Chapter Ten
The sun had just crested over the horizon, chasing away the shadows.
Since Colton had stepped out to meet with Grayson about the weirdo from the diner, Zack needed something to do to pass the time.
Mooning over Colton while he was gone wasn’t something Zack cared to do.
So he rolled his invisible sleeves back and threw himself into cleaning, inhaling as the scent of coconuts from the cleaning wipes filled the air.
Wiping down the counter in slow circles, he let thoughts of Colton fill his head. The way those brown eyes went dark with hunger. How his voice dropped an octave when they made love. Every memory sent warmth pooling low in Zack's belly, making his skin feel too tight.
Love. That was the word rattling around in his brain, refusing to be ignored. Too soon, probably. Insane, definitely. But there it was, lodged somewhere between his ribs and making itself at home.
When Colton got back, Zack was going to say it. No more hiding behind jokes or deflection. Just three words that felt bigger than anything he'd ever said before.
A knock echoed through the apartment.
Colton must’ve finished early. Tossing the wipe into the trash, Zack crossed to the door and yanked it open, his grin already spreading across his face.
Craig stood on the other side.
Grin dying on his lips, Zack's stomach dropped. Every instinct screamed at him to slam the door, throw the lock, call Colton. Instead, he forced his mouth into something resembling calm and kept his hand steady on the doorknob.
“Craig.” Keeping his voice level took more effort than it should have. “What do you want?”
Before he could react, Craig shoved past him, shoulder knocking into Zack's as he barged inside. Stumbling back a step, Zack caught himself against the wall, pulse already kicking into overdrive.
Craig's gaze swept the apartment, taking in the cleaned counter, the throw pillows Zack had just fluffed, the faint coconut scent still lingering in the air. “Looks like you’ve been playing house.”
Heat crawled up Zack's neck, but he pushed away from the wall and planted himself between his brother and the rest of the apartment. “You need to leave.”
“Do I?” Craig turned, mouth twisted into something ugly. “Because last time I checked, you embarrassed the hell out of me in front of your new big daddy.”
Big daddy. The words dripped with mockery, each syllable designed to cut. Zack's hands curled into fists at his sides, nails biting into his palms.
“You're only embarrassed if you let yourself feel that way,” he said, keeping his tone as neutral as possible.
Wrong thing to say. Craig's expression darkened, eyes narrowing into slits. Crossing the distance between them in two strides, he loomed close enough that Zack could smell stale cigarettes and something sour underneath.
“So that was my fault?” Craig's voice dropped low, vibrating with anger.
The backhand came out of nowhere. Pain exploded across Zack's cheek, snapping his head to the side. Momentum carried him into the wall, shoulder slamming against plaster with enough force to rattle the picture frame hanging above the couch.
Ears ringing, vision blurring at the edges, Zack pressed a hand to his stinging face. Warmth spread across his skin where Craig's knuckles had connected, and he could already feel the swelling starting.
“Get out!” The words tore from his throat, louder than he meant them, raw and desperate. “Get the hell out of my apartment!”
Craig didn’t move. If anything, he stepped closer, blocking the path to the door. Rage twisted his features into something barely recognizable, all the fake charm stripped away to reveal the violence underneath.
“You think you can just disrespect me? Act like I'm nothing?” Spit flew with each word. “You owe me, Zack. After everything I've done for you—”
“Done for me?” A bitter laugh escaped before Zack could stop it. “You've never done anything for me except make my life hell.”
Mistake. Huge mistake. Recognition flashed in Craig's eyes, the kind that said Zack had just crossed a line.
Before he could dodge, Craig's fist drove into his stomach.
All the air punched out of Zack’s lungs in one violent exhale. Agony bloomed hot and vicious, radiating from the point of impact and spreading through his entire torso. His legs gave out, and he crumpled, knees hitting the floor hard enough to send fresh pain shooting up his thighs.
Gasping, choking, trying desperately to drag oxygen back into his body, Zack curled forward. One hand pressed against his abdomen where the punch had landed, the other braced against the floor to keep him from collapsing completely. Each attempt to breathe felt like swallowing broken glass.
“Look at you.” Craig's voice drifted down from somewhere above him, cold and detached. “Pathetic. Just like always.”
Tears pricked at the corners of Zack's eyes, half from pain and half from sheer helplessness. Every muscle in his body screamed at him to get up, fight back, do something, but he couldn't even manage a full breath yet.
“This is your fault, you know.” Craig crouched down, close enough that Zack could see the scuffed leather of his boots. “All of it. Mom and Dad? That's on you.”
Still struggling to breathe, Zack forced his head up. Words came out strangled, barely audible. “Car accident. Wasn't... my fault.”
“Wasn't it?” Something shifted in Craig's tone, a dangerous edge sliding into place. “Funny how accidents happen when people get in the way.”
Through the haze of pain and oxygen deprivation, those words wormed their way into Zack's brain. Slowly, piece by piece, they started connecting to memories he'd tried not to think about too hard.
Mom and Dad, driving home from dinner. Craig hadn't been there. Said he'd been out of town that weekend, showed up two days after the funeral with red eyes and a story about bad cell reception.
But there'd been other things. Small details that hadn't made sense at the time. The way the police report mentioned brake failure. How Craig had been the last person to work on Dad's car, claimed he was just helping out, being a good son.
Zack's mind went blank. Completely, utterly blank. Like someone had flipped a switch and shut down every thought except one.
Craig did it.
Understanding crashed over him in cold, nauseating clarity. Not an accident. Not bad luck or faulty parts or any of the explanations everyone had accepted without question. His brother had done something to their parents' car. He’d killed them.
“Why?” The word scraped out of his raw throat, barely more than a whisper.
“Dad kicked me out.” Craig straightened, hands sliding into his pockets like they were discussing the weather. “Said I was too aggressive, too much of a problem. Told me not to come back until I got my shit together.”
Horror mixed with the pain still radiating through Zack's torso.
He stared up at his brother, seeing him clearly for the first time.
Not the troubled kid who'd always had a temper.
Not the sibling who just needed understanding.
A killer. Someone who'd murdered their own parents because he got kicked out.
“You were always aggressive toward them,” Zack managed, each word an effort. “They were trying to help you.”
Craig shrugged, the gesture so casual it made Zack's stomach turn. “Didn’t matter. Dad was too controlling. Always telling me what to do, how to live my life. Got tired of it.”
Indifference. Pure, complete indifference. Like he was talking about throwing away old clothes instead of ending two lives.
“You think you’re so much better than me.” Craig’s voice dripped venom, each word landing like another blow. “Living here with your fancy new boyfriend, acting like you've moved on. Like you’re too good for your own brother.”
Still kneeling on the floor, Zack watched his brother's hand slide around to his back. Muscles tensed throughout his body, screaming at him to move, but breathing still came in shallow gasps that made his ribs ache.
Metal glinted in the early-morning light streaming through the window.
Craig’s fingers wrapped around something tucked into his waistband, and when his hand came forward again, a small serrated knife gleamed in his grip. Rust spotted the handle, and the blade caught the light in jagged teeth that promised nothing clean.
“Should've done this years ago.” Craig’s thumb ran along the blade's edge, almost lovingly. “Gonna gut you like the pig you are.”
Terror flooded through Zack’s veins, cold and electric.
Every nerve ending lit up with primal fear, the kind that bypassed thought and went straight to survival instinct.
His stomach clenched so hard he thought he might vomit, and his vision tunneled until all he could see was that knife, those serrated edges, the casual way Craig held it like he’d done this before.
Adrenaline finally overrode the pain. Zack scrambled backward on his hands and knees, feet slipping on the hardwood as he tried to gain purchase.
Craig lunged forward, blade arcing downward, and Zack threw himself sideways.
The knife missed his shoulder by inches, close enough that he felt the displacement of air.
Grabbing the edge of the couch, Zack hauled himself upright. His legs wobbled, threatening to give out, but he forced them to hold. Every breath still hurt, ribs protesting the sudden movement, but staying down meant dying.
Craig charged.
Zack bolted toward the kitchen, feet pounding against the floor. If he could just get to the knife block, grab something to defend himself—
Strong fingers caught the back of his shirt, yanking him backward. Momentum carried both of them into the coffee table. Wood cracked under their combined weight, the sound splitting through the apartment like a gunshot.
Landing hard on his side knocked what little air Zack had managed to recover right back out of his lungs. Craig’s weight pressed down on him, crushing, suffocating. The knife flashed again, and this time Zack caught his brother's wrist with both hands.
Muscles in Craig’s arm strained against his grip, pushing the blade closer. Serrated teeth hovered inches from Zack’s face, close enough to see the individual notches in the metal. Both of them shook with effort, locked in a struggle that Zack was rapidly losing.
Craig was stronger. Always had been. Years of working construction sites and bar fights had built muscle that Zack’s waiter shifts could never match.
But Zack wasn't giving up.
Twisting his hips, he bucked upward with everything he had. Craig’s balance shifted just enough for Zack to wrench one hand free and slam it into his brother's jaw. The punch lacked power, barely more than a slap, but it surprised Craig enough to loosen his grip.
Zack shoved hard, rolling out from under his brother's weight. Broken coffee table pieces scattered across the floor, and he grabbed one—a leg that had snapped off clean—and swung it like a club.
Wood connected with Craig’s shoulder with a satisfying thud. A grunt of pain escaped his brother's lips, and for one glorious second, Zack thought he might actually win this.
Then Craig’s free hand shot out and caught Zack’s wrist, twisting until the makeshift weapon clattered to the floor.
“You little shit.” Blood trickled from the corner of Craig’s mouth where his teeth had cut the inside of his cheek. “Just like always, fighting back when you should know better.”
Zack’s arm screamed in protest as Craig wrenched it behind his back, forcing him face-down against the floor. Splinters from the broken table dug into his cheek, and the coppery taste of blood filled his mouth where he’d bitten his tongue.
“You want to know the truth?” Words tumbled out of Zack before he could stop them, fueled by pain and fear and years of bottled rage. “I hate you. I’ve always hated you.”
Craig’s weight pressed harder, knee digging into Zack’s lower back.
“Every single day of my life, you made me miserable.” Tears burned at the corners of Zack’s eyes, but he kept talking, voice rising. “You bullied me, beat me up, made me feel like I was worthless. And when Mom and Dad tried to stop you, you killed them.”
Pressure on his arm increased until Zack was certain something would snap.
“You’re a monster.” The words came out broken, half-sob and half-snarl. “You ruined everything. Destroyed our family. And for what? Because you couldn’t handle being told to stand on your own two feet?”
“Shut up.” Craig’s voice dropped to something dark and deadly. “Shut your fucking mouth.”
“I wish you’d died instead of them!” Zack’s entire body shook, from fear or fury or both. “I wish it every single day!”
Metal pressed against his ribs, sharp and cold through his shirt. The knife’s point dug in just enough to break skin, and warmth spread across his side.
Zack’s heart thumped so hard he thought it might burst through his ribcage. This was it. This was how he died, on the floor of his own apartment, killed by the brother who’d tormented him his entire life.
At least he’d finally said it. Finally told Craig exactly what he thought of him.
The front door exploded inward.
Wood splintered with a deafening crack, the lock mechanism tearing free from the frame. Colton filled the doorway, eyes blazing with something feral and terrifying. No warning, no hesitation. He crossed the apartment in two massive strides and his fist connected with Craig’s face.
The impact sent Craig flying backward off Zack’s body. He crashed into the entertainment center, DVDs and books raining down around him, but somehow kept his grip on the knife.
Zack gasped, dragging air into his lungs in painful gulps. Rolling onto his side, he pressed a hand to his ribs where the blade had cut. Blood seeped between his fingers, warm and sticky, but the wound felt shallow instead of deep.
Craig staggered to his feet, face already swelling where Colton’s fist had landed. Instead of running, instead of showing even a shred of self-preservation, he raised the knife and lunged at Colton.
Everything slowed down.
Zack watched his brother charge toward the man he loved, watched that serrated blade arc through the air aimed at Colton’s abdomen, and his entire world contracted to a single point of absolute terror.
Not for himself this time.
For Colton.
“No!” The scream tore from his raw throat as Zack rushed forward, desperate to stop his brother.
Colton moved like liquid violence. One hand caught Craig’s wrist mid-swing, stopping the knife’s momentum completely. His other hand came up, fingers wrapping around Craig’s throat. For a heartbeat, they stood frozen, Craig’s arm extended, Colton’s grip unbreakable.
Then Colton twisted.
A sharp crack echoed through the apartment, final and absolute. Craig’s body went slack, the knife clattering to the floor as his fingers released. Colton lowered him down almost gently, laying the corpse on the hardwood with careful precision.
Silence crashed over everything.
Zack couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t process what he’d just witnessed. His brother—the monster who’d killed their parents, who’d just tried to gut him—lay motionless a few feet away, head at an angle that made Zack’s stomach turn.
Dead.
Craig was dead.
Relief and horror warred inside him, tangling together until he couldn’t tell which emotion was winning. Part of him wanted to cry. Another part wanted to laugh hysterically.
Mostly, he just felt numb.
Warm hands cupped his face, tilting his head up. Colton knelt in front of him, brown eyes searching his features with frantic concern. His lips moved, forming words Zack couldn’t quite hear over the ringing in his ears.
“...okay? Blue, talk to me. Are you hurt?”
Zack blinked, the world slowly coming back into focus. Colton’s face filled his vision, beautiful and familiar and alive. Blood still dripped from the cut on Zack’s side, his cheek throbbed from Craig’s backhand, his stomach ached from the punch, but none of that mattered.
Colton was here.
“I love you.” The words fell raw and honest and terrifying. “I love you so much.”
Colton froze. Every muscle in his body went still, eyes widening with something that looked like shock and wonder and disbelief all rolled together. His thumbs brushed across Zack’s cheekbones, so gentle it made Zack’s breath hitch.
“Say it again.” Colton’s voice came out almost broken.
“I love you.” Tears finally spilled over, tracking hot paths down Zack’s face. “I was going to tell you when you got back. Had it all planned out. Was going to be romantic and everything.”
A sound escaped Colton, half-laugh, half-sob. He pulled Zack into his arms, careful of his injuries but still desperate and tight. Strong arms wrapped around him, holding him like he was something precious and fragile and worth protecting.
“I love you too, Blue.” Colton’s breath ghosted warm against Zack’s temple. “Gods, I love you so much.”
Buried against Colton’s solid form, surrounded by his cedar-and-leather scent, Zack finally let himself fall apart.
Sobs wracked his body, ugly and gasping, releasing years of fear and pain and loneliness.
Colton just held him tighter, one hand cradling the back of his head while the other pressed against his lower back.
“Got you.” Colton’s voice rumbled through his torso, steady and unshakeable. “I’ve got you, sweetheart. You’re safe now.”
Safe. The word settled over Zack like a blanket, warm and real and true. For the first time in his entire life, he actually believed it.
Minutes passed, maybe hours. Time lost meaning while Zack cried himself empty against Colton’s shoulder. Eventually, the sobs tapered off into hiccupping breaths, and his body went limp with exhaustion.
Colton shifted, muscles bunching as he stood. Instead of letting go, he scooped Zack up into his arms like he weighed nothing. One arm supported his back, the other tucked under his knees, and Zack found himself cradled against Colton’s chest.
“Need to get you cleaned up.” Colton’s lips brushed against his forehead, soft and reverent. “Check those injuries.”
Zack nodded against his shoulder, too wrung out to argue. Being carried felt good, felt right, like this was exactly where he belonged. Colton’s heartbeat thrummed steady beneath his ear, a constant rhythm that anchored him to reality.