Chapter Ten #7
Heat climbed all the way to Flynn’s ears. Under his palms, Zavier felt solid, all warm muscle and—oh god. The man’s abdomen had to be carved from granite. Under his fingertips, Flynn could feel every ridge and cut, making him wonder how often Zavier hit the gym.
Flynn curled his fingers in so he would stop touching the guy.
Then he uncurled them when Zavier tapped Flynn’s hands.
“Let them rest naturally against me.”
Everything on Flynn was resting against him. By the time this ride was over, Flynn would have a serious case of blue balls.
“Ready?”
“No!” He shouted for some reason.
“You can talk at a normal level, kitten. Shouting hurts the ears.”
“Sorry,” Flynn whispered. “Is this a good volume, or should I go even lower?”
“You’re screwing with me.”
“You would be correct,” Flynn said in a normal tone. “You’re rather easy to screw with.”
The bike came to life beneath them with a deep, rumbling growl. The sound vibrated straight through Flynn’s thighs, his cock, then up into his teeth.
What had he gotten himself into?
“Breathe,” Zavier’s silky voice came through the helmet speaker.
“I am breathing. Badly, but doing it.”
The bike inched from the curb with a smooth roll.
“I’m sort of freaking out.” Flynn hugged Zavier harder, no longer caring about what his legs were bracketing. Every muscle in his body had locked up.
He latched on like a panicked tree frog, bracing for whatever speed Zavier decided to torture him with.
The motorcycle tire inched away from the curb. Could they use this speed the entire time?
No such luck. Zavier merged into the lazy downtown traffic, but it wasn’t as bad as Flynn had feared. The bike moved so smoothly he barely noticed.
The car in front of them turned right at the corner, leaving the street in front of them wide open.
Zavier was going to do it. He would speed up and Flynn would pass out.
He sped up, but Flynn wasn’t having an aneurysm. He was growing like crazy, wishing he could feel the wind on his face.
“Doing great,” Zavier said through the headset.
“I’m really trying.” Flynn felt the rush of air under the helmet. “I’m still holding a little too tight and my heart is going nuts.”
A warm laugh glided through the space inside his helmet. “Keep with me on the lean.”
“I’m gonna fall off!”
They turned off the main drag faster than Flynn would have preferred and onto a narrower road that curved away from town. The first bend made him dizzy. He thought for sure he would make them crash, but his body instinctively mirrored Zavier’s.
Zavier squeezed one of Flynn’s hands where it was locked over his stomach.
“Loosen up a little,” Zavier said.
“I thought I was doing great, Flynn mumbled. “Took that bend pretty nicely. Didn’t even make us crash.”
“You took it like a seasoned rider, hon.” Zavier patted Flynn’s hands. “Just clenched up a little. For a first-time rider, you’re doing amazing.”
“How do you know this is my first time on a motorcycle?” Flynn had thought that but didn’t say it out loud.
“My job is to notice everything, but you nearly melted down at the thought of riding,” Zavier said. “Either a motorcycle incident traumatized you, or you’ve never been on one. The second option seemed the most likely choice.”
Wind moved around them in warmer and cooler ribbons.
Houses grew farther apart, scattered with space between them instead of pressing shoulder to shoulder.
Trees lined sections of road in green bursts, and beyond them the mountains sat huge and blue-gray in the distance, layered against the sky like a postcard.
The air smelled different out here. Less exhaust, more earth and cut grass. Flynn inhaled the scent of someone’s woodsmoke, one of his favorite smells.
How long had it been since Flynn had wandered past the town limits? One year? Two? His life really had become predictable. Even though he lived in an isolated mountain town, there was still plenty to do on Crimson Hollow and its surrounding cities.
Flynn had become complacent, his world narrowing until it was the bookstore and home, with an occasional grocery run.
Every Sunday like clockwork.
“Still with me?”
“Yes.” Flynn rested his forehead between Zavier’s shoulder blades. “Zoned out on the stunning view.”
“Stunning views are worth focused attention sometimes.” His hand squeezed Flynn’s again. It was starting to feel as if Zavier was comforting him.
A warm sensation spread through Flynn. It didn’t take long to realize the feeling was safety. He’d only known Zavier for half a day. There shouldn’t be a sense of safety. He should still have Zavier at arm’s length.
But there was something about the guy. His calmness, quit tone, and presence had somehow wrapped a blanket of safety around Flynn.
He liked how good it felt to finally breathe again.
With Zavier, Flynn felt protected in ways he hadn’t for a very long time.
Chapter Five
Two weeks and not a single note. Not that Zavier was complaining. He was enjoying getting to know his mate, to peel back the layers Flynn had kept hidden for too long.
Flynn had also become quite a little chatterbox. His defenses were lowering, and he was relying less on humor as deflection. It was like watching a neglected flower bloom in the sun, colors beautiful and vibrant.
They’d found a rhythm that fit them, at Flynn’s and the store, where they were currently heading. It had been close to a hundred years since Zavier had felt so at peace. Who knew he was cut out for domestic life?
Rounding the corner, Zavier smile slipped. Even from this distance, he could see a note taped to the door of Flynn’s job, the edges fluttering in the gentle breeze.
This was going to ruin Flynn’s day. As much as Zavier wanted to cushion the blow, Flynn deserved to know the truth. That didn’t mean he had to see what was written on it.
As they approached the curb, Flynn was still talking about the bacon they had for breakfast.
“Crisped edges, not burnt,” Flynn said through the helmet speaker as Zavier killed the engine. “There’s a difference, and people keep pretending there isn’t. Burnt bacon tastes like someone’s revenge. Crispy bacon tastes like love with cholesterol.”
The motorcycle gave one last low tick as the engine settled. Heat rose from the pavement in soft waves, carrying the baked scent of asphalt and old brick. Across the street, a delivery truck rattled past, and somewhere down the block a dog barked twice before going quiet.
As far as he could tell, no one was watching them.
Zavier dismounted first, removing his helmet. “You make an amazing breakfasts, kitten.”
“Very adult of me, right?” Flynn tugged the helmet free and raked his fingers through his purposely messy hair.
Zavier had leaned against the doorframe of the bathroom this morning, watching his mate apply three different styling products to achieve that rolled-from-bed look.
“Eggs, toast, and bacon. There was a whole domestic tableau. You missed it because you were outside doing mysterious bodyguard things and looking—”
Flynn was staring directly at the wood-and-glass door. Zavier steadied his mate when Flynn dismounted. His sneakers landed on the sidewalk, helmet still clutched in his grip. Then he just stood there, frozen.
A sheet of paper fluttered against the bookstore door, the tape at one corner lifting and sticking in the breeze with a dry little rasp. The color drained from Flynn’s face so fast it looked scraped away. One hand tightened around the helmet strap until his knuckles went pale.
Zavier turned fully toward the door. Even from a few feet back, the note was obvious. White paper. Magazine letters pasted on crooked. Different fonts, different colors, a ransom-style threat.
Careful not to jar Flynn, Zavier opened the saddle compartment and pulled out an evidence bag. Plastic crackled under his fingers. He kept his movements cautious, calm for Flynn’s sake, though every instinct in him urged speed and violence.
“Stay back,” he said. “No need for you to read it.”
Flynn swallowed, watching closely.
Without touching the paper itself, Zavier leaned in and read it.
Get rid of your new toy or I will.
For one brief heartbeat, the street narrowed to the note and the pounding of blood in his ears.
Behind him, Flynn made a sound that was too thin to be a laugh.
When Zavier glanced back, Flynn was hugging the helmet against his stomach like a shield; shoulders locked tight enough to snap.
His mouth had gone flat. His gaze stayed pinned to the door as though looking away might make the words lunge at him.
Zavier slid the note loose with the edge of the evidence bag and sealed it inside. “Inside the shop. Now.”
Flynn did not move.
Stepping into his space, Zavier took the helmet from his hands and set it on the bike before guiding him with a hand at his back. Flynn finally obeyed, legs stiff, breath too shallow. The bell above gave a flat jangle as Zavier unlocked it and ushered him through.
Dust and old paper wrapped around them the moment they entered, familiar and dry, a little cooler than outside. Sunlight slanted through the front windows. Zavier locked the door again and swept the entire store. Every shelf. Every aisle. The cramped back hall. The employees bathroom. Storage.
No one.
At the counter, Flynn set both hands on the worn wood and bowed his head. His shoulders lifted once with a sharp inhale. When he looked up, his expression was too blank.
“Well,” Flynn said hoarsely, “the freedom was good while it lasted.”
Zavier crossed back to him and laid the bagged note on the counter, upside down and out of reach. “Sit, kitten.”
“Standing feels better.”
“Flynn.”
A beat passed. Then Flynn dragged out the stool behind the register and dropped onto it. His knee started bouncing immediately, fast enough to shake the metal footrest.
Pulling out his phone, Zavier called Colton.
He answered on the third ring. “What’s up?”