier than usual under Darius’s warm hands. “Is it too late to return the house?”
“Just a bit,” Darius said, infuriatingly calm.
James joined them, spinning a set of keys. “My realtor would fucking murder me. Sweet lady, but the bigger the hair, the deadlier they are.”
He sounded calm too. Horrible men, both of them.
“You can move in, Darius,” Kit said, trying to joke past the anxiety. “So can James and Holden. I’ll just visit everyone on weekends.”
That would give Kit time to run away. He didn’t actually have a tracking chip like James joked about, so all he had to do was ditch his phone and other belongings.
Maybe swap out his shoes at the mall in case someone had tampered with them.
You never knew. Definitely had to switch cars or hop on a bus once he was out of San Corvo Security CCTV range.
“You’re getting cold feet, huh?” Darius asked, thumbs sweeping up the sides of Kit’s neck.
Kit struggled not to melt. Focus. He had a crisis to freak out about. “We’re moving too fast. We’re all going to hate each other after a week. It’s going to be a horrible mess.”
“It’s going to be fine.” James tilted Kit’s chin up, forcing him to face an obnoxious smirk. “I already hate Darius and Holden.”
“Blondie does make good slideshows, though,” Darius said from behind Kit. “He can make another, to explain that you don’t need to freak out.”
Kit pulled away—or tried to. Darius’s grip tightened on his shoulders. Imprisonment was far more soothing than the gentle massage.
“You’re both disgustingly calm,” Kit accused.
“Honestly, I’m surprised you took this long to panic,” James said fondly. “But Darius and I expected it, so we have a plan.”
Darius leaned closer, breath warm against Kit’s ear. “Did you know you can’t resell a house after you’ve fucked on the kitchen counter?”
Kit’s pulse spiked. “That’s super untrue. James put his house on the market.”
“It’s a new law,” James said cheerfully. “Come on—let’s break this house in.”
Flanked by two of his boyfriends, Kit paused in the doorway.
The foyer opened onto a living room, which opened onto a dining room.
Fully furnished and unnaturally pristine, it somehow struck Kit as more lived-in than James’s previous mansion.
Pale wood ceilings, reddish wood floors.
The occasional deep teal accent wall. Some of the furniture was familiar.
Kit had been fucked hard over that armchair.
He was going to live here. Darius and James and Holden would fill the space, just like they had begun filling the hollow inside Kit’s heart.
That homecoming feeling was what made him so nervous. Comfortable might turn into complacent might get him killed.
No. Kit wasn’t running anymore. Safety meant sticking together. Protecting each other as they mapped out the new threat of the Rat Kings.
Warm hands at each shoulder pushed Kit inside.
“Look at that sturdy staircase,” Darius said, locking the door behind them. “Perfect to cuff you to the railing, for old time’s sake.”
Kit’s mind immediately skipped back to that moment. He’d hated Bishop. Then he tried seducing him, trying to find shelter. Something like security.
Bishop had turned him away. Kit hadn’t realized at the time, but that was the right thing to do. Bishop had Kit’s best interests at heart, even when Kit didn’t.
The fucking bastard.
“Don’t talk about Bishop right now,” Kit complained, because complaining was his favorite coping mechanism. No, second favorite. Sex was first. “I’m still mad at him.”
“Why are you mad at Bishop, babe?” James asked.
Oops. Darius hadn’t actually mentioned Bishop.
“Because he’s annoying,” Kit said.
James laughed, steering Kit deeper into the house. “Well, I knew that.”
The firm, guiding touch was reassuring. James never pushed for confessions. He was the one who pulled Kit deeper into his relationships. All of them, even when he hated Holden. The one who acted the most reluctant to move in but bought the house in advance.
And Darius kept them grounded. The voice of reason—by default, sometimes, yeah. He still fake-kidnapped Kit to prove a point that one time.
Kit still wasn’t sure what they all saw in him, but he was past doubting that they wanted him. Especially now, with James’s hand on his shoulder and Mr. Voice of Reason watching with glorious anticipation.
The kitchen was very shiny. The refrigerator and oven gleamed like mirrors. Dazzled by the abundance of appliances, Kit’s attention could only zero in on one object, which stuck out like a sore thumb.
A lime green stepladder, tied with a massive red silk bow.
“What the fuck is that?” Kit asked, pointing.
“Surprise!” James waved jazz hands in front of Kit. “It’s your housewarming gift, so you can reach the cupboards!”
Kit stared up at him. “I can’t decide if you’re being considerate or negging me.”
“Both,” Darius said, plucking the red ribbon. It loosened and flowed between his fingers. “You know with James it’s usually both.”
“Not true,” James protested. He held Kit in place and kissed the top of his head. Brief, hot, disarming. “Negging is for Darius, consideration is for you.”
Tension eased inside Kit, like the ribbon coming undone. This was stupid. Ridiculous. Charming. Kit was a little more in love with James and Darius than the moment before, and suddenly he wasn’t afraid of moving in together.
Nothing would change for the worse. James and Darius bicker, and James would snipe at Holden as Holden smugly disregarded him. They would all team up to throw Kit off-balance, in the best possible way.
And Kit would be safer, nestled in with his three murderers, than anywhere else in the world.
“That’s very thoughtful, thank you,” Kit said politely.
“Not that you have to use it.” James kissed Kit’s head again, then moved to gesture dramatically through the kitchen. “I’m happy to fetch anything you want, if you’re comfortable on the couch or tied up in bed. Okay, I’d probably make Holden fetch things.”
“Good luck with that,” Darius said, still playing with the ribbon. The glossy shift of fabric was mesmerizing.
“I just thought the ladder would be useful,” James continued. “Because you’re so cute and tiny and small… perfect to wrap my hands around…”
Kit braced his hands on his hips. “You’re making this stepladder sound like a fetish thing.”
“Everything about you is my fetish,” James said, without missing a beat.
“Speaking of fetishes,” Darius said, folding the ribbon in two. “Are you done looking at the kitchen for now? Anything else you want to see?”
Clear emphasis on the last word.
Kit fixated on the ribbon in a new light. “Yeah, I think I can see the rest later.”
“Perfect.” Darius moved behind him. “Close your eyes.”
Silk fell across Kit’s eyelids. First light and airy, then darkening as the second layer pulled taut. The pressure felt reassuring, like a warm palm over his eyes, as Darius knotted the ribbon behind Kit’s head.
“Never thought red was your color,” James said, his voice closer than Kit remembered. “But you look good in everything, pretty boy.”
Kit stretched his arms. His left hand was caught by James, whose touch would be recognizable even if Darius wasn’t still clearly behind him.
“I look good in nothing, too,” Kit said, without subtlety.
Darius’s laughter warmed the shell of Kit’s ear. “I know you wanted to break in the kitchen, James, but what if we took this upstairs? I have an idea that would be more comfortable in bed.”
James’s hand tightened around Kit’s wrist. “What we talked about?” Silence traced goosebumps down Kit’s spine. “Yeah, let’s see if he can take it.”