Chapter 46
impact
Rocked against the bedside, Kit processed the impact in fragments. The far end of the room crumbled. Thunder shook a snowfall of plaster from the ceiling. Laird staggered to one knee, then staggered in reverse to his feet.
A car charged through the outside wall. It stopped halfway into the room, hood crumpled, steaming.
“What the fuck,” Laird spat, twisting for his holster. Slower than usual.
The passenger door flung open. James leaned out, which was just as impossible as the rest of this. Cold steel gleamed in his hand.
Shots rang from multiple directions. Kit jerked, head spinning, to see Bishop and Darius in the doorway, guns drawn.
One, two, three. Where was…
Of course. As Laird collapsed to his knees, then to the floor, Holden sat in the driver’s seat, batting away the airbag. Dust clouds billowed from the window.
“Okay,” Kit said, barely hearing his own voice through the muffling shock. “I guess that works.”
Then Kit was surrounded. James got there first, because Darius stopped to check the body, and Bishop stopped to check the hallway. James’s face filled Kit’s vision, twisted in concern, relief, panic, all the things Kit was too distant to feel properly.
“Are you okay?” James asked, as Darius and Bishop filled in the space around him. “Are you hurt?”
Somehow, Kit had expected to get a scolding first. Old reflexes. “I’m okay. Maybe a little concussed.”
“Are you sure?” James demanded, touching Kit’s face. Numbness bloomed into sensation beneath his fingers.
“Am I sure I’m concussed?” Kit asked, even though he knew what James meant. He just thought it was funny. From the concerned glances traded over him, his boyfriends didn’t agree.
Fair enough. But their dead dads weren’t in the room. Kit got to find stupid shit funny if he wanted.
Bishop nudged James aside. “Did you hit your head?”
“He hit my face.” Kit touched his cheek, finding tenderness. Shit. They could probably see the bruise. “Is he dead?”
“Extremely,” Darius said.
Fucking Christ.
Kit had imagined this moment. Not like this—he couldn’t have imagined this specifically. Just killing Laird Renaker, by his own hands or someone else’s. He’d always wondered if he would feel conflicted. Laird was a monster. He still raised Kit. This eerie replica of a bedroom was testament to that.
Beyond Bishop’s shoulder, Holden crouched over Laird’s body. He nudged the motionless shoulder, then started kicking rubble out of the way.
Kit’s childhood died years ago. He already mourned the father he thought he had. Now, he couldn’t feel anything beyond relief that the monster was dead. That his men were here.
Relief, and fine. A bit of guilt. He wouldn’t be himself otherwise.
“I’m sorry,” Kit said, his voice stronger. “I shouldn’t have run off. He made Shiloh text me, and I just…”
Dragging noises punctuated the silence. Kit couldn’t see what Holden was doing behind the others.
“We can talk after you get some sleep,” Bishop said, gently ruffling his hair. “And medical attention. Can you stand up?”
At Kit’s nod, Bishop and Darius took him by the elbows to ease him to his feet. “What matters is that you’re okay,” Darius said, as Kit leaned into his comforting, stable grasp. “We all did what we had to do.”
James tapped his lips, playfully thoughtful. “We might have to lock you up for a few days. For disciplinary reasons.”
A smile cracked Kit’s bruised face. “How about a few weeks?”
“Don’t tempt him,” warned Darius.
Kit fully intended to tempt James. And all of them. But he had more urgent concerns first. “Is Shiloh okay? I told him to go to the house, but Archie showed up too fast.”
“Shiloh’s okay,” Bishop said, with reassuring confidence.
“Bishop killed Archie,” James added.
Bishop shrugged. “Better late than never.”
“Oh,” Kit said. “That’s cool.”
A screeching roar cut them off. James and Bishop aimed their guns, but Darius had evidently been paying attention. He just gave an exasperated sigh as Holden drove the broken car forward.
Just a few feet. Over Laird’s limp body.
Barely visible behind the dusty windshield, Holden reversed. Then drove forward. Then reversed again, revealing a tangle of bone and flesh. An unrecognizable ruin of a man.
Satisfied, Holden killed the engine and emerged into the rubble. Haphazard lights made a halo of his golden hair.
“Was that really necessary?” Darius asked.
“Obviously,” Holden said, as the helpless, happy grin spread across Kit’s face.
“God, Holden.” Kit floated forward on giddiness. “You’re such a romantic.”
Kit didn’t get far before Holden swept him into a kiss. Careful hands cradled Kit’s throat, dust scraping between skin. The scent of bodywash and blood and airbag dust blended together, acrid and addictive.
“You know, James,” Bishop commented. “When you said you were taking another route into the house, this is not what I expected.”
James looped a possessive arm around Kit’s waist. “What’s the point of super cool prototype attack cars if you can’t drive them into buildings?”
“Exactly,” Holden murmured against Kit’s lips.
“Attack cars?” Darius sighed. “The world was safer when you two hated each other.”
Kit reluctantly retreated from the kiss. He couldn’t get far, thanks to James’s grasp. “Don’t do it again. You could have gotten hurt. But I’m glad you…” Suspicion sparked. “How did you guys find me so fast, anyway?”
James coughed.
Holden shamelessly took up the explanation. “James and I implanted a tracker in the back of your neck.”
Kit rubbed his shoulder, where it had been itching for days. “Oh. That explains a lot.”
Bishop stopped, halfway across the room. “Wait, you didn’t know about that?”
“We’re going to discuss that later,” Darius said, glaring at James and Holden.
“I didn’t know he’d done it, but James and I talked about it before,” Kit said helpfully. He didn’t want James and Holden to get in trouble.
Bishop just stared him down. “Really?”
Kit relented. “Okay, we joked about it. But it was a good idea.”
Approaching sirens interrupted the debate over bodily autonomy. Kit jolted, taking in the incriminating mess. Seeing Laird shot to death, then crushed with a car, felt really good. But the world hadn’t stopped moving around them, and consequences were about to arrive.
“Next question,” Kit said slowly. “How the fuck are we covering this up?”
“Money,” James said immediately.
“Blackmail,” Bishop added.
Darius shrugged. “Death threats.”
“Forget the threat part,” Holden said cheerfully. “We can just kill whoever shows up.”
“No, Holden,” said Bishop, James, and Darius in unison.
Kit laughed. First sharp, then deep, whole-body glee. Nothing hurt. All the ice-cold emptiness heated away with adoration. “You fucking psychos,” Kit said, wiping his eyes. “I love you all.”
Bishop’s serious expression softened into a grin. “Love you, too. Darius, take Kit home. Holden and James, stick with me—and follow this story exactly.”