Epilogue
Five Months Later
Leaves and wings rustled behind Kit. He flinched around to confront the—
The bird taking off from the front yard. Right.
Kit counted out breaths, hand poised behind his hip. Only when his pulse settled and nothing else jumped out did he let go of the gun. As he resumed his trek to the front door, feeling every scrape of his jeans through his briefs, bubbles of pride sparkled into his already-good mood.
Five months after Laird Renaker’s death, Kit was still jumpy. They all were, even Darius, who seemed so unflappable. But the shocks of fear were easier to manage now.
A year ago, Kit couldn’t have imagined describing himself as ‘coping.’
He couldn’t have imagined welcoming camera lenses either. But one of the lenses above the door rotated to face him with an obvious, kind of adorable whirring sound. Kit blew a kiss to whoever was watching, probably James, then tapped in the security code to open the door.
The foyer and living room were empty. Beachy music from the seventies or nineties or some other ancient era flowed from the backyard. Kit reset the security system and toed off his shoes.
He almost put them in the shoe rack. But maybe he could coerce someone into punishing him for leaving them out. Even if his ass cheeks still stung red from last night.
Kit ditched his socks too, just to increase the severity of his crime. His gun and holster went in the designated cabinet, because he was bratty, not stupid. Then he headed for the kitchen. A cold beer sounded like a nice way to kick off the summer afternoon.
Sure, it was mid-September. That was still summer in San Corvo.
The paper bag between the whole milk and the almond milk was new. Kit reached, curious. It looked like the croissants Bishop sometimes brought home. But before Kit touched the paper, the roughly written label stopped him.
HUMAN HAND, DON’T EAT
Kit blinked, then closed the fridge. No longer thirsty, he headed towards the lazy, breezy music.
The glass sliding doors were already open.
Kit paused at the threshold, a grin tugging his lips as he took in the sight.
The backyard must have been designed for hosting.
There were gathering places by the pool, firepit, and patio bar, plus a gazebo and a swing further into the xeriscaping.
Probably not designed with a fivesome in mind, but it worked well for their purposes too.
Bishop and Holden sat at the poolside table, sharing a laptop beneath a blue and white striped umbrella.
Darius and James were closer, at the patio bar.
Darius perched on a stool, clad only in swim trunks, which meant he was gloriously shirtless and gleaming in the afternoon sunlight. James stood behind the bar, wearing a garish red and yellow Hawaiian shirt.
Everyone’s eyes zeroed in on Kit.
“Missed you, darling,” Holden called out.
James whistled. “Get your cute little ass over here. What do you want to drink, and why is it a watermelon daiquiri?”
“Is that what you’ve been doing?” Bishop asked, the skepticism clear across the patio.
Darius chuckled. “He’s getting pretty good at them. Hasn’t lit anything on fire in twenty minutes.”
Kit padded to the bar, equal parts curious and alarmed. A normal, enjoyable state of being. The floorboards warmed his bare feet, and the comfortable welcome warmed everything else.
“I didn’t know watermelon daiquiris were a thing, but I’m pretty sure they shouldn’t involve fire,” Kit pointed out, hopping onto the stool next to Darius. He winced on the landing, then squirmed extra for the benefit of Darius’s knowing look.
“Darius is lying to make me look bad.” James leaned over the bar. “You, of course, look delicious as always.”
This close, Kit realized that under the Hawaiian shirt, James was wearing the smallest, tightest swimsuit he’d ever seen. The red fabric hugged him so close, Kit could see the thick vein running under his dick.
Then James’s hand twisted into Kit’s shirt, and his teeth sank into Kit’s lower lip. Kit moaned, sharp and startled, and opened his mouth to James’s exploration. His shirt collar tightened around his throat, little pains punctuating the addictive heat of James’s mouth.
James pulled away when Kit was flushed and breathless. Darius adjusted himself from his front-row seat, blatantly staring.
“How was tutoring?” James asked, rightfully smug.
Kit sank back onto the stool, rubbing his neck. “Pretty good? Tina thinks I should take the language arts test soon. Then I can forget all that and focus on math.”
Studying was more of a learning curve than Kit had naively hoped for. Turned out dropping out of school for a couple years of drugs and depression wasn’t great brain exercise. But Kit liked the challenge more than he expected.
Now that he could use his real SSN, he had a driver’s license. He could get his GED. His passport application was currently processing; James had been making very unsurprising noises about a surprise vacation abroad. James’s corporate leave of absence didn’t seem like a punishment at all.
Everything was new and strange and exciting. Not normal like Kit had always thought it would be. Especially with his boyfriends’ help. James had even found a hot tutor for Kit, per his joking request.
At least, Kit assumed Tina was hot if you liked women. Alas, not Kit’s type.
Probably for the best. The bed was already crowded with five of them. So was the living room couch, the hot tub, the kitchen counter, and everywhere else they tended to fuck.
Speaking of the kitchen.
“What’s with the hand in the fridge?” Kit asked, as James poured the ice and ingredients into the blender.
“Ask him,” James said, then started the blender.
Darius waited for the buzzing crunching to stop. “Rat King stuff. Nothing to worry about.”
Kit rolled his eyes. “I’m not worried. I was just curious whose hand it was.”
Darius wasn’t the new Rat King, exactly. It was just easier for the underground organization to think so, while Darius dismantled the parts that were too distasteful or tedious to work with.
Burning the whole organization to the ground would be easiest. But that would leave a power vacuum in San Corvo’s underground. Just like when the Viper retired, giving the Rat Kings room to take over in the first place.
“Oh, right.” Darius leaned back and called out. “Hey, B! There’s a hand in the fridge. Can you run the DNA?”
Bishop turned around from his laptop. “How soon do you need it?”
“No rush,” Darius said. “Whenever it’s convenient.”
“You got it,” Bishop answered.
“You don’t even know whose hand it is?” Kit asked, aghast. Then James slid over a glass, a neon green umbrella stuck in the slush. “This looks amazing.”
James jerked the glass out of Kit’s grasp. “Nuh-uh. You have to pay for your drink.”
This again.
“Oh no, I forgot my wallet.” Kit chewed his lip. “Is there any other way I can pay?”
James tapped his lips, pretending to think, as if they didn’t do this at least three times a week. “I suppose you could trade your shirt.”
Kit was already yanking it over his head.
Paradoxically, Kit felt warmer without the t-shirt. It might be related to the hungry gazes sweeping over every inch of exposed skin. James took the shirt and made a gleeful show of smelling it.
“Thank you, come again,” James said with a wink.
Kit took a cautious sip from the hot pink curly straw. Dangerously sweet liquid chilled his tongue, the alcohol barely discernible but promising to pack a punch. “This is pretty decent,” Kit said, not wanting to inflate James’s ego too much.
He took a deeper sip, hollowing his cheeks around the straw, just for fun.
“You know exactly what you’re doing, don’t you?” Darius asked, fingers ghosting up Kit’s spine.
Kit yelped, startled. Sweet ice sloshed over his fingers. “So do you,” Kit accused, as James rescued the imperiled daiquiri.
Darius seized Kit’s hand. “You love it,” Darius murmured, bringing Kit’s fingers to his mouth. Slowly, without breaking eye contact, he sucked each finger clean one by one.
Kit exhaled, stomach tightening. The heat of Darius’s tongue seared all the way up his arms, down to his tensing cock.
“You should check on Bishop and Blondie,” James said, in between sips of Kit’s daiquiri. “They’ve been working too long.”
“It’s a Monday afternoon,” Kit pointed out, dazed. “That’s a normal time to work.”
James shrugged. “Well, I have the day off.”
Darius withdrew from Kit’s fingers with a filthy wet sound. “That’s because you’re a second-generation rich boy with no work ethic.”
“As you persist in pointing out, you’re rich too.” James swirling his tongue around Kit’s straw one more time, then set the drink on the counter. “Want another drink, Darius?”
“Yeah, I’ll have one of those.” Darius swatted Kit’s ass. “And I’ll take your jeans, boy.”
“Yes, sir,” Kit said, and hopped down to the tile.
Shimmying out of his jeans left him even warmer, especially when Darius copped another feel.
His big, rough hand kneaded sweetly into Kit’s red skin, the briefs barely there between them.
Breathless, Kit added, “You can keep my drink, too. I have a feeling I’m about to get thrown in the pool. ”
“Odds are good,” Darius agreed, neatly folding Kit’s jeans.
Leaving the two of them bickering over his leftover drink, Kit crossed the deck. He might be mostly naked, but he felt fully dressed in confidence. Bishop and Holden—both in swim trunks, no blinding shirts to distract from the eye candy—turned toward him like swiveling cameras.
Each showed appreciation in their own individual way. Holden jumped up to drape himself over Kit’s shoulders, murmuring sugary nonsense in Kit’s ear. Bishop just leaned back, a soft smile tugging his lips, staring straight into Kit’s soul.
“Stressful tutoring session?” Bishop asked.
“How the fuck do you do that?” Kit complained, cuddling into Holden. But it wasn’t a surprise. Kit wasn’t as hard to read as he used to be. “It was the good kind of stressful. Last session was too easy.”
“Nothing wrong with the occasional easy day.” Bishop crooked his finger. “Let me try that daiquiri.”
Kit wriggled against his unmoving bonds. “If the octopus lets me move.”
“You only have to ask, angel,” Holden said, loosening his arms.
He kept one hand tanged in Kit’s hair, tugging and guiding Kit into the kiss. Bishop took his lips with quiet, gentle control. A gloriously easy moment. Kit sighed, relaxing.
Then he yelped at the sharp pinch to his nipple.
Kit straightened up, intending to invite them to the hot tub. But his eyes caught on Bishop’s laptop screen. “James is right, can’t you two relax for a minute?”
“This is relaxing,” Holden assured him.
Bishop tabbed away from the gory photo collage. “It’s time for a break—we’ve been working for a few hours.”
With the whole attack car debacle and James’s leave of absence, Holden’s post-graduation job at San Corvo Security was delayed. Working for Bishop’s private investigation business might be an even better fit, though. More dead bodies. Less legal and financial oversight.
Kit still helped when he could. All his men agreed that he shouldn’t have to work while he was studying, but it wasn’t like he was studying full time. Plenty of hours for sex and edibles and dumb phone games and investigating.
Mostly normal stuff. Catching cheating spouses, custody disputes.
Sometimes more exciting. They were developing a plan to execute San Corvo’s chief of police.
The guy knew too much, and he was way too entangled with the Viper’s old connections.
Darius was going to help with that. So was James, but with tech support, not hands-on.
James’s bloodlust had cooled after avenging his family’s massacre.
Kit hadn’t seen today’s crime scene photos before. “New case?”
“The victim’s brother reached out to me.” Bishop tapped a plastic folder. “I think the victim’s daughter knows something, but she doesn’t trust anyone.”
“You think she might talk to me?” Kit asked.
“Worth a try,” Bishop said. “If you’re willing.”
“Give me the rundown.” That was Kit’s specialty: talking to people who couldn’t relate to normal people. Who didn’t realize how many supposedly normal people were actually fucked up inside, and that was okay. Kit reached out—and closed Bishop’s laptop. “After your break. Race you to the hot tub!”
“Don’t run by the pool,” Bishop warned.
Kit didn’t have a chance to run. He took exactly one step before Holden scooped him over his shoulder.
“You always have the best ideas,” Holden praised, one hand slipping between Kit’s thighs. The sweet pressure dissolved Kit’s reply into a heated whimper.
Hot water embraced them. Careful hands protected Kit’s head and neck as Holden pressed him against the edge, kissing him like a starving man. Kit moaned, reaching around Holden’s shoulders.
Water splashed. “Sharing is caring,” James announced, inserting himself into the embrace.
“I don’t care,” Holden said, deadpan, but made room.
The water sloshed again as Darius and Bishop joined them in the steam.
“There’s enough of me to go around,” Kit said, trying to sound lofty but mostly just breathless. “If you’re good.”
“Never,” Darius said, hoisting Kit into his lap.
“Good?” Bishop stretched out on the opposite side of the hot tub, clearly biding his time. “Look who’s talking.”
Kit rolled his eyes. “Of course I’m not good. I’m fucking perfect.”
That was all he managed before he was muffled, Holden’s mouth covering his, Darius’s hand on his throat, James groping his tender ass.
Kit had meant it as an exaggeration, but in that moment, it felt true. Forget being normal. Kit would rather be perfect—with the four dangerous, devoted men who were perfect for him.