Chapter Nine
~ He Came to Me ~
Soren
I stand in the dim, concrete basement, the air thick with the metallic tang of blood and damp stone.
It’s been three fucking days since I last touched Kit, and the memory of that night still sits like a splinter under my skin.
That night on the pool table, after he’d talked me down from putting a bullet in Armen’s skull, after I’d fucked him hard enough to make the felt creak beneath us…
I’d leaned in. I’d wanted to kiss him, actually kiss him.
Mouth to mouth, slow and deep, like some pathetic lover instead of the king who owns every inch of him.
Kit had turned his face away… the rejection had hit harder than it should have.
I don’t do that kind of intimacy, it’s a weakness, a liability.
Especially with someone as soft and breakable as Kit.
In this world, weaknesses get people killed.
So, I’ve stayed away. I haven’t gone near his room, haven’t summoned him to mine, haven’t even looked at him in the halls.
I wanted to take him out like Selina suggested, to see for myself how bad his anxiety really is, but I needed the space more.
Needed to remind myself that I’m not the kind of man who kisses.
I clench my jaw so hard it aches and force my focus back to the man hanging in front of me.
The Vanderburn’s boy is chained by his wrists to heavy bolts in the ceiling, arms stretched wide, feet barely touching the floor.
His head lolls forward, chin resting on his blood-crusted chest… he’s unconscious again.
We’ve been at this for hours and the stubborn little fuck still hasn’t given us anything useful. Not where my shipment is. Not why the hell they targeted the gear instead of the coke. It can’t have been random… nobody’s that stupid, or that suicidal.
Armen stands to my right, arms crossed, looking as relaxed as ever.
We cleared the air… he came to me, head bowed for once, and actually apologised properly.
Admitted he knew it was wrong to go into my safe but that he just wanted Kit to have one normal day out with the girls.
I accepted it. Then I changed the code to the safe and didn’t tell a soul what the new one is.
He knows he’s on thin ice now. He’ll have to work to earn back the trust he lost. Armen gets that; he’s been quieter since, more careful.
I crack my knuckles once, the sound sharp in the silence. “Wake him up.”
Armen steps forward without hesitation, grabbing a bucket of ice water from the corner and dumping it straight over the prisoner’s head.
The man jerks awake with a choked gasp, coughing and sputtering, chains rattling as he tries to twist away from the cold.
His swollen eyes find me and widen in fresh terror.
I step closer, until I’m right in his face. Water and blood drip from his chin onto my boots.
“Let’s try this again,” I murmur, tilting my head.
He spits a bloody glob onto the floor and glares up at me, breathing hard; still defiant.
I smile, and it’s not a nice smile. Armen shifts beside me, waiting.
The guy lets out a weak, wet laugh, blood bubbling at the corner of his mouth. “I’m dead either way, ain’t I?”
I grunt a small laugh of my own. “Oh, you can talk?”
He lifts his head, eyes glassy but suddenly chatty, like a man who knows the end is coming and has decided to enjoy the ride. “Finn. The younger of the three brothers. Fucking idiot…”
I tilt my head, waiting… he’s cracking, real opinions are spilling out now.
“He had a hissy fit last month,” the man continues, shaking his head with that manic little laugh.
“We tried to pick up a new corner on Fifty-Second. The guys there said they had the best stuff in the city. Finn asked who from… and the dealer showed him the little black patch on the coke with the S.S logo stamped on it.”
He laughs again, bitter this time. “Finn freaked. Got jealous. Proper jealous.”
Armen lets out an amused snort beside me.
I exhale slowly. “You’re telling me this whole mess is down to jealousy?”
The guy shrugs as much as the chains allow.
“Guess so.” He coughs hard, spitting more blood onto the concrete.
“His brothers weren’t happy. Told him to keep his mouth shut.
Hell, none of us even knew what Finn was planning.
He came back claiming he scored new gear on his own.
Didn’t say shit about stealing it from you. ”
I roll my eyes and lean back against the metal table covered in tools, arms crossed over my chest.
The man keeps going, voice getting hoarser. “His brothers figured it out later. Took him out of state for a bit to cool off. Dumb bastard.”
A dark grin pulls at my mouth. I like this talkative version of him. He’s clearly hoping that if he keeps talking, I might spare him. So I don’t interrupt, I just listen.
“Finn didn’t have a clue what he was doing, man. If you say the other container had the coke… then he got unlucky as hell.”
I hum. “So… my gear?”
He coughs again. “You already sent it up in flames with those bodies. He’d already handed most of it out. Some of the boys were wearing pieces, some were in the lockers round back. The rest… the idiot tried to sell them. No one would touch it, obviously.”
“So…”
“So… his brothers scraped together what they could, hid the excess, and hoped no one would notice.”
I push off the table and step closer. “Had you told me this three days ago… I might have let you go.”
He nods, defeated, knowing exactly how badly he fucked up by staying quiet.
I reach out and pat his bloody shoulder almost gently. “Instead… I’ll simply make it quick.”
The man hangs his head. “Tell Finn… Jamie said fuck you.”
I grin, pull the gun from my belt, cup the back of his head with my free hand, and press the barrel to his temple. One clean shot. The crack echoes through the basement. His body jerks once, then goes limp in the chains.
Armen claps once and rubs his hands together like we just finished a productive meeting. “I’m starved.”
I raise one brow at him and laugh despite myself. “You’re fucking insane, is what you are.”
Armen shrugs, still grinning. “So… now we wait for the brothers to get home?”
I nod. “Pathetic rats… I’m going to squash their tiny, stupid brains under my boots.”
Armen’s grin turns wicked. Then, as casually as if we’d been discussing the weather, he asks, “Dinner?”
I almost laugh again at how easily he weaves normalcy into the blood-soaked work we do. “Tell Lorraine to bring it to my study.”
Armen frowns. “Again?”
I just nod and turn away, already heading for the stairs. I’ve been eating alone for the past three days. I’m not in the mood for company or questions. Not when I’m dealing with childish jealousy from a lowlife gang that somehow managed to steal from me.
I’ll have to change the guard rotation now. I still don’t know how those scrawny rats even reached the shipment… unless it was compromised before it ever reached the docks. That thought hadn’t crossed my mind until now; it sits heavy and unpleasant in my gut.
I push into my study, close the door behind me, and drop into the chair behind my desk. I squirt hand sanitiser into my palm and rub my hands together thoroughly before grabbing a pen and scrawling a quick note on a fresh sheet of paper:
Have Sam and Luke investigate the shipment’s entire journey.
A couple of minutes later, there’s a soft knock. Lorraine enters with a tray, her usual calm smile in place. “Here you go, boss.”
I nod at her. “Thanks, Lor.”
She sighs quietly, the same sigh Armen gave me earlier, clearly wondering why I’m hiding up here again, but she doesn’t push. She simply sets the tray down and leaves, closing the door softly behind her.
The silence that follows feels heavier than usual. I stare at the plate in front of me, but my mind keeps drifting. I clench my jaw and pick up my fork.
◆◆◆
I’m halfway through a bite of steak, eyes half-focused on the news playing across the room, when a soft knock sounds on the study door.
I frown and grab the remote, muting the television. “Who is it?”
The door opens slowly… Kit steps inside.
I exhale sharply and set my cutlery down, the steak suddenly forgotten. He never comes to me, never, not unless I demand it. The fact that he’s here on his own sends a strange thrill through my chest.
He closes the door behind him with a quiet click and immediately starts fidgeting with the hem of his hoodie, eyes fixed on the floor.
“Have I… um… am I in trouble?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper.
I stare at him. “What?”
He inhales sharply, gaze darting around the room like he’s searching for an escape route. “Have I done something wrong?”
I lick my teeth, jaw tight. This is the last conversation I expected to have tonight. I don’t want to address the real reason I’ve been avoiding him… that humiliating moment on the pool table when I almost kissed him… so I keep my answer short. “No.”
Kit nods once, meeting my eyes for the briefest second before looking away again. His gaze lands on my half-eaten plate. “How come you’re eating up here?”
“I’m busy.”
He swallows. “Okay,” he whispers.
I stab my fork into a chunk of roasted potato and shove it into my mouth just to stop myself from saying anything else. Kit stays standing there awkwardly in the middle of the room. Any other man would’ve been told to piss off by now, but I’m deeply, quietly pleased that he came looking for me.
I lean back in my chair, letting my eyes drag slowly up and down his frame. “Have you eaten?”
Kit lets out a tiny sigh. “I thought I might be able to get you to come down…”
So the answer is no, of course he hasn’t eaten.
“Come here.”
He actually listens. No hesitation, no “what” or “why.” He just rounds the desk, takes a shaky breath, and lowers himself into my lap without being told.
I growl low in approval and wrap one arm around his waist, pulling him flush against my chest. His breath catches, and he steadies himself with one hand on the edge of the desk.
I reach for my fork, stab a piece of rare steak, and lift it to his mouth. “Eat.”
Kit parts his lips obediently. I watch, with sick, obsessive satisfaction, as his soft mouth closes around the fork.
He takes the bite, and I feel every second of it…
the way his throat works when he swallows, the small movement of his jaw.
It feels strangely intimate, more intimate than fucking him on the pool table.
He came to me, he’s not running.
I pick up a slice of pineapple from the top of the steak and slide it between his lips next. “Good boy,” I murmur, voice rough.
At this point I could feed him the entire plate.
I’d rather know he’s eaten than finish it myself.
I can always go downstairs later if I’m still hungry.
Kit, on the other hand, would be too scared.
I watch his throat work to swallow the food, a quiet thought slips through my mind: I wonder if he’s formed any feelings about this weird, fucked-up situation between us.
I keep feeding him in silence, one careful bite after another, my arm staying locked around his waist the whole time.
He stays perched in my lap, small and warm, occasionally shifting but never trying to pull away.
And for the first time in three days, the tight knot of irritation in my chest loosens just a little.
He came to me… that has to mean something.