Chapter Thirty-Seven — Good Boy #2
“It’s something I did.” “Five times.” “Yes.” “You liked it.” “Sometimes.” “You’re mine.
” “No.” Adrian slammed him against the wall.
Elliot grunted. “You would never have done it without me.” There.
The claim. The foundation. Elliot looked at him.
“Tyler?” “Yes.” “No.” Adrian froze. “I had already decided.” Silence.
That was true. Elliot had never admitted it aloud.
Not even to Ronan. He had been watching Tyler before Saint’s first explicit encouragement.
Planning. Thinking. Wanting. Adrian had accelerated it.
Validated it. But the seed belonged to Elliot.
“I chose Tyler.” Adrian stared. “You gave me permission I wanted.” Nothing. “I used you.” Adrian’s expression cracked. There. “No.” “Yes.” “I made you.” “No.” “You needed me.” “I liked you.” “No.” “I liked having someone tell me the ugliest part of myself was impressive.”
“Stop.” “I liked the attention.” “Stop.” “I liked being your favorite.” Adrian’s face twisted. “But I never loved you.”
Silence. That did it. Adrian pulled a knife. Elliot’s pulse stopped. Then accelerated. Blade. Short. Clean. Adrian held it between them.
“Say it again.” Elliot looked at the knife.
Then Adrian. “I never loved you.” Adrian swung.
Elliot moved. Promise did not mean die. He caught Adrian’s wrist. Turned.
Adrian slammed into the wall. Knife clattered.
Elliot kicked it away. Adrian struck him in the ribs.
Elliot hit back. Once. Adrian staggered.
Elliot stopped. No more. Adrian laughed. Blood at his nose.
“There.” Elliot breathed hard. “Self-defense.” “You liked it.” “Little bit.” Adrian smiled.
For one horrible second, they understood each other perfectly.
Then Adrian lunged. Elliot moved aside. Grabbed him.
They hit the floor. Adrian fought differently than Elliot expected.
Messy. Desperate. Not trained. Elliot got on top.
Forearm across Adrian’s throat. Adrian clawed at him.
Elliot pressed. Hard. Adrian’s face reddened.
Pulse beneath Elliot’s arm. Easy. So fucking easy.
Pressure. Seconds. Done. Daniel. Mara. Isaac.
Lena. Officer. Rebecca. Claire. Dylan. Ronan.
Three years. Kill him. Elliot’s body wanted it.
Not Saint. Him. He wanted Adrian dead. No confusion.
No excuse. No morality. He simply wanted to kill him. Adrian saw. And smiled.
“There you are.” Elliot pressed harder. Adrian choked.
“Good…” No. “Boy.” Elliot froze. Not because of Ronan.
Because Adrian smiled. He wanted this. Of course.
The final assignment. Elliot killing Saint.
Proof. Saint wins either way. No. Fuck that.
Elliot released him. Completely. Rolled away.
Adrian gasped. Coughed. Stared. Confusion.
Real. Elliot stood. Adrian remained on the floor.
“What are you doing?” “Stopping.” “Why?” “Because I want to.” “No.”
Elliot laughed. “Yes.” “You want me dead.” “Very much.” “Then—” “I can want something and not do it.” Silence. There. The entire fucking lesson. Not goodness. Not innocence. Choice. Adrian’s face twisted.
“You’re weak.” “Maybe.” “He made you weak.” “No.” Elliot looked down. “I made myself stop.” Adrian stared. Ronan would be proud. Elliot knew. That felt good. But it wasn't why. That distinction mattered more than anything. Adrian reached slowly toward the knife. Elliot saw.
“Don’t.” Adrian smiled. “Or what?” Good question.
Elliot looked at the knife. Then Adrian.
“I’ll stop you.” “How?” “Without killing you.” Adrian laughed.
“You think you can?” “Yes.” “You arrogant little—” Footsteps thundered somewhere beyond the stairwell.
Police. Adrian heard. His expression changed. Fear. Elliot smiled.
“Sounds like we’ll find out.” Adrian grabbed the knife. Then ran. Not toward Elliot. Away. Emergency stairwell. Elliot followed.
“ADRIAN.” He hated himself for it. Could have stayed.
Should have. But Adrian had a knife and there were people upstairs.
Stopping him mattered. Different. He ran.
Up one flight. Door. Parking structure. Bright daylight through concrete openings.
Adrian sprinted between vehicles. Elliot followed barefoot because federal detention apparently did not prioritize chase footwear. Ridiculous.
“STOP.”
Adrian looked back. Smiled. Then disappeared around a van. Elliot rounded it. Adrian was gone. No. Door ahead. Open. Stairwell. Elliot moved. Then heard:
“ELLIOT!” He stopped so hard his feet hurt.
Ronan. Real. No speaker. No cloned audio.
Real. He turned. Ronan stood at the far entrance to the parking level beside Vance and four armed officers.
For one second neither moved. Then Ronan ran.
Vance shouted something. Ignored. Elliot moved too.
They met between two parked government vehicles.
Ronan grabbed him. Hard. Arms around him.
Body. Real. Elliot buried his face against Ronan’s neck.
Fuck no- contact rules. Fuck detention. Fuck everything.
“You’re here.” Ronan’s grip tightened. “I’m here.
” “You came back.” “I told you.” Elliot closed his eyes.
“I know.” Ronan pulled back. Saw his face.
His expression changed. “Who hit you?” Elliot almost laughed.
“Guess.” “Adrian?” “Yes.” Rage. Immediate.
Ronan looked toward the stairwell. Elliot caught his face.
“No.” Ronan looked back. “No?” “No.” There.
Role reversal. Again. Elliot smiled faintly.
“Be good for me.” Ronan stared. Then laughed.
Half relief. Half disbelief. “You asshole.” “Works, doesn’t it?
” “Fuck you.” “Later.” Ronan froze. Elliot did too.
Then both laughed. Wrong time. Perfect. Vance reached them.
“Where is Cross?” “Stairwell east side.”