Chapter 37
“your panic attacks are sexy, too”
Cold metal seared Kit’s palms. He held the gun too tightly to aim again.
The figure collapsed into the bushes. Every shadow clawed forward, and every beam of yellow light slid sideways.
He shot someone.
“What the fuck,” someone shouted, and someone else shoved Kit into the garage.
Behind the car Kit tried to escape in. A dusty plaster wall held Kit upright.
Someone shoved Kit’s gun groundwards, which was wrong, because there might be more intruders, but Kit couldn’t muster the words to explain that.
He shot someone.
He didn’t even know who. They just weren’t supposed to be there.
“Either I missed the fucking alert or there wasn’t one,” someone muttered. James, that was James, tapping a panel that hadn’t been visible on the garage wall a minute ago. “Rest of the yard’s clear. Setting security to level Fuck This Shit.”
Low red lights flashed around the perimeter, then dimmed.
“I’ll check our friend,” Bishop said, which was good, Kit was recognizing people, but also bad, because Bishop was moving towards the figure in the bushes.
“Fuck,” Kit said, his own voice distant. “I missed.”
James laughed. The nervous edge was barely audible. “You definitely hit him, babe.”
“No,” Kit said. “He isn’t dead.”
Everyone else fell silent. Then Holden ruffled Kit’s hair.
“Great shot,” Holden said, not nervous at all. After some complicated eye contact with Darius, he eased the gun from Kit’s stiff hands.
“Need to call my security backup,” James said, phone to his ear. “Tell him nothing’s wrong. Unless we need backup?” James added, raising his voice.
“Stand by,” Bishop called back. “I don’t know this guy, but I recognize him. He’s been poking around my neighborhood as a realtor.”
Kit jerked forward, and Darius let him move this time. Just enough out of the garage to see Bishop, crouching over the pressed-down bushes. The dark, twitching, groaning figure slumped on the ground.
Not Dad, then. Not Archie Calvin, either.
Nausea wavered through Kit. Disappointment or sick relief. He hadn’t shot Dad.
Of course, Dad wouldn’t come himself. He enjoyed getting his hands dirty, but he would never risk getting caught.
“I’ll help Bishop,” Holden said, and strode out.
Darius still held Kit’s shoulder, but his touch had changed from an iron grip to slow, soothing circles. “Why did you shoot?”
Wasn’t it obvious? “He shouldn’t have been there.”
Darius’s slow massage moved to the back of Kit’s neck. The warm touch was the only real sensation Kit could feel. “Can’t fault you for that. I’d love to take credit for your aim, but I’m guessing that’s another thing you’ve been hiding.”
Across the driveway, Holden bent with Bishop over the injured intruder.
“Dad taught me how to shoot,” Kit said, and he shouldn’t have worried that speaking his secrets aloud would make them real. Nothing was real. “But I missed.”
Holden straightened up. “I’ve seen him before, too,” he called out. “The pervert who was watching us in the SCU parking lot.”
Mr. Tweed.
So, they had a stalker. Holden’s school, Bishop’s neighborhood, now the new house. Kit didn’t have time to process that before Holden aimed down and fired.
The gunshot was quiet, as gunshots went. Kit’s bones rang, while Holden didn’t flinch with the recoil. Like Kit was the one who shot again, because Holden was an extension of his desires. Because Holden wanted to finish what Kit started.
Silence followed. No more twitching and groaning.
Bishop stood, hands on his hips. “Why the hell did they let you take the gun?”
“They were distracted,” Holden said cheerfully, holding it out. “Here you go.”
“Keep it.” Bishop waved him off. “Can someone help me with this? Someone else?”
James put his phone away. “On it.” He was in front of Kit suddenly, bending down to eye level. “Are you…” Whatever he saw in Kit’s face cut off any questions. He just pressed a kiss to Kit’s forehead, rough, lingering forever, even as he took off across the yard.
“I need to clear the house,” Darius said, professional, calm. Kit thought the words were directed at him, until Darius added, “Can you hold Kit?”
Holden was right there. “Any time, D.”
“I won’t run away,” Kit said. “I promise.”
Darius rubbed Kit’s neck again, and said far too kindly, “That’s not what I’m worried about, boy.”
Oh. Darius was concerned. That hurt way worse than distrust.
“I’m fine,” Kit said, unconvincing even to himself.
“I know.” Darius squeezed Kit once more. “Thanks.”
That was to Holden, who clicked the safety and slid the gun into his back pocket. Fingers slid across Kit’s jaw, acrid with gunpowder. Just like Kit’s hands.
The plaster garage wall held Kit upright, and Holden leaned in. Two breaths—one shallow, frantic, the other steady, certain—entwined in a kiss. Holden’s desire hooked into Kit’s mind and body, drawing them back together.
“That was so hot,” Holden murmured. “You’re so gorgeous.”
“I shot someone.” Kit twisted Holden’s shirt. He was past trembling. “I didn’t think, I was just freaking out, and I just…”
Holden nuzzled Kit’s hair. “You were incredible, darling. Can’t believe you hit him in the dark like that. Your aim is way better than mine.”
“I shot him,” Kit says, voice thin.
“And I killed him.” Holden’s touch traveled from Kit’s throat to his arms. To his hips. “It’s okay to freak out. I want you to be happy, but your panic attacks are sexy, too.”
That, of all things, jolts Kit back into reality. “What the fuck.”
Holden kissed beneath Kit’s jaw.
Kit squirmed, body reacting despite all reason. “Why does that make me feel better?”
“Because you love me, too,” Holden said without missing a beat.
Sometimes his aim was better than Kit’s.
“I’m still mad at you,” Kit said. That was important. “Kiss me again.”
Holden chuckled, low and ravenous, and obliged. For a moment, Kit was glad his men had caught him. Dad was out, with Bishop’s ex-partner. A random pervert realtor was stalking them—and no way was that actually random.
Running away wasn’t the solution. Kit was stronger and safer surrounded by his morally dubious lovers.
Bishop included. Even though the lovers thing was still a work in progress with him.
A loud throat-clear interrupted Kit and Holden. It was a sign of how kiss-dazed Kit was that the sound didn’t startle him.
“House is clear,” Darius said from the door. Across the yard, James and Bishop were rolling the body into a tarp.
“I want to look at him,” Kit said. He couldn’t ignore the consequences of his action. He owed it to the dead man.
“Later,” Darius said. “First, it’s time for a real talk.”
Kit took a deep breath. “Yeah. Okay.”
It didn’t feel okay. But that was the thing. Maybe being not okay could be safe after all.
Shoulder itching, Kit paced the basement game room as everyone else secured the property.
No windows down here, which was nice. Just a bunch of furniture dragged over from James’s old mansion.
An armchair. A felted game table. A liquor cabinet.
A couch Kit hadn’t fucked anyone on yet.
No windows. Didn’t stop Kit’s skin from crawling, imagining unwelcome eyes peering from the shadows.
He had to keep moving, use the anxiety, before it broke him. He wished he hadn’t washed his hands, so he could still feel the grit of gunpowder.
He shot someone.
He didn’t feel as different as he should.
James called backup anyway to watch the neighborhood. Bishop and Darius had contacts looking for more information on the escaped prisoners.
“If they’re related to that guy,” Darius said, pointing up, vaguely towards wherever they were storing the dead body.
“They’re related,” Kit said, and everyone fell quiet. “Are you all ready? I’m only going to say this once.”
James moved closer, and Kit flinched away.
“Sorry, I can’t,” Kit stammered, then swallowed. “I can’t touch anyone right now.”
Hurt flashing quickly, James retreated. “Whatever you need.”
James sat next to Darius on the unchristened couch. Bishop took the armchair, and Holden hopped on the game table, legs swinging. All of them waited, silent.
James, who never pushed at Kit’s past.
Darius, who just made Kit promise his problems wouldn’t come back to bite him.
Holden, who selfishly clung to Kit’s secrets.
Bishop, who was never satisfied. Who dug for more broken pieces. Who Kit pushed away again and again for the sin of doing the smart thing.
Pacing like a caged animal, Kit began.