Chapter 2
Dante
“I’m so glad we don’t have to cook. Between Jax and Ma and the diner.
..” The elevator descends, and Desi trails off, inhaling the aroma of garlic and basil from the plate in his hand.
“We should host a spaghetti fundraiser at the diner for the Harlem hockey program. We’d make a killing with Jax as the chef. A celebrity chef, you know?”
“Good idea.” I bob my head absentmindedly. . My skin is tight, my heart pounding an angry rhythm against my ribs. Something is off. Lucas has been jumpy—more than usual—and Reece has been downstairs far too long. “He’d do it, and Ethan would love it.”
The elevator comes to a halt. I nudge the gate aside with my boot, balancing a plate of spaghetti in one hand and a platter of Christmas cookies Des couldn’t resist in the other.
We step into the studio apartment, and I stop dead. Reece is sitting on our bed, huddled close with Lucas, their forms silhouetted by the light of the entryway.
I grind my molars to suppress the rage clawing inside my chest. “What’s going on?”
Reece rises to his feet. “Just giving him meds.”
No way they didn’t hear us coming. You can’t miss the clatter of the ancient elevator. They’re not trying to hide whatever they were doing. Still, it doesn’t ease the irritation buzzing in my veins.
I move closer. “Meds, huh?”
Lucas refuses to meet my gaze, his cheeks flushed, head bowed, the air thick with something unspoken.
“Yeah, meds.” Reece juts his chin at Des. “Make sure he eats with those pills, and text me if the headache gets worse.”
He tells Des because he knows I won’t text him unless someone’s dying—and, in that case, I’d call 911. I’m a stubborn, spiteful, distrusting bastard. Plus, our mom is a nurse, I’d call her. “I think we can handle it.”
Reece pins me with an icy stare. As he brushes past me, he warns, “Be careful with him.”
There’s a threatening edge to his tone, and my body stiffens. Lucas’ gaze trails after his partner, as if he longs to go with him, and that only infuriates me further.
The elevator rumbles behind me, and the tension in the room shifts but doesn’t fade. If anything, it amplifies.
Des sets his plate on the table separating the kitchen from the living area. “Food delivery,” he singsongs with forced cheer. “Jackson’s world-famous spaghetti and garlic bread. Guaranteed to cure whatever ails you. Where would you like to eat, piccino? In bed?”
“Yes, thank you,” he says softly, his fingers fidgeting with the blanket. “I’ll probably pass out again soon, once those pain pills hit me.”
Des hands Lucas a plate and goes to the kitchen for silverware.
I stay rooted, unable to shake this paranoia, this dread. “Please don’t let another man in our bed—or woman, for that matter—but especially Reece.”
The Viking and I get along most of the time, but fuck, he lacks boundaries with what he believes is his. He’s protective of his partner. They’ve been together for nearly a decade. They’re attached at the hip. It sounds childish, but I don’t want to share Lucas.
“He was giving me meds,” he repeats, his eyes searching mine, his cheeks reddening further.
Our boyfriend is a terrible liar. The absolute worst.
I crack my knuckles. “Was he reading you the instructions and chemical composition? Chewing them up and spitting them into your mouth? You were talking, whispering, with your heads close together.”
His gaze drops to his food. After a moment, he throws back the blanket and stands. On unsteady legs, he makes a beeline for the table and sets his dish down. “I think it’s best if I go,” he nearly whispers.
Where would he go? Upstairs? To Reece? Over my dead fucking body.
I’ve never been in a relationship. Never had feelings for anyone before. My emotions are raw. We almost lost Lucas, and that was gutting.
If he wants to leave, what am I supposed to do? Just… let him?
I place my plate beside his and toss the cookie platter onto the center of the table. “You’re not leaving,” I snarl, all patience lost. “What did the Viking say to you? Sit down and start talking.”
My brother’s head whips in my direction, his eyes wide, silently urging me to chill the fuck out. I get it, I do. Lucas has been through hell—he’s going through hell—but he’s not in a relationship with Reece. He’s with us, and he’ll always be with us. We’ll work this out, whatever this is.
Des passes Lucas a fork and a bottle of water. “You need to eat, baby. Please, just sit and eat.” He hands me a beer and takes a seat.
Lucas follows, head bowed.
I pull out the chair beside him, turn it around, and straddle it, facing him. “What did Reece say? What were you talking about?” I fold my arms and lean on the backrest, attempting to control my temper. “And don’t bullshit me. I know you’re lying.”
He stares at the spaghetti, twirling his fork in the pasta but not taking a bite. The silence drags on until piano notes sound and “Faithfully” croons from my twin’s phone. I glance at him, and he shrugs, shoveling a meatball into his mouth.
Fucking Journey. I don’t even like classic rock.
The longer Lucas stays quiet, the more restless I become.
“Please eat,” Des pleads with him. “Then we can lie down and have a Star Wars marathon or watch reruns of ‘The Office’.”
Great. Star Wars. Just what I need to pass the fuck out.
The guitar and drum solo take over, and I tip the beer back, letting the cold liquid flow down my throat.
Lucas lifts a forkful of food to his mouth.
His shaggy hair falls forward, and I extend my hand to tuck it behind his ear—except he jolts away from me, flinching and dropping his fork.
His gaze snaps to mine, eyes frantic, pupils dilated with fear.
His body is coiled, fists balled, prepared for a fight.
He’s frightened of me, even more than when we first met. My heart drops into my stomach, and a wave of shame washes over me. I can’t recall the last time I was ashamed of anything. It’s an emotion I don’t encompass—or didn’t, until this moment.
I set the bottle on the table. “Luca.” I use the Italian version of his name—meaning my awakening, my light. Slowly, I reach for him and run my fingers through his hair. “I’m not going to hurt you. I’d never hurt you.”
“Sorry.” His breath shudders. “You haven’t touched me since…” He was abducted. Beaten.
He doesn’t need to say it for me to understand, and perhaps he can’t. We haven’t talked about that night. We’ve been preoccupied with his recovery—rest, specialists, potential surgery—taking things one jagged day at a time.
His eyes well up, and tears cling to his thick lashes. “I didn’t think you’d touch me again. Didn’t think you’d want to.”
Have I stopped touching him completely? I guess I have.
Something splinters in my rib cage, as if my heart is actually breaking. I don’t understand these emotions. What’s wrong with me? I get angry. I don’t get sad.
The music becomes overwhelming. “Can you please shut that the fuck off?” I bark at Des. I can only handle so much emotion in one night. My head is about to explode. I need a cigarette—a whole damn pack. “Des, I swear to God…”
Lucas flinches at my rough tone, and I close my eyes and inhale deeply. I’m fucking this up. I have to do better if I want to keep the three of us together, and I do—more than anything.
Des silences his phone, cutting off Journey mid-chorus, and the abrupt quiet accentuates Lucas’ shallow breathing. My twin caresses his back, our meal forgotten.
I lower my tone and try to soften my entire demeanor by resting my chin on my arms. “I’ve avoided touching you because I was afraid of hurting you.
Your body is covered in bruises. Your ribs are broken.
You have a concussion. Your wrists and fingers are raw…
” But now I see how mistaken I was. He was brutally injured and needed me.
He was probably seeking comfort from his partner, for fuck’s sake.
Lucas blinks rapidly, holding back tears. “They didn’t…” He swallows hard. “You know…” He gestures with his hand.
I nod. I was in the emergency room when they examined him. I’m well aware of what those motherfuckers did and didn’t do.
The memory of those zip ties embedded in his skin churns my stomach. Fuck, I need to gut someone.
“So you know.” His lips tremble. “I thought you were disgusted by me,” he continues, his words strained. “No longer wanted me.”
I look to my brother. His eyes are also glassy. I’ve never felt so helpless, and I don’t do helpless. I do action. I do violence, but Lucas doesn’t need my aggression right now. He needs soft. He needs peace and calm. He needs Des, but he’s staring at me.
A frown creases my brow. “No.” I shake my head. “Never. You’re the most beautiful, fascinating thing I’ve ever seen, even with the bruises and scars.” Maybe more so, but I’m twisted. “I’ve been wanting to touch you since the moment we found you.”
His tears fall, and he hangs his head. His body sways.
Goddamn, I suck at this.
I scramble for anything to reassure him. “I still think about how insanely good your mouth felt. I’m jealous my twin got to be inside you.” See? Twisted.
He lets out a breathy, self-deprecating laugh.
“We want you, piccino.” Des cradles his face and wipes away his tears. “You’re the best thing to happen to us. We’ll do better.”
Lucas closes his eyes and leans into Des’ touch. “I think those meds are kicking in. I feel woozy.”
Oh, thank fuck. He’s just high, not falling into a deep depression. “Come here.” I take his hand gently. “Let’s get you to bed.”
He stumbles when he stands, and I wrap an arm around his waist, guiding him. When was the last time he ate?
“I need to tell you something.” He plops on the edge of the mattress, eyelids drooping, words slurred.
“What is it, baby?” Des lifts his shirt over his head.
I kneel in front of him and help remove his pants. His skin is a patchwork of freckles and fading bruises—yellow, green, and purple but still beautiful. So fucking beautiful.
My twin pulls back the covers, and Lucas slides in, snuggling into the pillow and closing his eyes. I chug my beer. Des puts away the food and turns off the lights. We both strip to our boxers and climb in beside our boyfriend.
It’s early—for us—and instead of falling asleep, I stare into the darkness. My mind is racing, thoughts heavy.
After what feels like hours, Lucas rolls over and rests his head on my shoulder, his arm coming around me.
“Bennett…” he mumbles into my neck. “I was getting X-rays… She’s blackmailing me for dirt on your family.
I should have told you, but your dad was there.
I-I didn’t know what to do.” His words spill out in a murmured rush.
“I don’t want to do it. I didn’t do it. I don’t want you to hate me…
or kill me, but I’d rather you killed me than hate me, I think.
” He releases a sleepy sigh. “Your body is nice. You always smell good.”
That’s a lot to unpack, but most importantly... “I’m not going to kill you.” I kiss his hair. “How is she blackmailing you, baby?”
“Using you and Des. Says she’ll send you to prison for the fire.”
Well, that’s not fucking happening.