Chapter 34
strange little projects
Shock seized the darkest part of Kit’s heart. His hand clenched painfully around his phone. He couldn’t look away as the next message followed.
Unknown Number: Don’t worry, he didn’t find anything. I took care of it.
Each word clawed between Kit’s ribs. He jolted into motion even as his thoughts remained sluggish. A few quick swipes blocked the number. Deleted the message thread. As if by erasing it, he could pretend it never arrived.
It was him. It had to be him.
He knew Kit’s new number. He probably knew Kit’s new address, and Kit’s cozy new mansion closed in like a cage. Each clink and laugh from the kitchen echoed like omens of disaster.
No. Darius and James were right in the kitchen. Kit had only to breathe too loud, and they would run to him. Holden was just a quick message away, too.
So was Bishop.
Dad was the one locked away in a cage, and Kit didn’t have to fear him.
Except Dad shouldn’t have Kit’s number. Dad shouldn’t be able to ‘take care of it’ from prison. He always had friends—connections—people Kit was once happy to use. Ed gave Kit a place to stay, before Bishop shot him. Smith gave Kit the fake ID, before James and Darius shot him, too.
This was a mistake. Tying himself to one city. One house. Tying his heart to anyone, much less so many of them.
It was a mistake to let himself feel so stupidly safe.
To let himself feel.
And Kit was right to distrust Bishop. Certainty sliced deep, and the wound welled with betrayal. Bishop had the means and motive to run Kit’s DNA. Because he distrusted Kit, as much as Kit distrusted Bishop.
Kit unfolded from the couch, hyperconscious of his wobbly legs. He needed a moment alone. To think or forget or rewire his memory into something better.
He needed to get his gun from his bedroom. Just to have it on him. Fuck. He shouldn’t have a bedroom. He should have kept running.
“Where are you running off to?” Darius’s voice wrapped warm around Kit’s throat. His arm slid around Kit’s waist moments later. “You were no help with the dishes, so James and I decided you should help us out another way.”
For one instant, Kit couldn’t answer.
Then the wall of stone closed around his heart. Warm on the outside, cold on the inside. He locked away his terror and turned with a smirk.
“I was running off to bed,” Kit purred, sliding devious hands up Darius’s chest. He seized Darius’s collar as James pressed behind him. “Care to join me?”
They did.
After sex, a shower, and more sex, Kit disentangled himself. The clock had ticked past midnight, and the master bedroom loomed cavernous and dim. James stopped him at the edge of the bed, with a firm hand on Kit’s thigh.
“What’s up?” James asked, dark eyes searching. Behind him, Darius sat up.
Fair question. Normally Kit would stay to cuddle.
“Today’s just been a lot,” Kit answered, slipping from James’s grasp. “I need like six hours asleep in my own bed, before someone else drags me off to meet their family.”
“I think you’re safe for the week,” Darius said, low and amused.
Kit cast around for clothes. James and Darius had undressed him as hastily as ever. “How can I be sure? You have cousins, right?”
“They’re annoying.” Darius settled back on the pillow. “They also live in Maryland, so chances of a surprise meetup are slim.”
“I’ll hold you to that,” Kit said, and the joke-warning shake of his finger came naturally. His body remembered how to mesh comfortably with his men, even though his heart felt so terribly distant.
He shimmied back into his short shorts and sweatshirt. Then he crawled back into bed for a flurry of goodnight kisses, because that was what he would do if he wasn’t shattered.
Then he retreated upstairs through the dark. Kit was already familiar with the shape of this house, and his attention caught on a deeper shadow—right in front of his attic bedroom. His hand twitched, looking for a gun he hadn’t retrieved yet.
Vision adjusting to the darkness, Kit recognized Holden leaning next to the door.
“You could have joined us,” Kit said, walking closer.
Holden shrugged. “Didn’t feel like sharing tonight.”
Usually, Kit would have stayed to cuddle. How long would Holden have waited in the hallway, just in case Kit wandered out?
Sweet. Creepy. Typical Holden.
For a moment, Kit considered telling Holden about the text. He had already told Holden so much, and it hadn’t changed anything between them. Except Kit had gotten careless. Bishop ran his fucking DNA. Kit needed to stop being so trusting.
Instead, Kit stepped into Holden’s grasp and surrendered to a kiss. Hot and intrusive, and normally Kit would melt, but his heart couldn’t follow his body’s desires.
That was good. That was safe.
Just like a question he already knew the answer to. “If I ever wanted to run away,” Kit murmured, “would you come with me?”
Holden tilted his head. Not curious, just concerned. “Should I pack my bags?”
“No.” Kit kissed him again. “I just needed to hear that.”
“Did something happen?” Holden asked, preventing another kiss with a hand to Kit’s bare chest.
“Nothing happened.” Kit shrugged. “I’m just fucked in the head.”
“That makes two of us, darling.” Holden caressed Kit’s throat far too gently. “Get some sleep.”
Inside his bedroom, Kit pressed against the closed door. He waited, listening, until six minutes later, Holden walked away.
Mechanically, barely feeling the echoes of touch, Kit packed his backpack and shoved it under his bed.
He wasn’t running. He just needed to be ready.
Just in case.
Holden closed the office door, cutting off the noisy employees. The glass walls currently had the blue tint that meant nobody else could see in.
This was the first time in weeks James had called Holden into the San Corvo Security office.
Things had been settling back to normal since cleaning up the Lemon Beach house.
Darius and Bishop were busy with that. Holden had finals and graduation next month, which should be a cakewalk but required some focus.
Discipline was more difficult than usual, because Kit had been insatiable. Needy. Like he couldn’t spend a single moment untouched. Holden liked that on a selfish level.
He didn’t like the whispering suspicion that Kit was hiding something new.
“What did you want?” Holden asked, sitting on the white leather couch. Fond memories of Kit bending over the coffee table danced through his mind.
James toyed with something small and plastic. He looked thoughtful. Guarded. But not guarded against Holden.
Interesting.
“You fucked Kit,” James said casually.
Very interesting. Did Kit mention it, or did James just see some difference in how they interacted? Maybe it was both. Holden enjoyed either option. “Does that bother you?”
James set the plastic down. “It makes me want to bruise my fingerprints into his skin. Fuck him so hard he can’t remember his own name, much less yours. It makes me want to choke him on my cock until he cries.” James grinned. “No, it doesn’t bother me.”
Holden wasn’t used to finding other people relatable. “It would have bothered you before.”
“Hell of an understatement,” James agreed.
“What changed?” Holden asked. “My interests haven’t. I don’t plan to kill Kit anymore, but I understand that’s a lot for normal people to get over.”
His words were goading. James had spent enough time testing him. Only fair for Holden to test James in return. See what struck true.
James’s eyes narrowed. Then he relaxed. “Have you ever considered that you might be the most normal person in this relationship?”
For once, Holden had no idea how to respond.
“I’ve spent fourteen years avenging my family’s massacre,” James said, counting off on his fingers. “Darius was a teen assassin prodigy. And Kit…” James dropped his hands, smile fading. “It’s like he didn’t exist before Bishop and I found him.”
Holden knew more. Usually, he enjoyed every piece of Kit he could keep for himself. Painful secrets. Hidden kisses.
He didn’t feel guilty right now, and he wasn’t about to betray Kit’s trust. He just thought, for the first time, maybe it would be better for Kit to share more with the others.
“You grew up in the suburbs,” James continued. “You played lacrosse in high school, and one season in college. You’re about to graduate.”
“When you put it like that,” Holden allowed.
“Of course, you’re also staring at me with Resting Sociopath Face. You get partial credit at best.”
This was a distraction. Holden didn’t particularly care how James categorized him. And James was clearly grading on a curve. Expand the assessment pool outside their relationship web, and all of them were getting F- in normal.
“What do you actually want?” Holden asked.
James picked up the plastic case again. He was always a tactile person, but this level of fidgeting was unusual. “Something’s going on with Kit. Has he said anything to you?”
Weeks ago, Kit asked if Holden would run away with him. As if that was even a question. Holden wasn’t about to mention that. Kit asked in confidence. It was a secret.
But Holden could say things Kit hadn’t told him. Things that were obvious. “Something spooked him the day we went to the cemetery.”
James grimaced. “I thought he was just getting cold feet over meeting the family. But ever since then, he’s been…”
“Distant,” Holden finished.
Kit had been insatiable. Clingy. Holden fucked him twice yesterday, and he wasn’t the only one. By the end, Kit was incoherent, overstimulated, still desperate for more. He only settled when Holden covered his mouth and pinned him down to cuddle.
Holden had never felt farther away from him. James must feel the same, and he must be truly worried if he was talking to Holden instead of Darius or even Bishop.
Either that or he thought Holden was more useful.
“You’re planning something,” Holden said.
“Maybe,” James said, still fidgeting with the plastic case.
That was a yes. “I’m happy to help, on one condition.”
“What’s that?” James asked.
Holden propped his feet up on the coffee table. “Don’t call me normal again.”
Laughter glinted in James’s eyes. “Deal.”
One last sweep of Felicity Carrow’s house. Darius was glad to be rid of the place soon. He’d hired a covert cleaning crew to fully sanitize the place—using Felicity’s own tech to hire them. Her money, too.
By next week, there would be no traces of human DNA on the property. Whoever discovered the empty house was in for a hell of a mystery.
First, Darius and Bishop needed to make sure they’d taken everything of value.
“What are the odds SCPD hires you to help out with this place?” Darius asked, opening each kitchen cupboard with gloved hands.
“I’d say low.” Bishop looked through each drawer in the island. “The Rat Kings had enough police contacts. They’ll want to bury everything as missing-person cold cases.”
“Malicious or lazy?” Darius asked.
“Both,” Bishop answered immediately.
News about Nazario Bradach had already dwindled. No primetime press conferences. Just online conspiracy theories. Nothing would link him to the kitchen table where James tortured him to death. Felicity’s disappearance hadn’t even broken yet.
Darius himself was distracted by issues closer to home. “Been meaning to ask you something,” he said as they moved to the living room.
Bishop paused, clearly not fooled by Darius’s casual tone. “Yeah?”
Not like Darius intended to be casual. “Is something up with Kit?”
Bishop wasn’t usually easy to read, but surprise flashed through his eyes. “You’re closer to him.”
“That’s the problem.” Darius glanced at the couch, where he’d shot Felicity.
The coffee table, where he’d moved her body so the blood would be easier to clean.
Darius would be hypocritical to fault Kit for acting alone.
“He’s not used to being close to people, and he’s scared of fucking us up.
If something’s wrong, he’s more likely to tell you. ”
“I wouldn’t say that,” Bishop said. “He doesn’t like me digging.”
Time to be hypocritical. “Have you been digging?”
Bishop’s hesitation was answer enough. There was no reassurance in his grim-set brow. “I asked a friend to run his DNA for a familial match.”
Darius already had unwelcome hypotheses. “What did you find?”
“Nothing,” Bishop said, still grim. “That’s the problem.”
There were plenty of reasons someone’s DNA might be in the database. Plenty of relatives who might come up on a search.
“What did you expect to find?” Darius asked.
Bishop was silent for longer this time. He always got that faraway look in his eyes when he was torn between principles. That was the trouble with trying to be a good man. Sometimes the moral compass pointed in two directions.
Or just kept spinning.
Bishop’s gaze snapped up, sharp with decision. “Has Kit told you anything about his dad?”
Darius’s stomach dropped. “I’m guessing it isn’t good.”
It wasn’t.