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 CONTENTS

About this book

Playlist
Author’s Note

Prologue
“Terror made me cruel”
1. Leo
2. Leo
3. Leo
4. Leo
5. Jaxon
6. Leo
7. Leo
8. Leo
9. Jaxon
10. Leo
11. Jaxon
12. Leo
13. Jaxon
14. Leo
15. Jaxon
16. Leo
17. Jaxon
18. Leo
19. Leo
20. Jaxon
21. Leo
22. Jaxon
23. Leo
24. Jaxon
25. Leo
26. Leo
27. Jaxon
28. Leo
29. Leo
30. Jaxon
31. Leo
32. Leo
33. Jaxon
34. Leo
35. Leo
36. Jaxon
“When wounds are healed by love, the scars are beautiful”
Leo’s Epilogue
Jaxon’s Epilogue

Afterword
Acknowledgments
Content Warning
Books by Marie Ann
About the Author

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 Copyright © 2023 by Marie Ann
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or
mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission
from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the authors
imagination or used in a fictitious manner.
Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or events is purely coincidental.
Cover design: Graphic Escapist
Editing: Tiff Reads Romance
Vice Tattoo Artwork: Waesmilesreads
Formatting: Marie Ann

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Leo Douglas Harms: The Grim
An impenetrable wall of smoke and flames devoured the family I gave
up everything for and I took my vengeance the only way I knew how—by
becoming the very thing I ran away from. But little did I know I would
inherit more than I bargained for.
Decades later and I’m burnt out, running on fumes to survive in a life I
never wanted.
Then I met him. A light in the abyss.
Jaxon was beautiful—inside and out—and I found myself captivated by
him in a way I had never felt. Knowing him, touching him, obliterated my
soul. But in doing so, he stole something from me that was never mine to
give. I tried… but my guilt was too much for even him to overshadow.
It will always be her. Them. It can’t not be.

Jaxon Ashtor Fitz: His Light

I used to be an honest, selfless man. The happy, go-lucky, all around
good guy, but when Leo showed up at my tattoo shop, I felt every single
one of my morals escape between my lips with a breathless ‘hello.’
His entire being exuded darkness; the relentless torture of his soul
lingering just underneath the surface.
I was drawn to it, and him, like a moth to a flame. And when the secrets
and lies started to build into a precarious fortress with me locked inside, I
felt myself start to change.
His pain became mine, eroding me down until all that remained was the
tiniest remnants of who I used to be. All because I fell in love with someone
who could never love me back. Who refused. Who would never. Choose.
Me.

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 PLAYLIST

Nobody’s Happy—Fossil Youth, Kellin Quinn

Granite—Sleep Token
Runaway—Dream on Dreamer
Dark Signs—Sleep Token
Holding Me Down—Picturesque
Happy?—Mudvayne
Drifting—Adelitas Way
Something in Your Mouth—Nickelback
Control—Puddle Of Mudd
Lets Just Drive—Adelitas Way
High Water—Sleep Token
Worst Mistake—Living in Fiction
In Between—Beartooth
Take It out on Me—Bohnes
What It’s Like—Everlast
Give—Sleep Token
Put Your Lights On—Santana, Everlast
Vultures with Clipped Wings—We Came As Romans
ULTRAVIOLET [adrenochrome]—Crywolf
HELL TO HAVE YOU—Our Last Night, Sam Tinnesz
The Promise—In This Moment
Careful What You Wish For—Bad Omens
The Love You Want—Sleep Token
King of Anything—Beartooth
 In The Air Tonight—Phil Collins
Fuck Away the Pain—Divide The Day
By the Way—Theory of a Deadman
Drive—Incubus
TheWaitingGame—BONES
Nowhere Left To Sink—Like Moths To Flames
Moth—HELLYEAH
Photographs And Gasoline—Framing Hanley

Check out the whole playlist on Spotify!

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People take so much from those willing to give it
without realizing the damage they’ve caused
until it’s too late.

This book is for all the trees out there.

Your kindness is admirable,
your sacrifice even more so,
but you’re important, too.

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“And the boy loved the tree… very much.
And the tree was happy.”

—The Giving Tree, Shel Silverstein

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 AUTHOR’S NOTE

Please know the content within this book may be triggering for some
readers. A detailed list of those triggers can be found at the back of this
book (behind the acknowledgements) or on my Instagram
(@authormarieann) under the highlight “CW” for ‘content warning’ if you
wish to read them.
That said, this book has been a long time coming. Jax and Leo have
been a part of my mind since I wrote my debut, Creep, over two years ago. I
never would have thought their story would go in the direction it did, but
damn, am I glad I took my time to write it.
Their connection is so honest and raw and… well. I’ll let you see for
yourself.
I hope you love the tantalizing, all-consuming slow burn between Jaxon
and Leo. Their love is definitely the life-altering, cathartic kind.

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PROLOGUE

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 LEO

E ighteen Y ears O ld

M y breath forms large plumes of gray - white clouds as I jog the

long and winding concrete trail. I glance up at the inky, black sky before
looking down at the fancy athletic watch on my left wrist. It’s past three
A.M. now, and I know sleep won’t come to me after all.
I’m wide awake, my mind churning, my thoughts never stopping for
more than a moment. It’s happening regularly now, but I can’t figure out
why my brain refuses to lull me into deep unconsciousness.
My life is great. I’ve got my amazing wife, my wonderful son, and a job
that pays decent enough that we’re able to afford Quinn’s dream home.
So why is it every night, I find myself on this trail, running until I can’t
fucking breathe?
I slow to a walk to catch my breath as I reach the curve that brings me
back to the gated community we live in here in California—northern Cali,
to be exact. We’re in what Quinn considers a “small, safe town,” but after
being here for about a year now, I’m still doubtful.
I’m uncertain about so much.
It doesn’t feel right, but it’s what she wanted, so, of course, I gave it to
her. I’d give her the fucking world without hesitation if she asked me to.
And I have—she just doesn’t know it.
With a grip on the hem of my damp, gray T-shirt, I stop and raise it to
wipe the sweat from my face. Keeping my shirt up to let the semi-cool air
flit over my sweat-soaked skin, I press my palms into my bare hips, forcing
breath between my teeth in a slow, methodical manner, even though my
lungs scream for more.
I pushed myself too hard, attempting to make my body tired enough so I
would be able to get a few hours of sleep before work for fucking once—
but no such luck. Yet again.
But, of course, I’ll repeat the cycle tomorrow. And the day after that,
and so on and so forth, until my body finally succumbs to exhaustion, and I
get a few hours of blissful reprieve before repeating it all once more.
I resume my steady walking pace now that sweat isn’t stinging my eyes
and ignore the throbbing in the soles of my feet and backs of my calves. I
squeeze my eyes shut and pinch the bridge of my nose, gaining my
composure.
It’ll all be fine. Quinn and Harrison make everything I gave up worth it.
The thought of Harrison and his tiny, gummy smile has my own full and
bright on my face. With a glance down at my watch, I quicken my pace:
3:37 A.M. If he stays on schedule tonight, he should be waking up within
the next half-hour to eat, and I’ll get to see that smile. And I have just
enough time to get a quick shower in.
I look up as I round the bend, and the trees obscuring my view shift to
my peripheral.
Is that…
My brows knit together as I stare ahead at the billowing cloud of smoke
rolling into the air. The streetlamps lined up every ten feet from each other
along the road allow me to see how black and dense it is as it infiltrates the
air.
On instinct, my feet kick into a run once my eyes finally drop from the
thick cloud to the source.
There’s a house nestled beneath the blackness—an eerily familiar house
being devoured by dark, orange flames.
Why…
Faster. Faster and faster I’m running, but my legs slow. The house pulls
further away, so far it blurs.
Lights flash. Red. Blue. White.
Orange.
It’s hot—I’m sweating. But it’s not from running. It’s coming from
somewhere so close, it’s melting my skin, singeing my hair. The smell is
horrible. So horrendous, I can’t even describe it.
 Burning plastic. Maybe burning hair.
My entire body is jolted forward as my feet come to a stop. I look down
at my gray running shoes. I’m standing in a puddle of water that trickles
down a crack in the otherwise smooth concrete between my feet.
Just as I glance up, I’m knocked to the side. My body flails, but before I
fall, something grips my arm and hauls me upright. My eyes widen as I
look around frantically, but all I can see is smoke, thick and pungent as it
infiltrates my senses.
The lights grow more pronounced, filtering into my vision heavily until
they’re all I can see. Those lights soon allow more people to appear.
My head turns from side to side, almost robotically as my surroundings
come into focus.
People surround me at every angle. On every side. Some clad in thick
suits, running back and forth so fast they blur into thick, dull-colored lines.
Others are in what appears to be night clothes and ruffled hair.
For the first time in my life, I’m nailed to one spot, frozen in time.
Everything in me has stopped, yet the world is moving at two times the
normal speed.
I can feel my chest heaving. The rate in which it moves is
excruciatingly painful. I must be breathing, but I can’t feel the relief of
oxygen in my lungs. The pain in my chest radiates outward when my
shoulders are suddenly gripped and I’m being shaken back and forth.
My brain rattles around in my head, bouncing against my skull. I’m
dazed as I stare down at the blurry face in front of my own.
The shaking slows, and the person’s face becomes clear.
Their lips are moving. I think they’re speaking to me, but I can’t hear a
fucking word.
All I see is the stretcher. Two of them, to be exact.
They are both rolling down the slightly inclined driveway we’re
apparently on. Water runs beneath the wheels as they circle round and
round.
Two white sheets with lumps underneath. One fills the stretcher, the
other too small to even fit.
The edges of my vision blur as blackness creeps into my brain, like a
curtain veiling a stage.
The lights, the sirens. Everything slowly disappears as the flames and
smoke swallow it all whole.
 Just as my heart stops beating in my chest, I can’t help but think how
soundless death is.
All I ever wanted was for my mind to be silent, and now, that’s all I
have left.
Quiet is the night now.
Quiet is my night.

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“TERROR MADE ME CRUEL”

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—EMILY BRONTË

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 1

LEO

T wo Y ears L ater

“R evenge is best served cold , my boy .”

“I don’t give a fuck about your goddamn opinion, Uncle. It’s been two
years since—”
A hard hand presses into my shoulder, and my eyes squeeze shut
involuntarily. I refuse to shed another tear in front of him. He will not see
me as weak any longer.
“I’m ready.”
“You’re not.”
“The fuck I’m not!” I jump out of his hold and whirl around until we’re
face to face. Jameson’s expression is impassive, neutral, and if I didn’t
know any better, if I didn’t know him at all, I would say uncaring, but that’s
the furthest thing from the truth.
“That, right there.” He gestures with his hand in my general vicinity.
“That’s why we are waiting. Biding our time until you are ready and can do
this properly. I know your need for vengeance, my boy. I’ve felt it once,
too. I feel it now.
“You may have left the family, but I didn’t leave you. I let you go; you
know that, don’t you? You really couldn’t have been so stupid as to believe
you were running away, breaking free.” My nose wrinkles as I absorb his
words, the finality of my decisions weighing down on me more and more
every day that passes and I’m alone. With my regret, my pain. The
consequences of my foolish, hopeful actions.
 “I didn’t mean to make the guilt worse, but you know there is no getting
out of this, as much as I wish more than anything that you could.” His
weathering face creases with his own version of remorse before it’s gone
just as quickly.
“No, I…” There’s the distinct sound of glass clanking together, and then
my uncle hands me a drink.
“Drink and think about it. Not about your pain or them but about what
you will do once you get your hands on them. Focus on the task at hand.
Clear your mind. Your anger is getting the best of you and making you
unstable. You know nothing good comes from acting irrationally.”
“I know—take my feelings out of it. But how can I do that when they
have everything to do with it?” I stare down at my hands, clenched tight
around the glass, clear liquid swirling inside from my unsteady hands.
“That’s a good question,” he states, moving around to sit in his chair
placed in front of his giant desk made of the most beautiful cherry oak. I
stay at the window and look out at the vast landscape. Everything is so
green here, whereas in Cali… It was a whole other world. And it’s only
now I realize how fucking fake all of it was.
“You will have to learn to control each separately before you can even
begin to think of merging them together. It quite honestly makes no sense,
but once you experience it, once you feel it, it will make more sense than
you wish it did.”
He brings his glass to his lips and takes a long, languid sip, seemingly
lost in thought. His dark eyes veer to the side, unfocused, before he closes
them and takes a deep breath, meeting my gaze.
“You are my son for all intents and purposes. I’ve raised you since you
were just two years old as my own, and nothing will ever change that. I will
forever regret what happened to my brother, but this is my life now. Our
life. And we have to live it—whether we want to or not.
“I was born into this, as were you. My brother tried to get you out,
much as you tried to keep your son out, but that’s just not the way this
world is built. Once you’re in, you’re in for life.” His voice trails off, and I
know he’s flashing back to their last memory. I’ve heard brief mentions of
the last time they talked, and it isn’t a pleasant recollection. Full of yelling,
pain, anger.
“You know what this consists of. You’ve been around long enough.
Hell, you’ve done business with me dozens of times. You’re well-versed,
but now, it’s time you dive deep. I need you for what’s coming next. It’s
time you learn to take the reins.”
I turn around and pin my uncle with a look, my face betraying what I’m
thinking. I know in this world, we need to mask ourselves. Never let anyone
see what’s going on inside. Never give them a fucking inkling of what our
next move could be, but the way he’s speaking… I don’t fucking like it.
“What the fuck does that even mean?”
“Come over here. Take a look at these and tell me what you see.”

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 2

LEO

W eeks have passed . H ell , months . M y uncle has shoved every piece
of his knowledge down my throat, then proceeded to quiz me over every
tiny detail until the information was oozing from my pores.
I thought once I knew the dark, dirty, gritty details of my reality, I
would feel sick. Disgusted. Alone. I feel anything but.
I feel raw with power. In-fucking-vincible.
Especially in this moment, covered head to toe in the blood of those
who took my life, my fucking family, from me.
“It’s almost finished,” my uncle states with calm serenity.
“I know, I’ve got this.” His hand clasps my shoulder, and his fingers
give me a tight, knowing squeeze.
“That you fucking do, my boy. And you’re doing a beautiful job.”
A smile flickers at the corner of my lips before a whimpering grunt
pulls me back to the men at my feet. They’re not tied down, trapped. In fact,
they’re completely free to try and run.
Try being the operative word.
One of them made an attempt. I chased after him through the empty,
echoing, dreary gray warehouse and beat him to death with my brass
knuckle-covered fists.
The next assumed since I exerted myself that he could sneak up behind
me. What he didn’t know is I’ve spent the last almost six months of my life
preparing for this. My body, my mind, every asset I have has been trained to
its peak capabilities. I hear things now I never would have thought to listen
for before. My body is bigger, more muscular, more threatening. My mind
even more so.
I’m not the same man I was two years ago.
The cement walls blur around me as I move, flashes of red filtering in
and out. Sweat pours from my brow, and I lift my leaden arm to wipe at it
so I’m able to keep going. The metal wrapped around my fingers digs into
my skin, deep enough to bruise, but I only squeeze my fingers tighter,
welcoming the ache.
Every single muscle in my body screams for reprieve, for an ounce of
stillness, but I refuse to succumb to the need. I bet my… wife and my son
were screaming, too. In pain. In fucking agony and I wasn’t there. I was too
busy feeling sorry for myself and the life I fucking wanted.
I chose Quinn. I chose our son and the life she needed without a
backward glance because even I didn’t want our child in my world. She
never knew enough about it, the depth of it all, but she knew how hard my
life was, how demanding and dangerous. We both wanted away from it.
So, we left.
I packed our shit, took every dollar I had stashed away, and we
disappeared.
I should’ve known my old life would find a way back and dig its
fucking claws into my bared flesh to pull me back into the circle of hell,
dead and void of everything I could have ever felt.
And now, I’m returning that favor a thousand times over to the entire
Callaway family. The ones who thought they could try to take over my
uncle’s business by finding me, my family, and murdering them in cold
blood.
It was a declaration of war.
And now, I’m ending it.
I have no recollection of time as it passes in a haze. All I breathe, all I
feel, is what’s right in front of me. I can’t stop.
Their hearts stopped beating long ago, much to my disdain. I tried to
keep them alive for as long as possible, to draw it out and make them suffer
the way my—the way my family suffered, but something snapped inside of
me.
It’s quiet.
Too fucking quiet.
 A slow clap rings out, echoing, masking the sound of my labored
breathing. My blood rushes through my ears. I straighten, biting down when
a spark of pain shoots up my spine from being locked in one position for so
long.
My eyes meet my uncle’s, his shining with amusement, with pride. For
me. I wish I could say I felt nothing. That the pain of losing my family
killed something inside of me, and while that’s true. Painfully, accurately
true, there is still some small, minuscule part of me that endures it all. That
refuses to shut it off because without it, without the guilt, remorse, the
throbbing muscle beating in my chest, I wouldn’t be able to revel in what I
had just done. I wouldn’t be able to feel pride for giving them both what
they deserve.
Vengeance. Justice.
Only, it should be them living, breathing, alive, and instead, I’m
standing here, dripping sweat—lungs and body screaming—in the cold,
drafty air breaking in through the large cracks in the steel doors and
crumbling cement walls.
“Well done, my boy. How do you feel?” Jameson stops a solid ten feet
from me, steering clear of the abnormally large pool of blood I stand in the
center of. Or maybe it’s not abnormal; I’ve just never killed anyone before,
let alone drained seven bodies of nearly every drop of their blood.
It’s a sight to behold.
Shocking and gruesome. Chilling me to the bone.
I tighten my grip on the brass knuckles as I glance back at the lumps in
front of me. Their bodies are indistinguishable. You can’t tell who is who,
what a leg is versus an arm. Just piles of shattered limbs and skulls—
muscles, tendons and veins intertwined between it all to create a mound of
decay.
“I don’t know,” I finally answer my uncle with the most honest thing I
can even begin to think of.
“Understandable. It will take a while for your mind to come back to you
after something like this, but I’m here.”
I take a step back, wrapping my arms around myself, my eyes never
leaving the mess I created. Jameson puts his arm around my shoulders and
hauls me into his side, pressing my face into the junction of his neck and
shoulder. We stand there for endless minutes—hell, it could even be hours
—before I finally regain some clarity and pull away, feeling foolish.
 He senses the shift in my mood instantly and lets out a scoff, pulling me
closer again. “Don’t be stupid,” he grunts, uncaring about anything other
than bringing me the comfort I don’t deserve.
“I don’t deserve you, this. Any of it.”
“The hell you don’t.”
“How could I? It’s my—” He pulls away from me and grabs my
shoulders in a hold so tight, I wince at the added bite of pain it adds to my
already screaming muscles. He turns me until I’m facing him head on,
unable to look away from his dark, sharp stare.
“Do not go there, my boy. What good will that do them or you? What’s
done is done, and now you’re here. Live in the now; survive in the now.
Because you can’t live in the past. Now, let the men come in and clean all
this up so we can go home and go over the meeting for tomorrow. I want to
hear your input on the Sullivans and their offer to expand our business
arrangement.”
“No. I want to handle it myself.”
Jameson pulls back, dark, slightly graying brows hitched high on his
forehead. “And how do you plan on doing that?”
“Let the flames devour them.” The words leave a bitter taste in my
mouth.
He gives nothing away for a moment as he takes me in with deep
thought before he nods, an approving smile flickering on the corners of his
lips. “So be it.” He pulls his phone out of the front pocket of his trousers
and puts it to his ear.
“Roy, Leo wants to let the flames devour them—his words, not mine.
Let’s make that happen.” He doesn’t wait for a response and simply ends
the call. He clasps his hands in front of himself, standing relaxed with an
equally tranquil smile on his lips. Our eyes lock once more, the silence
blaring with screams no longer penetrating the stale air, and I force myself
to look away, back to the mess.
Staring at them now, what I turned them into, is easier than looking at
my uncle, who stares with pride and love and everything I don’t want.
A horrid screeching noise bounces off the walls, making my ears ring,
as Roy and the rest of the men walk inside, carrying jugs of gasoline,
amongst other things.
Blaine walks up to my uncle, and they both converse quietly, the sound
of their hushed tones blending in with the scuffing of shoes and boots on the
weathered concrete as everyone else moves shit around inside.
I stand around looking hopeless, feeling useless as everyone goes about
what I assume is their normal routines. They walk past the pile of bodies
without a second glance, preparing the place to burn to the ground.
I know everyone here is used to this—except me. My uncle wanted “my
first time”—his words—to be this. He said this moment would be symbolic.
That I would remember it for the rest of my life—and he wasn’t wrong
about that.
I can already feel the change, like my brain chemicals have altered and
continue to mutate into something…not human.
“Damn,” Sebastian exclaims as he walks up to my side, a low, drawn
out whistle sounding from between his lips. My head swivels, my eyes
landing on the side of his scruffy face, a handful of years younger than
mine. He stares at the massive pile in front of us before meeting my gaze,
amusement dancing in his eyes with a literal sparkle shining bright.
“Care to do the honors?” he asks and splays his hand out in front of
him. It’s now that I finally look up, seeing the warehouse damp and reeking,
ready for ignition.
“Let’s not do that with him still standing in the center of the place,”
Jameson calls out from behind me.
“Obviously, boss.” Sebastian grins with a roll to his eyes.
“Don’t act so surprised that I’m saying that. You’re too eager for your
own good.”
A smile flickers at the corner of my lips at their light quip, but I shove it
down. I’m not allowed to—never again.
I turn away without a backward glance, meeting my uncle at the large
opening at the front of the building. The light rainfall from this morning has
turned into a mist as the sun sets beyond the horizon, sending the world into
repetitive darkness.
My world’s been dark for far longer, with no hope that light will ever
penetrate the abyss I’m suffocating in.
I don’t want it to anyway.
The silence is poignant, or maybe that’s just my perception. Everyone
gathers into a line behind us, waiting for orders, or waiting to see what
comes next.
“Once you do this, we will need to leave quickly. With the amount of
accelerant coating the inside—”
 “This place is going to blow, I know. I get it.”
“Good. Whenever you’re ready.” I nod, and as we both take several
steps back, I take a look around. Not at the building but at what’s behind
me. We’re at an abandoned warehouse on the coast, looking out over the
Pacific Ocean. With dusk behind us, the waves are black, merely dense
shadows amongst the darkness.
This is going to be seen everywhere.
Everyone that matters will know it was us.
Everyone that doesn’t—well, they will eventually.
No one fucks with the Harms family.
No one fucks with my family.
Keeping a tight grip on the slippery brass knuckles still wrapped around
my hand like a lifeline, I ignite the lighter and throw it inside. Before I can
even hear the ting of it landing on the concrete, a billowing wall of flames
shoots out through the opening I was standing in moments ago.
The flames and the smoke have my stomach recoiling, twisting, and
burning. My skin prickles with awareness, a sense of dread settling at the
base of my spine, while a spark of what could only be fear niggles just
above. The urge to vomit is right there, settling in at the base of my throat,
but I refuse. I will not give those motherfuckers the satisfaction of affecting
me more than they already have.
Everyone gathers into the two black Escalades with impressive speed,
and we make our way back to the grounds.
Blaine, my uncle’s right-hand man, drives while my uncle sits next to
him. They’re talking quietly amongst themselves about the meeting with the
Sullivans, but I tune them out, along with the bright, burnt orange color of
the flames adding a hazy glow to the blackened sky.
That will be the last time I ever fucking look at the flames again.
Sebastian is practically bouncing in the seat next to me, the upper half
of his body twisted around so he can see the full frontal view of the fire.
“You’re the Grim fucking Reaper, Leo. You didn’t just kill them; you
stole their souls and sent them to the deepest pits of hell.”
“I didn’t send them anywhere; I just took them with me.” My tone is
desolate, but he doesn’t seem to take notice.
“Fuck yeah, you did. You—”
“Enough, Sebastian,” Jameson bites out.
“Sorry, boss.”
 For the first time since that night, I find myself needing, craving, the
quiet, the silence that seems to try to crawl its way inside of me at every
inopportune moment—which is always.
If only it would take me, too.

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 3

LEO

F ive Y ears L ater

“I’ m not fucking doing this .” I slam my hands down on the armrests
of the chair I’m sitting in, indignation setting me off. I balance myself on
the edge of my seat, my body itching to explode on the one man who has
never given up on me, even after all this time.
“You don’t exactly have a choice, my boy.” Jameson’s face is stoic, yet
expressive. A contrasting look but one he pulls off well.
“Don’t fucking ‘my boy’ me, old man. Not when you’re stuck in a
goddamn bed, dying.”
“Well, I didn’t exactly plan for this.” He lifts his arm to grab his glass of
water. He’s smaller than I’ve ever seen him. Frail. He looks like he’s going
to die.
Because he is.
The lump lodged in my throat refuses to budge as I choke out, “How
long have you known?”
“Five years. Maybe longer. Since just after you came home.”
“Five years?!” my voice booms out, and I jump from my chair, sending
it flying across the room, where it crashes against the wall.
My uncle doesn’t even flinch, his face one of pure boredom. “Well,
come on, get it all out.” He rotates his hand in a back-and-forth motion,
telling me to get on with it. His flippant disregard for the fact he’s lied to
me for five fucking years after everything we’ve been through sends me
into a tailspin.
 I open my mouth to start yelling at him, to fucking make him feel like
shit for being a goddamn liar when he falls into a coughing fit, and the
words die on my lips. His entire upper half seizes up from the force, the
raspy, rattling noise permeating the room.
This is what I get for being far too entwined with my own agony.
I rush to his side, forgetting all words of anger as I cluelessly aid him. I
help him sit up and gently rub and pat his back as it continues to wrack
through him, making him shake uncontrollably.
When the noise finally subsides, he collapses back onto the pillows,
exhaustion prominent like a second skin. I gently remove my hands from
underneath him, still pressed against his back, and work the blanket back
over him, tucking it in, doing everything in my power to ignore the pit of
dread that has settled in my gut.
“I understand your anger, but more than that, I believe you’re feeling
betrayed, are you not?” His voice is faint and weak, so I sit on the edge of
his bed, ignoring the way the mattress dips under my large frame, and lean
down so he doesn’t have to strain himself so hard. I can feel my anger, my
betrayal—as he put it—later.
“Yes, Uncle. More than you can imagine.”
“I never wanted that, but I understand. What I need you to know is
why.” He moves to sit up again, but I gently press my large, tattooed hand
against his chest, keeping him in place.
“Don’t strain yourself, old man. You can speak from there just fine. It’s
only me.”
He gives me a silent nod of resolve before continuing. “I have spent the
last five years giving you every piece of knowledge I have. You know the
ins and outs of this family better than anyone. How deep we go, how much
we do. I’ve taught you to know every move we make before we make it,
just as you know everyone else’s moves beforehand.
“Never let that knowledge dwindle. Keep your mind as sharp as that
body you’ve built. I trust you more than any other soul, and I do not wish
for you to disapp—” His words are cut off by another body-wracking
cough, one so strong, red drops of blood fly from between his lips and
splatter along the blanket covering his body.
The sight has a fragment of fear slicing its way through my body,
chilling me to the bone.
 I bite back the panic of seeing the only person I have left on his
deathbed. He looks up at me with an apology in his sunken eyes, his dark
irises shining with remorse and pain. I meet his gaze with a look I hope
portrays love and comfort. Two things I’ve never been good at but if anyone
deserves for me to try my damnedest, it’s him.
Just as I move to grab the water for him, a knock sounds at the door,
loud and jarring. I still, my heart battering against my ribs, but on the
outside, I keep my expression the same, not giving anything away—just
like he taught me.
My reaction is unreasonable, at least not one that would make any
sense. I fear for anyone to see my uncle like this, but I believe he has hit the
point of no return.
“I would not like anyone in here right now,” he tells me, his voice raspy,
a barely audible whisper. I clench my jaw and give him a tight nod,
watching his veiny, almost translucent eyelids flutter closed as his
exhaustion gets the better of him.
“We’ll talk about this after you get some rest,” I tell him, leaving no
room for argument and also purposely not referencing his little talk with me
from minutes ago so we can talk in-depth later.
“Yes, yes, my boy. Of course.”
I give him a nod and exit the room, pushing Blaine away from the door.
They’re around the same age—both in their early fifties. Older but still
young despite the world we live in and how draining it can be on someone,
amongst other things.
His slightly wrinkled forehead bunches with annoyance as I force him
away from the door, my large, muscular frame leaving no space for him to
maneuver around me—which I do not put past him trying.
“How is he?” He seems worried, his body strained toward the door like
a magnet.
“Oh, so you fucking knew and didn’t tell me.” My words are
accusatory, but I don’t give a shit. I was supposed to know everything; that
was the point of all of this, and to find out I’ve been kept in the dark about
something so serious for so long really sets my fucking teeth on edge.
I flex my fingers, wishing for the feel of hard, biting metal to be
wrapped around them so I can fucking beat something until I don’t feel
anymore.
“Leo, you know I couldn’t have said—”
 “But you fucking could have.” I keep stepping forward, backing him
into a corner. Blaine isn’t a small guy, but my body makes it easy to
overpower people. Something I use to my advantage every chance I fucking
get.
“No, I couldn’t. It wasn’t for me to tell. He didn’t want you to know to
keep your mind focused on what was important. Which was not the fact that
he was dying and there was nothing you could do.”
I start to shake my head in denial, but Blaine only quirks a brow at me
in annoyance. “You’re telling me that if he would have told you, you
wouldn’t have been obsessing over it every chance you got? You wouldn’t
have been up his ass, forcing him to do any and everything he could to stay
alive even though that was against his wishes?”
“What do you mean against his wishes?”
“He refused any kind of treatment. Instead, he chose to stay as strong as
he could to get the things done that he needed to get done. I advised against
it, but he’s stubborn, and when it comes down to it, it’s his choice. Frankly,
Leo, there wasn’t much even the doctors could do.”
I take a step back, giving Blaine his space back as I absorb the word
vomit he just spewed at me. All things my uncle could have said, but didn’t,
of course. Why would he try to fucking explain anything to me?
“He doesn’t want anyone in there right now,” I tell him, remembering
what Jameson said before I left the room. Blaine glances up at me, a look of
annoyance flickering across his face.
“Why not?”
“Because he started hacking his fucking lungs up, so now he’s
sleeping,” I bite back. I pull a pack of cigarettes out of my pocket and spark
one up, flicking the flame off as quickly as possible, even though my
eyelids flutter closed at the threat.
Still to this day, seven fucking years later, the sight of fire still makes
my stomach twist into knots.
I suck in drag after drag, reveling in the way the nicotine makes my
head swim, the smoke surrounding me like a veil.
“You know Jameson hates when you smoke inside the house.”
“He’s dying. He won’t give a shit much longer.” My words are crass,
brutal if the way Blaine flinches is any indication, but I can’t take them
back. I don’t exactly regret them because they’re true, but saying those two
words, ‘he’s dying,’ makes it feel all too real.
 “What did you even want him for anyway?”
“Just a shipment question.” That’s not the whole truth, but I let it slide.
“You know I can answer that for you,” I tell him with a puff of smoke
trailing my words.
“I suppose you can.” He gestures his hand out, indicating for me to lead
the way to my uncle’s office. We walk almost side by side down the long
hall. This house isn’t huge, all things considered. It’s the grounds it sits on
that takes up acres of vast, green land.
Once Blaine and I take our seats, he pulls up the documents he wants to
reference, and we get to work, scrutinizing the details to make sure
everything is in place.

I t was then , while B laine and I were talking business , discussing a

fucking gun shipment, that my uncle took his last, spluttering, bloody
breath.
Alone.
In pain, in death, in quiet, we’re all utterly, painfully fucking alone.

OceanofPDF.com
 4

LEO

T welve Y ears L ater

37 Y ears O ld

N ickelback blares through the speakers as I set another box down

in the kitchen, already spinning on my heels to go back to the delivery truck
and grab another.
I’ve owned this bar for over ten years now, for no other reason than it
brings me peace. To have something outside of the life I was forced into.
The honest work keeps my hands busy and my mind from straying.
I tried to keep it a secret, but of course, that feat was impossible when
Blaine brought it up to me not even thirty days after I bought it. But he was
respectful of my choice and lets me do this on the down-low, out from
under my true life. A life no one here knows the depths of—not even
Vincent. Because in this world, knowledge is indeed power, but that
knowledge is what gets you killed.
And I choose to be selfish and keep him in the dark.
After the last box is placed, I wipe the back of my hand across my
forehead and make my way to the bar to tell Jake the truck’s ready to go. As
I step into the large, open room, I catch sight of Andy with his back turned,
a cloth in one hand and a glass in the other. Jake is nowhere to be seen, so I
can only assume he’s in the bathroom or some shit.
I plant my ass on a stool and throw my elbows up on the bar top,
relishing in the way the cool, smooth wood seeps into my overheated skin.
It’s not exactly hot out today for midsummer in Portland, but lifting heavy
ass boxes for two hours straight is enough to kick anyone’s ass.
“Where’s Jake?” I ask.
“Bathroom.” Andy tilts his head in the direction of the bathroom, and I
nod at his confirmation of my previous thought. “You want a water, boss?
You look exhausted.”
“Sure, thanks,” I tell him as I pull out a cigarette and light it up, letting
it hang between my lips as I slowly puff on it. My eyes fly open at the
sound of the water bottle landing next to me—I didn’t even realize I had
closed them.
“I told you I would’ve helped you. We don’t open for another hour, so
it’s not like I didn’t have the time.”
“Don’t worry about it. I don’t mind doing it myself. My bar, my job.”
“Well, technically you pay me to work, so…”
My phone ringing pulls me out of the conversation, and the moment I
see who’s on the other end, I let out a heavy sigh. I answer the call and
place my phone to my ear, words already on my lips.
“Quit asking,” I tell him with no preamble, and I hear a loud huff of
irritation.
“It’s already been—”
“You’re a fucking psychopath, Vincent. Leave me alone.” My words are
dry with irritation. The man is like a fucking child without his favorite toy, I
swear to God. I should have never given in to his indulgences because now,
he just expects them at every turn.
“I am. Thanks for noticing.”
“You’re fucking stupid.”
“Fucking says you, prick.” I roll my eyes so hard, a deep ache settles
just behind them. I don’t have the energy for this conversation.
“Care to tell me what you’ve been up to lately, then?” I change the
direction of the conversation into something I know he doesn’t want to talk
about. Something’s up with him, but I can’t fucking tell what it is. And if
I’m being frank, I just don’t have the energy to push him about it too hard.
I know he’d tell me if it was important enough. Maybe.
“There’s nothing to tell.” I hear the tell-tale sound of a spark and then a
deep breath as Vincent takes a drag off the cigarette he just lit.
“It’s funny how you think after ten years that I don’t know you better
than you know yourself.” I chuckle dryly and tap the ash gathering on the
end into the ashtray Andy must’ve pushed in my vicinity.
“Apparently, you don’t,” he mumbles, the sound barely audible through
the crackle in the speaker.
I open my mouth to ask him what the fuck he means when Jake walks
back into the room, heading straight for me. I give him a nod and hold up
my finger, jumping off the stool and meandering to the corner of the room,
the furthest place from possible prying ears.
“Have to deal with a delivery at the pub, but we’ll talk about whatever
you’re keeping from me later.”
“Fuck off.” He hangs up abruptly, leaving a dial tone blaring in my ear
for a couple of seconds before it silences completely. I pull my phone away
with an eye roll and shove it in my pocket as I make my way to Jake.
“You got everything?”
“Yep, everything’s cleared out, and I got the truck all ready to go for
you.” I dig his keys out of my pocket and hand them over. He gives me a
grateful smile, and with a tip of his hat, he says his goodbye and heads out
the back.
Before I can even plant my ass back on the stool and take a drink of the
water Andy brought me, my phone rings yet again. With a sigh, I stub my
cigarette out in the ashtray while I dig it out, my fingers hesitating over the
answer button when I see it’s Blaine.
I flick my eyes up, and Andy meets my gaze with a knowing smile. He
sets the glass back down on the bar and places the towel beside it. He jerks
his thumb behind him. “I’m gonna go have a cigarette—” when he sees my
eyebrow arch, he adds, “or two,” and turns around, disappearing out the
front door.
All alone once more, I swipe my screen and bring it to my ear without a
word.
“Figured you were going to give me the fuck you button,” Blaine says
the moment the call connects.
“Figured since you were calling me when you knew where I was, that it
was important.”
“You’d be right. It’s about the warehouse.”
I roll my eyes, my fingers tightening their grip on my phone
simultaneously. “Elaborate.”
“Don’t fucking ask me how, but someone got a look inside. A deep
look.” His words are vague but clear e-fucking-nough.
 A deep, rumbling growl of irritation works its way from deep inside my
chest. A throbbing pain instantly blooms in my temples and radiates down
the back of my neck. I don’t know how much more of this shit I can handle.
When does it become too much? I already feel I’m at my max fucking
capacity.
“I’ll meet you at the compound so we can talk, and I’ll take it from
there.” I hang up on him before he can argue and immediately light up
another cigarette, extinguishing the lighter before the cigarette is even fully
lit. I just puff on it hard a few times, giving it the chance to ignite
completely, while also filling my head with chemicals so I don’t have to
think about the throbbing migraine already battering inside of my skull at
what comes next.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I force myself to my feet. Andy and I
run into each other as I’m stepping outside. “Got some shit to take care of. I
might be back later, but I doubt it. I’ll probably just see you tomorrow.
Think you can handle open and close? I’ll take both tomorrow to make up
for it.”
“Sure thing, boss man.” He throws his hand up in thanks as he retreats
to get everything ready for opening in half an hour. I watch his mop of
brown hair disappear behind the bar as he bends over to grab more glasses
before I step out into the warm, summer air, hating my life more with every
step I take toward my black Cadillac Escalade.

“E very time something like this happens , you just say you ’ ll take
care of it yourself. I want to know what the hell that entails, Leo. You’ve
been far too obtuse lately—and that can’t happen.”
“You might be surprised by this, but I can do shit without you or anyone
else knowing about it. Some shit just isn’t your business.”
“Anything that concerns this family is my business.”
“You aren’t a part of this fucking family!” I bellow, years' worth of
exhaustion and resentment making their way to the surface for a split
second despite my best efforts to keep it locked up tight.
 Blaine’s spine straightens, going ramrod straight. His graying brows
narrow, a deep wrinkle forming between the two. “Fucking take that back.”
My eyes drop to his clenched fists at his sides, then back up to his face with
a smirk of amusement, already feeling more in my element again.
“You think just because you were in love with Jameson, you have the
fucking right?”
It’s in this moment, I see it. The flash of hurt in his irises, the disbelief
that after everything, I could even think to say something like that.
And just like that… the shame of who I am returns tenfold.
“Fuck. I’m sorry, okay?” I blow out a breath, raking my fingers through
my hair. “That has nothing to do with anything anymore. Let’s just figure
out where to shuffle the men to make sure this doesn’t happen again.
Having your eyes on it is necessary since you know them the best.”
“I know them the best because I’m here all the time, handling basically
everything for you while you run and hide in your fake, mundane life.
Which is just a fucking lie.”
“Quit fucking pushing, Blaine. I’m well aware of what it is. Leave it
alone. I’m here now.” I take a seat at my uncle’s desk—because it will
never be anything but his—and pull up the security footage from the
warehouse. Blaine rounds the desk and comes to my side.
“Yeah, guess that counts for something,” he mumbles before pointing at
the screen. “Two A.M. last night. She was alone and frankly looks homeless
and like a junkie, so I think it was purely coincidental.”
I scroll through the time log, finding what Blaine’s referencing, and
watch it again and again until my retinas burn and the screen begins to blur.
I click pause and dig my fingertips into my eyes, rubbing the exhaustion
from them.
Blaine leans back in the chair he grabbed a while back and clasps his
hands behind his head as he stretches back. “I’m getting too old for this
shit.”
“True. At sixty-six, you’re about to kick the bucket,” I deadpan.
“Shut the fuck up, you little shit.” He thumps the back of my head, and I
chuckle, standing and stretching my legs. I glance down at the desk:
cigarettes fill the ashtray and papers litter the surface.
Not wanting to even begin cleaning anything up, I tell Blaine I’m going
to bed and leave the room without a backward glance, heading straight for
the bed I rarely sleep in anymore.
 After a long, scorching shower, I finally crawl into bed, letting the
comforter wrap around me like silk, relishing in the cool fabric against my
skin for all of five seconds before my brain decides to remind me of my
first night home almost twenty years ago.
I crawled into this bed, still smelling of smoke and death. It was still so
quiet; my ears were ringing painfully. My uncle never left my side from the
moment he showed up—mere hours after it all happened. He dealt with
everything and then brought me home—alone.
And it’s now where it all comes back full-force. The still more-than-
vivid memories. The despair, disbelief. The fucking unrelenting agony.
I used to spend every waking moment replaying them over and over in
my mind, but at some point, I stopped. I couldn’t remember why until it
fucking hit me. I couldn’t remember what they looked like; it’d been so
long.
Some part of me just knows, but the part of me that can conjure up a
visual just can’t fucking do it anymore—and it’s one of the worst feelings.
Missing someone and being unable to recall the exact color and depth of
their irises, the shape of their nose, the curve of their lips, and the roundness
of their cheeks. The way their hair curled this way and that, the way it
would shine brighter and redder in the sunlight…
My eyes sting, and I blink rapidly, ignoring the fat drops rolling down
the side of my face and soaking into the pillowcase. My stomach clenches
as a sob wracks through my body unexpectedly. I resist the force of them
before they become too strong, and I’m forced to feel them.
My body contorts to its strength, and my massive frame curls in on
itself—which is how I stay until my swollen eyelids peel open to the
morning sun shining in through the open curtains.
I clear my throat and force the lump down before forcing my stiff limbs
to disassemble from their tangled state. Taking my migraine in stride as yet
another thing I deserve, I spark up a smoke and dig my phone out of my
pocket to give Vincent a call.
He answers, sounding smug, and his tone digs in deeper after I tell him
about the job I have for him—every word I spew adding to the web of lies
I’ve spun him because he doesn’t know the truth. About anything.
“I knew you’d give me what I want.”
“It’s not about you, Vincent. I just need you to handle this.”
 “I will; don’t worry. I’ll let you know when it’s done—and the details if
you want—”
“I don’t, you sick fuck. Just—be careful.”
“That’s not any fun,” he draws out the word fun with a sarcastic lilt, and
I let out a huff of irritation.
“Shut the fuck up, Vincent.”
“Ditto, baby. Talk to ya later.” The call ends, and I roll my eyes so hard,
it adds significant pressure to my skull. It’s like he’s more of a child than a
grown-ass man sometimes.
Shaking that off, I mindlessly gather my shit, walk to my car, and make
my way to the pub in a daze.
My mind is spinning as I drive through traffic.
I’m slowly beginning to realize it’s becoming harder and harder to keep
track of all the lies I’ve spewed to Vincent over the years—each one adding
up into a precarious tower that could collapse and crush us both. I’m not
sure if he doesn’t listen or just doesn’t care, but even I can tell there’s too
much shit that doesn’t add up.
The truth is, I’m so much more than Vincent realizes. I’ve managed to
keep him in the dark on everything I do that involves the Harms family
business by lying, of course. He thinks I’m a small-time boss man slash
drug dealer who gets a little dirty. I keep him occupied with dealing drugs
and taking care of some of the dirty shit that comes along, like killing, but
even that has slowed significantly over the years until it’s a rare occurrence.
I can hate it as much as I love it, but my uncle taught me feelings have
no part of that side of business. It’s an inevitable piece of the world we live
in, and there is no point in getting torn up about something that can’t be
changed.
What Vin doesn’t know is just how deep this goes—how deep I am.
And I never want him to know. He’s better now than he ever has been, and I
refuse to take the peace he’s earned away from him.
I’m just so fucking tired. Burnt out. Running on fumes. Completely and
utterly bone dry.
I can’t find the point anymore. Of staying, of forcing myself to endure
this life. The vengeance I needed gave me a life I fucking despise, and for
the last twelve years, I’ve been trapped.
It’s all a blur—especially now with time as my enemy. Or maybe it’s
my friend? I don’t know anymore. But what I do know is I’m not sure how
much longer I can stay afloat. How long I can keep this business, this
family, going. I don’t want to—not truly. But you know how it goes: once
you’re in, you’re never out. Not even someone as powerful as me can
escape.
The Harms supply guns to other close-knit families my uncle formed
deals with. But it’s our supplier that keeps me here.
I could have expanded the business over the years—my uncle probably
would have eventually—but I never wanted to. Why would I when I crave
an escape every waking moment?
I’m stuck with their ghosts haunting me at every turn. Although the
shape of them, the sound of them, has morphed into something so
unrecognizable, I’m not sure if it’s them anymore or just me, reflecting my
own self-loathing back at myself.
I scoff indignantly at myself and toss back my tequila, grateful for the
access to alcohol at the morbid, unwelcome turn of my thoughts. The glass
smacks against the bar top with a loud crack, and Andy jumps at the sound.
“Everything okay, boss?”
“All good.” The noise and chatter of the pub at full capacity helps dull
the unrelenting one inside my head.
“Want another?” Andy speaks over the clamor, nodding at my empty
glass, and I slide it toward him without a word. I watch as he refills it—
halfway like always—then sets it in front of me again. I don’t bother lifting
my gaze to meet his because I know what I’ll see.
Questions. Ones I can’t answer. Not now.
Not ever.

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 5

JAXON

M y eyes fall to the backward logo on the window as the rain pelts
down outside, and a smile inches onto my lips. The muted light doesn’t add
much to the darkness of the open room, adding to the calm serenity of the
morning.
It’s days like this that remind me how much I love it here.
My slides clack along the tile floor as I move to the small room in the
back. Filling the coffee pot, I flick it on and press my hip into the counter as
I wait for it to fill, a yawn stretching my mouth wide.
We should probably move out of the small apartment upstairs, but it’s
been almost four years, and the thought doesn’t cross my mind often
enough for me to make arrangements to do something about it.
It’s too small for one person—let alone two—but the mere thought of
leaving Amos to fend for himself, even though he’s more than capable,
doesn’t sit right with me.
It’s been us against the world since we were kids and quickly grew up to
realize what a shit fucking world we live in. The harsh realities of not only
our lives but our own families hit hard at a very young age.
It was impossible for us to be who we truly were…
I swallow the lump in my throat and blink a few times to clear the
unexpected liquid pooling in my eyes.
What matters is that we’re here now. Happy. Living our actual fucking
dream together.
The scent of fresh coffee fills the air, and my mouth waters as I pour a
cup, adding my usual milk and sugar. I clamber up the stairs, taking a sip as
I do. The top of the mug blocks my line of sight, and I almost choke as the
liquid sloshes up and into my nose.
My steps falter, and I splutter, coffee dripping from my lips and onto my
feet as I catch my breath. Sucking in a lungful of air, hissing at the way it
burns, I make my way the rest of the way up, waiting until I’ve planted my
ass on the black sofa bed before taking another drink.
My phone dings in my pocket and I pull it out, my lips tightening when
I see what it says.
AMOS:
Are you awake?

He knows I am. I always wake with the sun—it’s my favorite part of the
day—but I answer anyway.
ME:
Yeah, why? What’s up?

I stare at the thread between us for a few minutes as I finish my coffee.

It showed up as read instantly but with no response. I lock my phone and
tap it against my thigh for a few moments before tossing it on the cushion
next to me. Grabbing my sketchbook, I open it to a clean page, and with no
particular idea in mind, I just put pencil to paper and let it flow—it always
works better that way.
Time passes with little relevance as I get lost in the swirl of dark
graphite etched on thick, white paper. Familiar footsteps pound up the
stairs, jolting me from my concentration, and not even five seconds later,
Amos walks through the doorway, blue eyes bloodshot and chocolate brown
hair a shaggy mess, per usual.
The moment our eyes connect, I drop my book to the table and lean
back, holding my arms out for him.
His eyes instantly pool as he walks the short distance to me and crawls
into my lap, burying his head underneath my chin. His brown waves tickle
my nose, but I easily ignore it as I wrap my arms around him and hold him
to me as tightly as I can.
It takes only a moment for his silent sobs to turn wretched and ugly. My
shirt dampens the harder he cries, and I squeeze my own eyes shut for a
moment at the constriction in my heart. Seeing him like this after all this
time still kills a piece of me, especially knowing there’s nothing that can be
done about it.
It’s a pain he’ll have to live with forever—but it’s more than that. The
death of his parents serves as a reminder of everything he’s lost. But more
accurately, who.
My hands brush up and down his back in soft caresses, gently rubbing
as I try to ease some of the tension from his muscles. The stale stench of
alcohol leaking from his pores leaves a bad taste in my mouth, but I push
through it because it doesn’t matter in this moment. It will later—but not
right now.
Amos is taller than me, so our position is awkward with his legs cradled
only under my armpit and his arms wrapped tightly around my torso, but
it’s one of comfort as well. We’ve been in this same situation more times
than I can count, but lately, it seems like it’s been happening more often
than not.
Maybe it’s because he’s been drinking more, disappearing for a few
days at a time, skipping out on work. Maybe it’s because we’re coming up
on the ten-year anniversary of his parents’ death. Asa…
I couldn’t say for sure. But all I do know is he needs me, and I will
never not be here for him.
I drop my head onto his and close my eyes, letting him work through it.
Eventually, the sounds stop, and his body goes lax in my arms, growing
heavier. I readjust my hold as he shifts and open my eyes to find him
already staring at me.
The blue of his irises is brighter than ever, shining from his tears. His
face is washed out with deep shadows underneath his eyes. I let out a
breath, feeling my brows tugging together. I press a kiss to his hair.
“What’s been going on with you, Amos?” I whisper, hating the way my
voice cracks. I fucking feel his pain like it’s my own. Seeing his slow
descent to self-destruction… I want more than anything to help him. But I
don’t know how.
“You have to talk to me. Let me help you. You can’t keep goin’ like
this, man,” I tell him honestly. His body is still twitching with the
aftershocks of his breakdown, and they reverberate into me.
I feel his unsteady intake of breath and the warmth of it as he releases it.
“I don’t fucking know what’s wrong with me. I’m falling apart, Jax, and
I can’t seem to stop it.”
 “Just talk to me.”
He extracts himself from my hold clumsily and falls back onto the other
side of the sofa bed. His clothes are rumpled and creased and stained, and
his shirt is on backward. Before I can ask him where he was, he blurts out,
“I miss he—him.”
“Who?” I ask before it hits me. My mouth curves sadly, and I pull his
legs into my lap. “Asa?”
“Fuck. Yeah, Asa.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“There’s nothing to talk about, really. I don’t even know why all of this
is hitting me right now when the anniversary of their death isn’t ‘til
tomorrow.” Then, he scoffs. “I hate that it’s called an anniversary. Like it’s
something to fucking celebrate.”
I pat his leg. “You know as well as I do that our brains don’t wait to
match up with some timeline. It’s okay to still mourn, you know.”
Amos sits up, pulling his legs from my lap to plant his feet on the floor.
He drops his head into his hands. “Is it okay to mourn someone who’s still
alive?”
His words make me pause, and I lean back, ruminating on them. The
silence is tense as we both process, the tension of the past thick in the air.
I’m not sure how much time has passed while we were both lost in our
own minds. Enough for my shirt to dry almost all the way through and for
Amos’s exhaustion to hit full force. Just as his eyes droop shut, curled in on
himself on the cushion, I place my hand in his greasy hair.
“I think it’s okay to mourn anyone you need to, whether they’re still
alive or not. Death doesn’t just mean… dead. I think it’s vaster than that.”
He chokes out a tired laugh. “Yeah, Jax. You’re right about that.”

T he buzzing of my tattoo machine fuses with the music playing

through the sound system—some Bring Me The Horizon song—along with
the rumbling chatter of everyone else in here.
 It’s not exactly a party, per se, but it’s definitely a decent-sized
gathering of Amos and my friends. After the shit morning he had, I knew he
needed to be around people who love and care about him to give him back
some much-needed energy.
I glance up and find Amos across the room, near the window with a
drink in his hand and a smile on his face. I feel my own snapping into place
at the sight, a bit of the weight in my chest lifting.
I know this doesn’t solve anything for him, but for the time being, he’s
feeling better, and that’s what matters. Sometimes, all you can do is just
push through, minute by minute, until the heavy feels a little less.
“Damn, Jax. I don’t know why I’m still blown away by your talent, but
damn.” Jeris’s compliment pulls me from my reverie, and I face him,
beaming.
“Thanks, man.” I grab a paper towel and get to work cleaning the excess
ink and plasma from his skin. “Why don’t you go take a look and let me
know what you think, and then I’ll snap a picture for you.”
As he clambers off the chair, I spin around and throw the used paper
towels in the bin before snapping off my gloves and grabbing a clean pair. I
grab the plastic wrap just as Jeris rounds the chair. “Looks phenomenal.”
“Good shit, man.” I snap a couple of pictures on my phone to post on
Vice’s Instagram and then his before wrapping his forearm. “You know the
drill with healing, but of course, if you have any questions, you know who
to holler to.”
We clasp hands before he’s off to join the others. Sneaking one last
glance at a temporarily happy Amos, I set about cleaning my station. The
process is cathartic and soothing—that along with the buzz of energy filling
the shop—and I feel in my zone all over again.
The tell-tail jingle of the front door opening barely registers until I hear
my name being shouted from the other side of the room.
“Jax! Where the fuck are ya?”
My head snaps up and to the door where none other than Vincent is
standing—one of my favorite clients, ironically. Vincent is a bit—more like
a lot—of an asshole, but for some reason, I just like the dude. Plus, he tips
really fuckin’ well.
“Vincent!” I exclaim, a smile pulling at the corner of my lips as I wave,
signaling his attention. He saunters across the open floor, pushing his way
past people without a backward glance. I roll my eyes lightheartedly at the
shocked looks following his path. “My favorite client. What’s up, man?”
We clasp hands. “You only say I’m your favorite because I tip more
than anyone else,” he quips, his lips pursed slightly. My eyes follow the
movement, for no other reason than he has a really nice mouth. I fix my
gaze back on his eyes. They’ve always looked a bit… soulless, but right
now, they look downright demonic in the lack of direct light on his face.
“Eh, you caught me,” I chuckle. He laughs maniacally and shakes his
head, crossing his heavily tattooed arms across his chest. The sound is
jarring, and coming from anyone else, I would probably be a bit thrown off,
but I’ve known Vin since shortly after opening Vice, and I’ve come to
realize he’s just a really intense and kind of crazy dude.
“What’s got you coming in so late?” He quirks a brow and glances
behind him at the bodies all around. “Just a get-together for a friend.”
He nods then jerks his head toward the office a few feet away. My
brows pinch, but I follow him inside, leaning against the doorway with my
hands in my pockets.
“Need a pretty big favor,” he tells me, getting to the point, his fingers
tapping along his forearm. I watch them drum restlessly. He’s impatient, I
observe silently.
My teeth play with the metal ring in my lip, twisting it back and forth
for a moment to the beat of the song “S.E.X.” by Nickelback before I
release it to answer. “Sure thing. What is it?”
“I need you to send everyone home.” His plump lips purse, and the vein
in his temple pulses.
I balk for a second, stunned at his request. “And why would I do that?”
“Because of the favor I need from you.” He’s practically twitching with
impatience now. Whatever it is must be important.
I sigh. “All right, give me a minute.” I walk to the front desk and kill the
music. Amos is already there waiting for me, concern flashing in his eyes.
“What’s going on?”
“What?” I glance up at him, distracted. I can feel eyes burning into me,
and I don’t know why. “Oh, nothing.” I focus my attention on the crowd.
“Hey, guys! Let’s take this over to Jeris’s. I gotta get the shop closed up, but
I’ll meet y’all there in a bit!”
The hushed roar of voices kicks back up as everyone gathers their
belongings and makes their way into the damp night. I watch them leave,
my skin crawling, but I can’t place why.
When a hand touches my arm, I jump slightly. “What’s wrong?” I
glance at Amos. He’s arching a brow.
“Nothing. Just have something to take care of. I’ll meet you at his place
in a few hours.”
“If you’re sure…” he trails off. I meet his gaze, giving him a smile.
“You don’t have to worry. It’s all good. Go have some fun; I’ll see you
later.”
“I’ll text you,” he says as walks away, all long legs and repressed
childhood trauma.
Once Amos is out the door, the place is completely empty, a ringing
silence the only reminder it was filled only moments ago. I lean against the
black countertop, my blonde hair hanging in front of my eyes.
I glance up as the bell on the door rings. “All right, Vin, the place is…”
My words die on my lips as the door is suddenly dominated by the biggest
man I have ever seen in my life.
His entire frame fills the threshold as he steps through, his fingers
brushing the raindrops from his cropped brown hair that glistens from the
lights of the city behind him. He stops once the door closes with a creak
behind him, a scowl staining his face as he scours the room.
Once our eyes connect, a flush of warmth runs through me, followed by
something bitterly cold. The black walls of the shop coupled with the dim
lights above cast his body in shadows, making him appear even larger with
the depth of his body hidden.
He steps forward, eyes raking over me in cold assessment. His body
seems to grow impossibly larger the closer he comes, and my eyes widen in
astonishment—and maybe fear. His steps are oddly fluid and silent in a way
that doesn’t seem natural, especially for someone of his size.
“Finally decided to join us, dick head?” Vincent’s rumble from my back
breaks my trance, and I blink a few times to clear my head, but I still can’t
look away. He doesn’t even seem to notice me as he puts himself at the
front of the counter, a rumbling growl emanating from his chest.
“Fuck off.” His smokey timbre hits me full force, like a punch straight
to my gut. Those words have never sounded better in my fucking life.
Now that he’s close enough to touch, I can finally see the tattoos
adorning the side of his temple and sharp, square jawline, along with many
more around his neck before they disappear underneath his long-sleeved
shirt.
My mouth dries, and I swallow on instinct, feeling befuddled in a way
I’ve never felt. It takes me too long to realize Vincent is trying to get my
attention. I blink a few times and painfully tear my gaze away from the big
guy in front of me.
He quirks his brow in question, still managing to look as bored as ever.
“You good?”
“Fine,” I answer, the lie falling easily enough from my lips. Because I
am. Fine, that is. I am. “What’s the favor you needed?”
“Yeah, Leo here wants some ink but said he needed ‘his fucking
privacy.’ I told him he sounded like a little bitch, but not my problem. I
can’t stay. I’ve got some—something to deal with, but I wanted to introduce
you both, so he’ll get the fuck off my back for a while.”
Leo.
I play that name on repeat in my mind as I only half-listen to Vincent.
“Sure thing, man,” I mumble, not really listening to the words coming out
of my mouth.
“Good. He’ll tip you even better than me, so you’ll have no complaints.
I gotta go.” And just like he appeared, he’s gone, leaving me alone with the
beast of a man who looks pissed off at the world.
The air quickly grows tense—at least it does for me—but Leo seems
unaffected in a way that’s unnerving as hell. I open my mouth, then snap it
shut just as quickly before blurting out a breathless, “Hello.”
The word gets lost between us, silence descending.
The bright lights above illuminate his face intensely, showcasing every
minor change in his expression. I watch his dark brows furrow, the wrinkle
between them deepening as his eyes trail over my face—following my
piercings, I imagine—before moving… down.
Shit, yeah.
Wait, no.
I suck in a quiet breath, lifting my chin to find his eyes again, wanting,
needing to see the deep pools of honey. I’m rapt, blatantly staring, but fuck
me if I can help it. I’ve never seen such a behemoth of a man—who also
happens to be drop-dead fucking gorgeous.
He locks his amber eyes with mine, watching me as I watch him. The
silence is deafening, heavy in more ways than one. I can feel it crawling
along my skin, setting me on fucking fire.
One of his arms is almost as wide as my entire body, I swear. Even
through his black shirt, I can see the stark outline of his muscle definition.
A throat clears, and I blink a couple of times, feeling snatched from a dense
fog.
I take a step back, smiling, my cheeks heating with embarrassment. I
rub the back of my neck as I chew helplessly on my lip ring. “Sorry, man.
That was rude of me.”
He grunts. Fucking grunts. Good God, that sound should be illegal.
The color in my face deepens if the fire spreading down my neck is any
indication.
“Don’t worry about it; I’m used to it.” His voice is sultry and smooth,
like warm bourbon right after you take a sip and you can feel it as it slides
down your throat, inch by inch, until it settles in your gut with a warming
flush.
“Uh,” I draw the word out, trying to get my brain to kick back into gear.
“Still. Anyway…” I drawl, clasping my hands in front of me with a
chuckle. “What were you thinking?”
“Hmm,” he hums, his eyes snaking down my body once more. I’m not
sure if it’s in hot pursual or because he wants to fucking murder me. That
look, stony yet explicit, makes my skin crawl in what should be unease, but
nope. I happen to like it a little too much for it to not be distracting.
I clear my throat, hating the way my body is burning so uncomfortably.
“The tattoo?” I ask.
“Mhm,” he hums, and Jesus, my dick. He needs to stop doing that.
“Leo?” I ask again, needing him to actually speak some words so I don’t
melt into a puddle right at his feet. He sucks in a breath, and just like that,
my heart rate skyrockets, sending every drop of my blood between my legs.
“Whatever you want,” he tells me, and my brain short-circuits. My lips
part, but no words come out. My hands develop a tremor, and I press them
against the counter to steady them. I like those words on his lips far too
much than I should—which is not at all.
He’s a client.
“Hope your hands aren’t that unsteady when you put ink into my skin,”
Leo states, his words holding a sliver of humor. I blink, my brows pinching
together as I meet his eyes. He smirks, the twitch in his lips gone in a flash
before his eyes flick down to my hands. I follow his gaze, understanding
dawning on me.
“Oh. No, I’m good.” I clear my throat and mentally berate myself for
being such a dipshit. This is my fucking job—one I happen to be
exceptionally good at—and I…
Fuck. This is unnerving. I almost laugh out loud at the direction my
thoughts are taking me, which is no place good. I force my legs to move,
walking around the counter to lock the front door and flip the sign to closed.
“Locking the door?” His voice warms with what sounds like
amusement, and I jerk my head in his direction, shooting him a bright,
sunshiny smile.
“Yes, we’re closed. You’re a private client. Paying private client
prices.” I chuckle, shooting him a wink at the innuendo. He gets what I’m
saying because he snorts—or at least makes a noise that resembles one—
but it’s drier and monotonous.
“Yeah, I get it. I’ve gotta pay for the special treatment.”
“Damn right.” I hit shuffle on my playlist and wave my arm at him,
indicating for him to follow me to my station.
“Being an exception has never felt so quaint before,” he remarks dryly
as he follows me back. He takes a seat on my black leather chair, his large
frame swallowing it whole, but it holds his weight without protest.
“Quaint?” I question. I can feel his eyes tracking every move I make,
and I feel compelled to second-guess my every gesture, wondering what he
thinks about what I’m doing.
“Mhm,” he hums again, and I leave it at that, unable to conjure up
something fucking productive, which is not my hard cock aching in my
jeans. This is getting ridiculous at this point.
“Okayyy, so I know you said whatever I want, and I’m totally happy
with creative freedom, but I’m going to need a little more direction than
that. After all, this is going on your skin, so you need to like it.”
He stares at me, eyes narrowed and cold. I can’t help but think every
single move I make is being calculated in his brain, like predator and prey.
Without a word, he stands, the chair creaking as his weight’s removed.
He clasps the end of his shirt and pulls it over his head. My eyes drop to his
exposed abdomen, watching the muscles ripple. He drops it beside him and
lets his arms hang by his side.
Ink.
 Everywhere.
Black. Gray. Red.
Beautiful art on a beautiful man.
I’m in awe as I take in his artwork, my jaw hanging slack. “Just match it
to the rest of this, if you can.” I nod, ideas spinning in my mind—dark,
gothic, flashes of red. An ambiance of death and decay. Such a broad
horizon but specific enough I can work it easily. Plus, it’s my favorite vibe
to work on anyway.
His pants drop to the floor, and I can’t help but balk helplessly at him.
He quirks a brow, but otherwise, his face is deadpan. “Only space I have
left is my right hip and upper thigh.” Ornate tattoos envelop every inch of
exposed skin. Most are black and gray, but some are lined or shaded in a
muted red.
He spins, giving me his back without a word, showing me the largest
tattoo on his body—two massive, detailed wings expanding over his
shoulder blades and down his back, where they stop at the base of his spine.
My jaw falls open, awe not even beginning to cover how I’m feeling.
Raw astonishment.
My arms move of their own accord, my fingertips brushing the thick
black lines, tracing the outline entirely before moving on to the thinner,
more delicate ones that make the details so significant.
Leo’s shoulders move underneath my fingers with every breath, his
muscles rippling. In and out. It’s calming, tracing the art written across his
body. The rest of the ink is stunning, but there’s something about this piece
that feels like more. Important. Maybe because it covers such a large
expanse of his body, in such intricate detail, but I can’t shake the feeling.
Clearing my throat, I force myself to take a step back, my hand
dropping from his hard, warm skin with immediate regret. His shoulders
twitch before he turns back around, his pools of honey finding mine.
I’ve never seen something, someone, so magnificent in my life. It’s like
when you experience something so significant, you know you’ll never
forget it for the rest of your life—that’s how impactful it was—that’s how I
feel in this moment. And I can’t shake it.
Going with the flow, fully taking advantage of this experience, I quirk a
smile and plop my ass in my chair. “Go ahead and lose the underwear—at
least on the right side—and take a seat for me.” I look away when he digs
his thumbs into his waistband. After I hear the creak of the chair settle, I
turn back around and hand him a pillow. He gives me a dry thanks and
shoves it under his head, fluffing it a couple of times until he’s comfortable.
I snap on a pair of gloves and spend the next few minutes prepping my
station. Plastic wrap, paper towels, ink, water, ointment, finishing with
wrapping my machine. When it’s all done, I grab a sharpie and roll back
over, taking in the canvas I have to work with. The angle is kind of odd, but
I think it’s just perfect enough for what I have in mind.
“Mind if I freehand?”
“Go for it,” he mumbles. I can’t see his eyes with the back of his head
facing me, so I shrug and get to work, brushing the marker on his skin, the
vision in my head coming to life right before my eyes.
Putting my art onto other people’s bodies is the best experience of my
life, and every day I feel so fucking grateful Amos and I got the hell out of
our small-minded town and followed our dreams, even though he still
struggles with who he left behind.
Me on the other hand… the family I left isn’t worth remembering.
That’s why I created my own with people who actually care about me, who
accept me. The way it should be.
The music playing from the speakers placed around the shop basks us in
a comfortable tune. Satisfied the outline is what I need it to be, I sit up
straight and tap his leg. “All right, why don’t you take a look and let me
know what you think of that? I can change anything you want or take it off
completely and start again.”
He lifts his head from the pillow and glances down at his leg. As his
eyes zero in on the marker, he goes completely still. Not even his chest
contracts with breaths. I hold my own, suddenly nervous about his reaction.
The vibes radiating off him aren’t good ones. But as if I almost imagined
the whole thing, he lowers his head back into the pillow, shifting a few
times to find a comfortable position, which I’m sure is kind of difficult with
his size.
“So…” I try, “what do you think?”
“It’s good,” he states. “Really good. Let’s do it.”
“You don’t want to get up and make sure you like the positioning or
anything?”
“Nope. No point really.”
“You sure?” I ask—because I always do.
“Yes, Jaxon.”
 Thump.
My heart slams against my breastbone, and I almost lurch from the
force. Jesus, what the fuck?
Swallowing, I steel my spine and pull my tray closer. After shaving the
hair from his leg, I clean his skin and grab a few paper towels. I grab my
machine and adjust the speed before dipping it into the ink. I flick my eyes
up to his half-hidden face. “Ready?” He just grunts in response, so I roll
with it. A man of few words, it seems.
Hours pass in a blur of black ink and the buzzing of the tattoo machine
as I work on Leo’s smooth skin. It really is the perfect canvas—the muscle
hard as a rock and his skin supple enough to manipulate the way I need to.
I find myself smiling and bobbing my head to the beat of the music now
playing: “Casual Sex” by My Darkest Days since my Nickelback playlist
already had a run-through. Leo takes that moment to break the comfortable
silence that has settled between us.
“So, do you own this place?”
His question throws me a little. I figured Vincent would have told him
about me, but nonetheless. “Yep.” I wipe off some of the excess ink and
lean over to dip again. “Me and my best friend, Amos, started this place
together almost four years ago.” I think back to the utter chaos of starting a
business. The headache of figuring out the right way to go about it, the
classes I took to ensure I didn’t fuck it up, the jobs I almost killed myself
working back to back.
Sure, we had the money we drained from our savings accounts back
home before our families caught on, but I hated using it. It felt like it put a
stain on our business, so I did everything in my power to make sure I didn’t
have to touch it.
Amos didn’t have the same dilemma, though. We’re fifty-fifty partners,
and he had no issue using his savings for anything, but then again, the
money his parents left him wasn’t tainted like mine felt.
“Anyway,” I shake my head, the tips of my hair brushing against my
brows as I do, “I figured Vincent would have told you about me since you
requested I empty my place before you would even come in.”
Yeah, I just put that out there, but how could I not? This man is far too
intense, controlling even, for it to be normal.
“Hmm,” he hums dryly. Seconds pass. “He did.”
 “Then, why are you even asking me?” I follow the outline of the blade,
adding small notches so it looks nicked.
“Because I want to hear it from you.”
“Okay…” What is this guy’s deal? “Why did I have to kick my friends
out?” I don’t even expect him to answer the question. He seems like
someone who wouldn’t be bothered in the slightest by ignoring someone so
blatantly.
My question goes unanswered for so long, I almost forgot I asked.
“I don’t like being around people I don’t know.” I glance up to find him
peering at me over his shoulder. Amber eyes cold, despite their warmth. I
scoff at his vague-ass response.
“You don’t know me.”
“Hmm,” he grunts. “And you don’t know me.”
“Hmm,” I mock him playfully, and I almost jump out of my skin at his
dark chuckle. It washes over me like liquid fire, burning a path of
gooseflesh in its wake. “I can get to know you if you want. You seem like
a…cool guy,” I try out the term. It feels sour on my tongue.
“I’m no one, Jaxon. Just a guy you happen to be tattooing at this
moment in time.”
“No one’s just one thing,” I tell him, as sure of that as I am that I’m
breathing. “If that were the case, we’d be pretty shallow.”
“A lot of people are.”
I chuff. “Yeah, you’re right about that. But you’re not.”
“You don’t know me.” His words come out sharp, with quite the bite,
and I pull back, meeting his gaze with a steely, assured one of my own. I
narrow my eyes, my brow arching, but the smile on my face grows larger at
the same rate his slight frown increases.
Watching the rarity of him showing emotions makes my head spin.
“True. Just like you don’t know me. But that’s part of the fun. Knowing
someone from their vibes, their words alone. Those show more than facts,
than opinions, ever could. I will always make my own assumptions based
on what I’ve experienced, rather than what I’ve been told.
“So, you’re right. I don’t know you. But I’ve spent a few hours with you
so far, and I’d say I’ve gathered my fair share of knowledge. Enough to
make my own basic assessment. And I’d say you’re not as tough as you
act.”
 Shit, I probably shouldn’t have said that to someone who could
definitely kill me with his bare hands if he wanted to.
I finish the last line with a flourish, and the buzzing of the machine cuts
off. I wipe the tattoo and clean the excess ink off before rolling away.
“Go take a look.” When he doesn’t move, I meet his steely gaze, my lip
ring locked between my teeth. Leo just stares me down, not moving, not
blinking, before finally, he huffs and slides off the chair. I turn around
quickly at the sight of his black boxer briefs sliding down his thigh. I hike
my thumb over my shoulder.
“Mirror’s just over there in the corner. You’ll have to come back at least
one more time. Maybe two depending on how you’re healing and how your
skin is taking it.”

OceanofPDF.com
 6

LEO

T he light from above causes the metal in his face to glint , forcing
my gaze to the three metal hoops in his button nose—one through each
nostril and one in the middle. There’s a bar through his eyebrow and
another hoop in his lip, accentuating his dimples.
His bleached-blonde hair is almost white, with dark roots at the very top
and where it’s shaved short on the sides and in the back, but it’s his eyes
that steal any venomous thoughts from my mind. Such an intense sky-blue,
they couldn’t possibly be real.
He's such a…strange-looking man. I’ve been around thousands of
people in my time, but no one has ever looked quite like this. Uniquely
themselves and assured of it. His black jeans and button-down black and
white striped shirt say as much. Especially since the only thing keeping it
from falling off his shoulders is the material carelessly tucked into the
waistband of his pants. Patchwork tattoos are on display across his chest,
stomach, and arms where his sleeves are rolled up to his elbows.
It throws me off because I fucking know people. Understanding people,
their motives, their behavior, has been my life for two decades, so I’ve
definitely honed my skills over those years. I’d like to say I’ve come pretty
close to mastering it.
But Jaxon? He threw me a curveball, and now I’m pissed. I let my
guard down more than I should, showed more than I ever have, even if it
wasn’t anything by most people’s standards.
I don’t need this kind of shake-up. Not when I’m fighting to just fucking
breathe at this point. I can’t have more bumps in my already too-long road
where death waits for me.
His throat bobs when he catches me staring at him from across the
room, and I hiss, pissed off at myself again.
He’s just so fucking different.
And funny.
I’ve caught myself chuckling quite a few times at his little quips. It’s
unusual, the vibration of the laugh working its way through my throat and
between my lips. I truly couldn’t say the last time I laughed. Probably with
Vincent at some point because that motherfucker is too fuckin’ crazy.
Speaking of Vincent…something is going on with him. He’s being
dodgy—and he’s always been pretty upfront about everything—but he
hasn’t been hitting me up for jobs, constantly held up in his house.
I do everything I can to keep my two lives separate, but the temptation
to have someone figure out what’s going on is almost too much to resist.
But I do—just barely—only because it’s not right for me to use it to my
advantage when I want it and hate it every second regardless.
Standing in front of the body length mirror—well, body length for the
average person—my eyes drop to my hip. The outline is solid, the skin
around it reddened from the pounding of the needles, but fuck, it looks
good.
My stomach twists at what Jaxon inadvertently put on my body. A
goddamn Reaper. It’s not something I ever would have chosen, but when I
looked down at it, and then his face, lip between his teeth, metal glinting as
he chewed on it with a small smile… I couldn’t say no.
Besides, I’ve seen the ink on Vincent. He’s damn fucking good, and I
knew I wouldn’t regret it. And I don’t necessarily, but the memories this
evokes, the stark reminder of my true life… Well, that I regret.
The line work is solid. He only got the outline done because it’s going
to be a large, heavily detailed piece, but what’s there so far is phenomenal,
and I can only imagine how great it’s going to look once it’s finished.
I turn away from my reflection in the mirror, grateful I’m taller than it
so I can’t see my own face as I awkwardly hold my boxers over my junk
and pathetically hobble over to where Jaxon is sitting. He’s fiddling with his
supplies, and when he senses me looming behind him, his body tenses,
shoulders hiking and hands stilling. He slowly spins around, raising his
brow as he looks up at me, that playful fucking grin splayed across his face.
 “You’re awfully fucking quiet for such a big guy,” he remarks, and I
can’t help the laugh that bursts out of me, full and loud. It must startle him
because he reels back, eyes wide as he takes me in before his smile widens
impossibly big, making something warm churn in my chest.
He seems so happy, so…good.
I can’t remember what that feels like, but being around him makes it
feel like maybe I could again.
“Are you always this happy?” I ask before I can think, instantly biting
my tongue and clenching my hands into fists at my side. Years of training
not to show my emotions but one night with this dude and it’s all gone out
the fucking window.
What a joke.
If he’s offended by my question, he doesn’t act like it. He shrugs,
grabbing plastic wrap, and starts sticking it to my leg meticulously. “No, but
I’ve been through enough shit in my life that I take advantage of every
ounce of happiness I can find. What’s the point of it all if we can’t be
happy? If we can’t enjoy what we want for ourselves?”
I absorb his works as they seep into my brain, hitting something buried
impossibly deep. Happiness. What an odd prospect.
His hands are cold as he swipes them over my skin, pressing them
against me before leaning over and grabbing some tape. He picks at the roll,
working the end up before tearing a few pieces off to keep it in place.
“Sorry, that was too much information shared between two strangers.” He
laughs again, but this time, it sounds forced.
I place my finger under his chin and raise his head until his gaze flutters
to my face. His breath fans across the back of my hand with every
contraction of his chest. His irises are bright like a sunny sky, reflecting the
purity in his soul.
He radiates light, so bright it could shatter any shadow of darkness. My
grip tightens begrudgingly. He winces, and I drop my hand like he’s on fire,
taking a step back. Grabbing my clothes, I hurriedly pull them on.
It’s quiet—too quiet—and the voices in my head start shouting. It’s
disorienting, and I stumble, reaching for the chair to balance myself.
Jaxon’s hand lands on my forearm, and I hiss, pulling away from him on
instinct. He steps back, hands in the air.
“Sorry, sorry. You just got really pale and then swayed, so I was
worried. You okay?” I peer over my shoulder, still hunched over the chair
before dropping my head between my shoulders.
“How about you sit, and I’ll get you some water? Yeah, water.” He
disappears into the back room, and I take the moment of solidarity to regain
my composure. I look utterly fucking pathetic at this point.
Jaxon’s footsteps thud across the floor in my peripheral. He thrusts a
bottle of water into my hand. “Drink this and take some deep breaths. You
could be lightheaded from the tattoo—it happens sometimes,” he notes, and
I scoff, but I pop the cap and upend the bottle, suddenly fucking parched.
After a few minutes, I open my eyes, finding his already locked on me.
“Well, some of your color has returned, so that’s good. How are you
feeling?”
Having someone ask that question to me, of all people, is absolutely
ridiculous, but I can’t fault him for that when he doesn’t know me—when
no one does. It’s so fucking lonely, but it’s my own fault.
“Fine,” I answer him so he doesn’t ask again. The slow intro of “Put
Your Lights On” by Santana lulls from the speakers, and I tap my finger to
the beat.
“What shit have you been through?” I blurt but steel my expression
when he shoots me an odd look. He fidgets with his lip piercing—a nervous
habit of his I’ve noticed.
“Why are you asking me that?” He rests his elbows on his knees and
clasps his hands, staring at me through wisps of blonde hair brushing his
eyelashes.
“You brought it up.”
“I know. But why?”
I resist the urge to roll my eyes. Add defiant and stubborn to his list of
attributes. “Just making conversation.” Like normal fucking people would, I
want to add but don’t.
“So you’re trying to be friendly…” he trails off, that fucking dimpled
smirk playing at his lips again. It’s… nice. “While staring at me like you’re
planning my murder.”
That little fucking shit. I barrel out a laugh, throwing my head back at
his unexpected burst of wit. My face warms along with my gut, and when
my laughter subsides, I find myself staring at him with a smile of my own.
“You have no idea,” I play back, fumbling slightly over my words. This
is foreign territory for me, but his snicker solidifies my quip was exactly
what I was hoping it’d come off as.
 “So the big guy can joke.” He shakes his head. “Good to know.” The
smile has fallen from my lips. I didn’t expect the simple twitch of my
mouth to take so much energy to keep in place, but I already feel drained
from it.
Jaxon stands and brushes his hands down the front of his jeans before
running his fingers through his hair. As the longer strands are pulled back, I
can see a flash of the shaved, dark roots on the side. It’s an odd haircut, but
it suits him and his… uniqueness.
Sensing his words of my departure, I pull my phone out and shoot a text
to Blaine, telling him where to pick me up since Vincent’s stupid ass
brought me here and then left. I’m not surprised though; Vin’s always been
a self-centered prick, but I love him anyway in spite of it all.
A text comes through almost immediately.
B:
Be there in ten.

I roll my eyes. That fucker was following me again; I know it.

Whenever I tell him to leave me the fuck alone, he doesn’t listen, spewing
about how it’s too dangerous. Which, granted, he might be right, but this is
my private life for a reason. How the hell can it stay private when he’s
always lurking in the shadows, waiting for anything to happen?
Pocketing my phone, I pull out a handful of hundreds and meet Jaxon at
the counter. I push them into his hand. “I’ll be back in a few weeks for the
next session. Please have the place empty again.” He stares down at the
exuberant payment before trying to shove it back into my hand. I pull back
quickly.
“This is too much,” he states, his lips set into a firm line. I smirk.
“Not really. Stellar work, nice conversation, and a mostly peaceful
environment. I’ll pay good money for that any time.”
He scoffs. “Mostly. And that has nothing to do with your grumpy
attitude.” I rear back, somewhat offended. I thought I’d been perfectly civil.
He must see my surprise because he says, “You look at people like you
want to kill them, Leo. It’s unnerving. But lucky for you, I don’t think
you’ll try to kill me.”
My phone vibrates in my pocket—probably Blaine telling me he’s here.
“Well, not today.” His lips quirk, eyes flickering over my face. My skin
crawls, watching him watching me. Silence buzzes around us. I need to go,
but… just one more second of serenity.
“We’re gonna be great friends, Leo,” Jaxon states matter-of-factly,
throwing me off kilter. I tilt my head a fraction to the side, absorbing his
words.
“I don’t think darkness can be friends with light, Jaxon. Thanks for
tonight. I’ll call in a few weeks to set up a time.” And I’m out the door,
chest heaving, mind reeling as the rain pours down, drenching my shirt.
Blaine opens the door for me, and I jump into the seat, staring blankly
out the windshield into the blurry Portland night as I light a cigarette,
wallowing in everything I hate about myself.

OceanofPDF.com
 7

LEO

T hree W eeks L ater

“L eo , you need to get the fuck out here .” B laine ’ s voice cuts off
sharply at the end, showcasing the depth of his irritation.
Too bad I don’t give a fuck.
I petulantly flip off the door and roll onto my side, curling my legs up
until my breathing is constricted. My temples pulse painfully with the
hangover curdling my body. Or maybe I’m still drunk; who the fuck knows.
All I do know is I’m not getting out of this bed for shit—and I’m
already regretting coming back here. I knew Blaine would be on my ass
about everything, but does it have to be this goddamn early?
His loud fist hammers on the wood again, sending a deep, reverberating
thud through the walls. I grit my teeth and throw the covers off. Hissing as
my bare feet hit the cold, wooden floor, I stop in front of the door and swing
it open.
Blaine’s eyes narrow in disapproval as he does a once-over of me clad
in only my briefs. He may be in his mid-sixties, but the man doesn’t fucking
look it or act like it. He’s still as fit and capable as he was when Jameson
was in charge, just a little more weathered.
But now I am, and I’m just the family disappointment.
I lean against the door jam, crossing my arms over my chest. Blaine
steps back, giving me space out of respect. He meets my eyes. “We have a
meeting tonight with the Sullivans. Should go over as well as usual, but
they’ve requested your presence.”
 That surprises me. We’ve done business amicably for years, and I
haven’t had to show my face for almost as long as Blaine handles most of
the bullshit I don’t care to, which is just about all of it.
“Why?” I ask, turning around to get dressed. Blaine follows me in and
shuts the door behind him before standing in front of it, hands clasped. He’s
dressed in black slacks and a button-down, his salt and pepper hair a stark
contrast to the material. His weathered face is pinched, and I immediately
take notice.
I pull my shirt over my head. “What’s going on, Blaine?”
“They’re requesting an increase in supply.”
“An increase?” I yank my socks up and shove my feet into my boots,
leaving them untied.
“That’s what I fucking said,” he grates, and I arch a brow. He clears his
throat and shakes his head. “Sorry, boss.”
I ignore his bullshit, sarcastic-ass apology. We don’t do that shit; it is
what it is.
“How much more?” I root around in the bed for my half-crushed pack
of Marlboro’s. Putting one to my lips, my eyes close briefly as I spark a
lighter and blindly bring it to the end. My depth perception has gotten
impeccable after all this time, and I’m able to light my smoke without issue.
I hold out the pack to Blaine, and he takes one with a mumbled thanks. I
hand over the lighter. After he takes a deep inhale of poison and nicotine, he
removes himself from the door, wandering over to the large window on the
east side of the room.
He draws back the curtains and stares down at the expansive yard. A
few of our men wander about, armed and at the ready, though you’d never
guess from their casual stances.
“Double.”
“Jesus fucking Christ,” I grumble irritably. “Three fuckin’ dozen AKs
isn’t enough?”
“I suppose not. They also asked for double the ammo, obviously, and
wanted to know what we had in stock for Nines.”
“Something’s going on, and we need to figure out what the fuck it is.
Tell Alec I’ll meet with him tonight, but he’s not getting dick until he
explains to me what the fuck is happening in my goddamn city. And we
sure as fuck aren’t increasing our supply from Ivan,” I mumble, mostly to
myself.
 “This isn’t your city anymore, Leo. Hasn’t been for years and everyone
knows it. Sure, if someone needs guns, we’re their go-to, but we’re falling
into the fucking trenches—because of you,” he sneers, and I whip around to
glare at him, but I couldn’t deny it, even if I wanted to.
“You know I don’t want this life, Blaine,” I explain tiredly. I crack open
the window, and we both drop the butts to the ground.
“Do you really think that matters? You’re in it, and there’s no fucking
out unless your dead.”
“Well, maybe the Grim and I will meet sooner than I expected,” I
mumble.
“Don’t fucking talk like that. I haven’t kept you alive all these years for
you to take the coward’s way out.” My hands connect with his chest before
I register what I’m doing. I shove Blaine back until he stumbles into the
wall. He looks bored, and it only serves to piss me off more. I crowd against
him, my fist raised and aimed at his fucking jaw.
“Don’t fucking talk to me about being a coward,” I spit venomously. He
has no fucking clue what I’ve endured to stay in this life for Jameson.
Because I owe him everything.
“What are you going to do, Leo?” he asks, almost conversationally. “Hit
me? Would that make you feel better?” He sighs and relaxes his body into
the wall. I step back, my arm lowering. “No? Well, all right then. Get the
fuck over yourself.” He rolls his shoulders, and we both shift into silence.
“And no, of course, we’re not going to Ivan over this bullshit demand.
The less we see of him, the better.”
I’m losing my fucking mind, growing more irritable every day. And I
hate the fact that I hate this life I was given as much as I do. This business
was Jameson’s entire life, and he entrusted it to me, and I’ve done nothing
but let him down since the moment he took his last breath.
Fuck, I don’t want to do this. “Well, call Alec. Tell him what I said.
We’ll meet at the docks and if I deem his explanation worthy, then he’ll get
what he wants. And tell him he’s paying full price. No more fucking
discount after this stunt he’s pulled. That’s what he gets for lying to me.”
Blaine huffs a breath, his eyes lighting up with dark amusement.
“You’ve got it, boss,” he snarks.
“Fuck off. And tell Sebastian to meet me in the basement.”
Blaine stops with his hand on the door. “And what should I tell him to
bring?”
 “A knife.”
“Christ. Don’t fucking kill each other,” he grumbles like an exasperated
father as he leaves me alone with the click of the latch.

S weat rolls off my face , soaking the mat underneath my bare feet .
Seb crouches across from me, knife in hand, glistening with my blood. My
eyes drop to the blade before tracking down to his feet, watching the way
they bounce back and forth in preparation for my next attack.
My skin itches uncontrollably, adding to the fire in my gut. My own fist
aches from the few punches I’ve landed to his ribs, but I restrained myself.
It’ll bruise without a doubt, but this is more to work on my agility and for
me to hyperfocus on my senses.
Ever since meeting Jaxon a few weeks ago, I’ve felt like my entire mind
has gone to shit, and with this meeting happening tonight, I need to have
my fucking wits about me. One wrong move by anyone and it could be a
bloodbath. Which, granted, is always the case, but I’m the one that’s never
there, so it’s new territory all around. And I know this change in routine
will have Blaine’s panties in a wad.
Seb lunges, swiping the blade just as I twist to the left, spinning around
his side. We end up on opposite sides again. He’s got a wicked gleam in his
eye, the very same one I remember from the warehouse…
I shake my head at the memories of mutilated bodies and thick, black
smoke. Seb uses my distraction to his advantage, and I’m a second too late
to dodge it. The edge of the blade slices through the skin on my rib cage,
rivulets of red sluicing down my abdomen almost immediately. I hiss and
lunge away, curling in on myself. My ears thump to the sound of my own
blood rushing through my veins, my adrenaline peaked.
His loud cackle echoes, bouncing off the cement walls. I hear the clatter
of the knife as he drops it to the ground, and when I glance up, he has his
arms raised in the air in triumph. “I’d say that means I fuckin’ win.” He’s
beaming. It’s so fucking annoying. “The Grim’s getting slow in his old
age.”
 Sometimes I forget he’s not much younger than me. He’s always been
such a young soul.
“Yeah, sure,” I grit, swiping my hand over the cut. “And I’m not
fucking old.” It’s just a flesh wound, but fuck, does it sting. I straighten up,
curling my fingers tighter around the brass digging in between them.
Sebastian’s eyes drop to my hand at the same time the smile disappears
from his face. When he notices the glint in my eye, he takes a step back,
holding his hands up for an entirely new reason.
“Hey, man, chill. It was just some practice.” He steps back, feet off the
mat now.
I lift my hand from my ribs, feeling the slip and slide of the blood
coating my fingers and drenching the shorts around my waist. “Just some
practice?”
“You act like this isn’t your idea of practice!” He’s pleading now, and I
almost let my grin slip—almost. “You said it has to be real, or you can’t get
in the zone. Come on, Leo.”
“Enough, boys.” Blaine’s voice echoes around us, and both our heads
whip to where he’s standing on the other side of the room. Every piece of
gym equipment you can imagine fills this place. Exerting myself physically
in every way possible is the only way I can get out of my head, but nothing
can beat a little one-on-one action.
“Thank fuck,” Seb breathes out, and I finally let my grin crack loose.
He stares at me, dumbfounded, before laughing. “You motherfucker. You’re
still as terrifying as the day I met you, you know that, Grim?”
I fucking hate that name. But names have power, and I’m about to make
sure mine still does.
Blaine matches my strides as we make our way through the halls so I
can shower and get bandaged up before we leave. “The doctor will be here
in twenty to get you fixed up. Dumbass,” he mumbles, but I let it slide.
It’s the only way I feel alive anymore.
With the hot rush of water hammering down my back, I finally let my
mind drift back to Jaxon. Jaxon Ashtor Fitz is his name. He was born in
Alabama into a super religious family before he and his best friend, Amos
Ashby, skipped town when they were just eighteen. They came here, of all
fucking places, where they started Vice Tattoo. That’s as far as I let myself
get before I slammed my laptop closed and drank myself to sleep.
 If there’s one thing I’m not going to do, it’s snoop into his fucking life
when he never asked for that. I think I just have to accept the fact that if he
wants to tell me something, I’ll have to wait for him to divulge it. But that
means I’ll see him again, talk to him, be his fucking friend…
I don’t even know what that means.
He’s twenty-two. I’m fifteen fucking years his senior—closer to sixteen
—so why am I even thinking about any of this?
“We’re gonna be great friends, Leo.” I keep hearing his voice in my
head, saying that single fucking sentence again and again. That’s why, I
sneer. His young naivety is abundantly obvious, and I know I need to stay
away from him, but his light, his joy, is so overwhelming, I can’t help but
want to absorb a little piece of it for myself. Every ounce of restraint I have
keeping me away is dangerously close to snapping.
“Selfish,” I scoff to myself in disgust, hating the direction of my
thoughts as I vigorously scrub the sweat and blood from my skin, feeling
my torn flesh protest from the pressure. I know if I try to form a friendship
with him, I’ll only end up tainting him. The only other friend I have made
outside of this life is Vincent, but that’s a different scenario altogether.
Vincent was just a runaway, broken boy when I first met him cowering
behind a dumpster near my pub. Still to this day, I can’t say how exactly I
saw him through the sheets of rain, but I did. He was such a venomous kid,
full of mistrust and hatred, but who could blame him with the mother he
had?
I took him under my wing, gave him shelter, a job, everything he ever
could have needed. Our relationship has grown exponentially, from playing
the role of caretaker—if you can even call it that—to one of genuine
friendship, and I’ve learned to love him with every bit of me I have left.
Turning the shower off, I let the cool air lick across my wet body.
Gooseflesh burns down my spine as I step out and wrap a towel around
myself. Padding across the floor, dripping as I go, I plant my ass on the foot
of my bed, pulling up Vin’s number. It rings endlessly before cutting off
into a generic voicemail.
Huffing, I toss my phone behind me. I’ve barely heard from him since
that night at Vice, and I’m starting to worry.
He may be twenty four now—a whole ten fucking years older than
when I first met him. But that doesn’t mean I still don’t care for him like I
did. I just show it differently—in the form of the toughest love because he’s
not one to accept any form of joy without expecting to give something in
return.
I know he can take care of himself now. Hell, he could back then, but
he’s been off his fucking rocker lately. More erratic and pissed off than
usual. It’s gotta be a woman affecting him this way.
I need to find him.
But first, I have to deal with this Sullivan bullshit.
Knuckles rap on my door. “Come in,” I tell him, and the doctor silently
makes his way into the room and sets his bag on the bed. He turns toward
me, and I stand, lifting my left arm to show him.
He tsks, and I puff out a breath. “Not too bad, doc,” I joke, and he rolls
his eyes as he snaps on some gloves before grabbing antiseptic and
examining the wound.
“Wouldn’t be the first time you’ve said that. Thankfully, this time you
happen to be correct. It looks to be just a flesh wound, but I do need to put a
few sutures in there to make sure it doesn’t open back up with your…
strenuous activity. But that doesn’t mean you should go all Rambo before
they’re taken out.”
I lie back, shoving a pillow under my head as I get situated. A hiss
escapes from between my lips at the slight pinch of a needle disappearing
into my skin. The area quickly goes numb and the desire to close my eyes is
almost overwhelming, but I resist the pull, instead forcing myself to watch
as Doctor Carsen cleans and stitches up my wound.
The tugging sensation of the needle along with the visual of it sliding
through my skin is surreal, but it doesn’t take him long to complete the task
and get me bandaged up with instructions to keep it dry and clean—along
with a sharp reminder to take it easy. Whatever that means.
I thank him and pull myself up as he disappears behind the door without
a word. I glance down at the gauze and pick at the tape stuck to my skin.
“Fucking Seb,” I grate and yank my shirt over my head.
Picking up my phone, I try giving Vincent another call but to no avail.
Stupid motherfucker is going to get a surprise when I show up at his place
unannounced tonight. It’ll make him insane, but fuck if I care after he’s
been ignoring me.
After a few hours, I meet Blaine in Jameson’s office. It’s technically
mine, but it’ll always be his. He’s dressed to the nines in a suit, whereas I’m
clad in jeans and a t-shirt. He looks me up and down before meeting my
gaze.
“Don’t even start. I’m not putting one of those stuffy fucking things on
for a goddamn meeting.”
“I didn’t say anything,” he drawls. I blindly light a cigarette.
“You didn’t have to, old man.” We walk down the corridor together,
Seb, Roy, and a few of the other guys meeting up with us on the way to the
garage. We jump into the SUVs and start the hour-and-a-half drive to the
docks.
It’s dark by the time we pull up to the warehouse—a few minutes’ walk
from the water. We get posted inside as we wait for Alec’s arrival, which
doesn’t take long. At least he knows not to keep me fucking waiting.
By the time he steps inside, two of his men flanking him, my irritation
has risen. I’ve got my men armed and posted by the door and behind me, as
well as Blaine and Seb on either side of me. I drag the metal chair out from
the table in the middle of the room and plant my ass right in it, arms crossed
over my chest.
My stitches pull, and I mentally grit my teeth as I stare Alec down as he
walks across the concrete floor. The sound of his leather shoes clicking with
every step grates on my nerves. He stops a few feet away, hands clasped in
front, a blatant display of peace. He must sense my annoyance.
“Leo, good to see you,” he says with a smile I don’t match. I arch a
brow.
“The fuck’s going on, Alec.” It’s not a question. I watch with vague
amusement as his throat bobs with a swallow, his fingers twitching.
His smile broadens. “Oh, you know, just trying to up the stock—”
“Don’t try to fucking bullshit me.” The chair scrapes across the floor as
I stand, and even a few feet away, I fucking tower over him. His eyes follow
me, his neck arching slightly as he keeps eye contact. “Shit’s been going on,
and you seem to think you can simply ask to fucking double your usual
order and I won’t demand to know why?”
“It’s just business as usual, Leo. Nothing to report.” His men shift
uneasily next to him as I bring myself a foot closer. A noticeable wave of
anger festers in my gut, pulsating up and through my ribcage where it
settles deep in my chest.
I’m so sick of this shit.
 “Is that the story you’re going with?” I ask, leveling him with only a
look. He fidgets but stands his ground. Foolish fucking man. He acts like
Blaine didn’t fill me in about the shootout that happened in Hillsboro a few
nights ago. Seven bodies turned up, and two of them were Alec’s men.
They’re in the middle of a goddamn turf war, and they’re trying to bring
my family into it. The Harms are what most people would call Switzerland
around here. We’re a crime syndicate. We deal guns. We fucking kill. But
now, it’s only when we have to. We’ve worked fucking hard to establish our
position and everyone respects that—for the most part.
But then, we have stupid sons of bitches like Alec here, who keep trying
to bring us back into the deep shit without truly understanding the
consequences of their actions.
But he’s about to.
“That’s all there is to tell.” I sigh. Man, I was truly hopeful I wasn’t
going to have to get bloody tonight.
Who am I kidding? It was always going to end this way. I’m not risking
getting deeper with Ivan Volkov for Alec’s bullshit fucking wants. Not for
anyone. Seb twitches in my peripheral. He knows what’s coming. They all
do.
The tension rises so fucking fast that when I lick my lips, I can taste it—
the strong flavor of fear and desperation. It’s salty, bitter, and pathetically
disappointing.
My eyes meet Roy’s from where he’s positioned by the door. Our eyes
connect for three solid seconds before I blink, telling him to get at it. I take
a step back just as the first bullet flies into the back of Alec’s right-hand
man’s head—I couldn’t be fucked to remember his name. His head snaps
forward from the force, eyes frozen open before he drops to the ground.
It all happens in a matter of seconds, and before any of his men have
even a second to recognize what just happened, four more bullets pelt into
the other guy’s skull. In my peripheral, I see a few of my men shuffling as
they make their way outside to take care of the others.
Alec’s expression widens into one of shock. His hand goes to his waist,
probably on instinct, and that’s when I step forward, my brass knuckles
already wrapped around my fist. If there’s one thing I take pleasure in when
it comes to this shit, it’s this. The feel of metal biting into my flesh as I
fucking steal someone’s life from them, as I watch their soul drain from
their eyes, sent to an infinite purgatory.
 “Mmm,” I hum, putting myself almost flush against him. He’s shaking.
He knows what’s coming. What he brought upon himself with his bullshit
and lies. He really only has himself to blame. “I wouldn’t do that if I were
you.” I tilt my chin toward his waist, and he drops his hand by his side,
standing helplessly in front of me.
“Leo, please, I—”
I bark out a laugh, dry and dour. “Seb, you catch that shit? He’s begging
already.”
“Goddamnit,” he rouses, and I can almost see the roll of his eyes in my
mind.
“Owe me a hundred,” I muse as I raise my fist into Alec’s line of sight.
He eyes the metal, throat bobbing continuously. Sweat beads on his
hairline, giving his face quite the ugly sheen.
“Fuckin’ prick,” Seb says from somewhere behind me, and my lips
twitch. It’s like taking candy from a kid.
“Be reasonable,” Alec tries again, and I rear back, my eyes widening
along with my grin.
“Be reasonable?” I cackle, head thrown back. I’m feeling a bit crazed,
the lust of death looming. I forgot how fucking sweet it tasted—and the
inevitable crash that comes after.
“Oh, Alec. You have no idea how reasonable I’m being.” And with that,
my knuckles connect with his cheekbone. A resounding crack echoes
through my mind as he falls backward, landing hard on his ass. Blood leaks
from the harsh cut along his already swollen cheekbone. He grabs his face,
eyes scrunched shut as he bellows out in pain.
Yeah, I’m sure that hurt like a motherfucker. And this is only the
beginning.
Blood sprays across my face, over the concrete Alec’s clinging to, nails
chipping off as he makes pathetic attempts to crawl away from me.
Seb’s cackle rings loud, followed by a sickening thud. I hear the scuffs
of shoes, wails and cries coming from helpless mouths.
Yeah. This is always how it was supposed to end. Bloody and painful.
“D id you have to make such a mess ?” B laine grumbles moodily as
he rinses the blood from the concrete with the hose. Roy, Seb, Major, and
O’Leary took the bodies out onto the water a few hours ago. They’ll be
back soon, but for now, it’s just us and a few more men: Jerry, Kline, and
Rooks. Together, we work to clean the place up, and by the time we’re done
and stinking of chemicals, my body is aching, especially my ribs.
“I’m gonna fucking kill Seb,” I gripe as I wipe my forehead with the
back of my hand, cigarette between my lips.
“You shouldn’t have been playing with knives if you didn’t want to get
stabbed.” Every time Blaine opens his mouth, he just sounds like a
disappointed father.
It’s as amusing as it is aggravating. It reminds me of Jameson.
The dull roar of the boat motor has us all walking out to meet the rest of
them. The seven of us pile into the cars and start the long ass drive home.
As I stare out the windshield, chain smoking, I call Vincent ten times over,
and he still doesn’t fucking answer.
Now that the bullshit from tonight has subsided temporarily, I know I’ll
have to deal with the blowback of this in a few days, but right now, all of
my attention is focused on Vincent’s stupid ass.
By the time we finally pull down the drive, my leg is bouncing
anxiously. I don’t even bother to shower before I’m throwing myself into
the driver’s seat and high tailing my way back out of the estate, leaving
Blaine staring after me with a face full of confusion.
My phone vibrates repetitively, and finally, I swipe to answer and hit
speaker.
“Where the fuck are you going?” Blaine demands.
“To find Vincent.” I suck in a lungful of nicotine. My fingers clasp
tighter around the steering wheel, knuckles aching and bruised.
“What the fuck did he do now?” He sounds exasperated, and I can’t
really blame him. Vin’s pesky.
“I don’t know, but I’m going to find out.”
“Just let me know.” He hangs up, and I toss my phone in the passenger
seat. The road blurs as I drive, and time seems to slow until I’m pulling
down Vincent’s long ass gravel driveway. The trees are abundant out here
because his house is in the fucking middle of a woodland area—nothing but
trees and fields.
 But it’s his peace, the only place that ever felt like home, he told me
once. And I respect that, admire it even. To feel comfort surrounded by
nothing, utterly alone.
When I pull up in front of his house, my eyes skim the walls of
windows, but I don’t see a single light turned on. I jump out of the car and
hurry up the long, wooden steps leading to his front door.
When my hand claps around the handle, I find it unlocked, and my hand
drops to my waistband on instinct. I pull out my pistol and keep it aimed as
my eyes scour through the darkness. I strain my ears, but all I’m met with is
hammering silence.
I creep my way through the open floor plan of his house, checking the
small hallway and the bathroom before inching up the floating stairs, my
eyes trained on the landing and the doors on either side.
It’s eerily silent, and I don’t fucking like it.
Gun aimed, I turn sharply into each room I pass, each one vacant.
Vincent’s room is coming into view, and when my feet step closer, I can
vaguely hear a sound I recognize all too well. My gut tightens painfully.
Barrel aimed at the door, I push it open.
The first thing I notice is the fucking blood. My vision tunnels as my
eyes trail up Vincent’s still form. He’s naked with a fucking hole in his
shoulder. Blood coats his lips, some trickling down his chin.
I shove my gun in my waistband as I run up to him. Kneeling on the
bed, my eyes drop to his shoulder before I grab his face. He’s so fucking
pale. Vomit churns, burning my throat, but I force it down as I slap my palm
across his face. His head snaps to the side, his eyes remaining closed.
Panic claws its way through, and my hands tremble as I try to wake
him, but it’s useless. I rip a pillowcase off a pillow and ball it up as I shove
it against his shoulder, applying as much pressure as I can. The force makes
his eyelids flicker, a rasped groan falling from his blood-soaked lips.
“Vin, can you hear me?” His head rolls to the side. “Fuck!”
With a bloody hand, I dig into my pocket and pull my phone out. It slips
through my fingers. “God fucking damnit.” My voice shakes, and my hands
tremble in beat with my heart battering against my ribs.
“Come on.” I get it unlocked and call the only person I can. It seems to
ring for-fucking-ever before Blaine’s unamused voice cuts through the
noise.
“What, Leo?”
 “Fuck, Blaine, I need help!” I’m shouting, but I can’t help it. It’s all
flooding back. Orange fire, white sheets, water running past my shoes.
I hear a scraping noise on the other end before the thundering of
footsteps. He shouts to someone, and my eyes squeeze shut with a wince.
“What happened?” he asks, and I shrug before I remember he can’t see me.
“Vin was shot. I don’t fucking know a goddamn thing other than he’s
bleeding too much, and he won’t fucking wake up!” Hysterics fly from my
lips as I increase pressure, hating the soaked fabric wedged between my
aching fingers. I stare down at his limp body, and he morphs into a blurred
blob. It’s so fucking quiet.
It’s not until I blink that my vision clears somewhat.
“Leo, listen to the sound of my voice. Can you hear me?” Blaine centers
me, and I choke out a sound of acknowledgment. “You know what to do.
You do. Ignore the quiet and just listen.”
I choke back a sob and suck in a breath through my nose, hating the
metallic scent of blood permeating the room. Shaking my head, I bring my
fingers to his nose, feeling the faint tickle of his exhales. His pulse is
thready, but it’s there.
I relay all of that to Blaine robotically, and he murmurs to someone who
must be next to him. “I’m on my way to the hospital. Oscar will be there in
less than ten minutes with an ambulance right behind him. You need to get
out of there before they do.”
“I’m not fucking doing that,” I hiss, hating that he could even suggest…
“I can only do so much, Leo! My pockets don’t go that goddamn deep.”
“No, but mine do. I’ll meet you there.” I hang up and focus on the fact
that Vin’s breathing and someone’s coming for him. Someone who can
actually fucking help him because it isn’t me.
I’ve never helped a single soul; I only destroy them.
The hands of Death…
My ears perk at the sound of tires crunching over the gravel, followed
by the heavy wail of an ambulance.
“Just a little longer, Vince. Hold on, man. Just fucking hold. On.” I’m
pleading helplessly to his unconscious body. I can’t lose him.
Footsteps hammer up the steps, and Oscar flies into the room. He
shoves his way between me and Vincent and gets to work checking his
vitals. I release the pressure on his gunshot wound for a split second so I
can twist around the doc. I press back down, and Vincent’s body lurches,
blood flying from his mouth as he groans.
“Well, that’s a good sound,” the doc mumbles, moving his stethoscope
across his chest. More footsteps. Three more people flood the room and
surround Vin. I don’t move—I can’t.
“Leo, you’ve got to move so we can get him to the hospital.” It takes
every ounce of willpower in me to lift my trembling hands and step back. I
stumble against the wall, hands held out in front of me as I stare down at his
blood covering them.
It’s not the first time I’ve been covered in someone else’s blood—but it
is the first time since I’ve been petrified for the person bleeding.
Blood whooshes in my ears, muffling their voices as they work together
over my best friend, getting him ready for transport. I follow helplessly
after them as they carry him down and get him loaded into the ambulance.
The doors slam shut, and I jump, blinking myself into the now as it all
snaps back into place. Doctor Carsen’s hand pats my arm, and I drop my
bleary gaze to his. His dark eyebrows are pinched, hair sweaty and in
disarray. A streak of blood stains the cuff of his white shirt, and I can’t take
my eyes off it.
“Are you good to drive?”
“I’m fine. I’ve gotta go.” I jump into my car and peel out, following the
disappearing red and blue lights like they’re my lifeline.
The last time I watched them disappear in front of me, I was left without
my life, my heart, and this time, I’m following to make sure I don’t lose it
again.

OceanofPDF.com
 8

LEO

I fucking hate hospitals . T hey ’ re cold , for one , and two , everyone
here is either sick, dying, or fucking crying.
It makes my skin crawl.
To say it’s been the longest fucking night is an understatement. Blaine
and I have spent endless hours dealing with the legality of this shit in the
form of phone calls and money transfers. I’m now a few hundred thousand
dollars broker, but it’s worth it to keep this shit off the radar—especially off
Ivan’s radar. I know he’d hate the fucking noise of this if he found out I was
involved in any capacity.
After what happened with the Sullivans, the last thing we need is a
gunshot victim bringing attention to us—as Blaine so eloquently kept
reminding me like I didn’t already fucking know that. Just like I kept
reminding him that it wasn’t my fault Vincent’s stupid ass got shot.
Now, as I’m sitting by his bed, staring at his pale face, I finally let
myself take a deep breath of relief.
He’s alive.
His hand twitches, and my eyes drop to it before darting up to his face.
His eyelids flutter for a few moments before cracking open dazedly. “Vin!
Can you hear me?” They droop shut again, and I jump out of my chair,
standing by his side, feeling frantic. I know he’ll live—they assured me of
that—but I just need to hear his voice.
When he opens his eyes again, he finds mine, and I breathe out before
going off into a rant. “What the fuck, Vin?!” I finally wheeze after I tell him
what I walked in on. I sound crazed, but goddamnit, the panic is still sitting
tightly in my chest.
He’s so goddamn stupid, I swear I could kill him myself right now.
Vincent coughs and tries to sit up before bellowing out in pain and
collapsing back onto the bed. A nurse we both didn’t notice—a paling
reminder of how fucked my head is—speaks up, telling Vincent to be
careful and explaining to him about his surgery and multiple blood
transfusions. The reminder makes my blood boil. He needs to tell me what
the fuck is going on right now.
“Thanks for everything, love,” I murmur, effectively dismissing her.
Vincent glances at me with an arched brow, and I roll my eyes, throwing my
hand out as if to say spit it the fuck out.
“I don’t even know what to fucking say, man. I fucked up big time.” He
lowers his head. Well, if that’s the understatement of the fucking century.
My hand connects with the back of his head as I smack him. “What the
fuck, man?!” he grates, and I smirk, crossing my arms over my chest,
feeling a bit better, but when he tells me I might want to sit across the room
for what he’s going to tell me, I lose all sense of satisfaction.
What I didn’t fucking expect was the spew of the last few weeks of his
life. He fucking kidnapped a girl named Essa, kept her against her will for
weeks before she apparently shot him and escaped. He goes into heavy
detail, and my mind spins with the deep repercussions of his utter stupidity.
This is too messy, but watching his face as he talks about her has my
interest piqued. He seems…heartbroken. But that can’t be right, can it? No,
not with Vincent. I’ve never seen him act any other way than bitterly hostile
toward everyone.
I lean forward, pressing my elbows into my thighs as I run my index
finger back and forth across my bottom lip. But…his fucking eyes tell an
entirely different story than the man I thought I knew.
After watching him fall back into a drug-induced slumber, I slip from
the room, cigarette already between my lips as I make my way out of the
God-forsaken hospital. The second the cool, damp air licks across my skin,
I flick my lighter, burning the end of it.
I lean back against the brick wall, relishing in the uneven ridges digging
into my shoulders. My eyes droop, exhaustion weighing down my limbs. I
haven’t slept in over thirty-six hours. I want nothing more than to drift to
sleep, but my mind is still wired, reeling with everything that’s happened.
 The darkness of my life consumes me like a plague.
I pull out my phone that Blaine brought me earlier to call him. “Can you
keep Roy and Seb here to keep an eye on Vincent? I’ve gotta leave for a
while,” I tell him the moment the line clicks.
“Already done. They’ve been in the waiting room. Where are you
going?” he asks, but I’m already hanging up. I can’t do any of this right
now. I jump into my car and peel out of the parking lot. Rain drizzles, and
that combined with the smoke from my endless cigarettes fogs the
windows. The numbers on the dash glow dully. It all blurs into a
meaningless reminder of the emptiness.
I weave the Escalade around cars, uncaring of their horns blaring in
trails behind me. Screeching onto Hawthorne Street, I finally press the
brakes and slow to a stop in front of Vice Tattoo. Cigarette pinched between
my fingers, I rotate the wheel as I parallel park between two cars, staring
into the darkened windows once I throw it in park.
My blunt nail digs into my bottom lip as I rub it back and forth. Smoke
creeps up and into my nostrils, making my eyes water. The dark, orange
skull logo on the front window takes up a large amount of space, but it’s
still relatively easy to see inside of it—and I don’t see a soul.
I tap my finger against my lip, taking a drag as I do. I don’t fucking
know what I’m doing here…except I do. I’m drawn to him like a moth to a
flame. A void of darkness seeking any particle of light.
My eyes dart to the glovebox and back to the front door before dropping
again. Fuck, this is insane, even for me. My breaths are even and controlled,
the steady thrum of my heart beating in time with each one. I can feel the
useless muscle throb, sending waves of…something into my gut. It churns
uncomfortably, but the mere thought of seeing his smile, no matter how
brief, is enough to have me reaching over and snapping the glove box open.
I pull out my lockpick and shove it in the front pocket of my jeans as I
push my way out of the car, crushing the cigarette under my boot. Mist
settles along my bare, sweat-slick skin. The hairs on the back of my neck
rise as I peer around. The streets are mostly empty with only dull, yellow
street lamps lighting random paths on the concrete.
While some part of me recognizes how fucked up this is, how many
boundaries I’m barreling my way over, the other, louder, part of me pushes
it back down. For the first time in so fucking long I’m taking what I need in
the moment.
 And that happens to be a stranger with a lovely smile that made my
heart beat for the first time in almost twenty years. He might not even be
here, but knowing he was has to be enough. It doesn’t make sense—none of
this does. I’ve never needed anyone. I’ve dealt with all of this all fucking
alone for my entire life.
What’s changed?
But I can’t think about that right now. I can’t think about anything.
When I glance down to shove the metal prongs into the lock, I notice
the dried flecks of blood smattered across my knuckles. My throat burns
with the acidity of vomit as it threatens to spew out of my mouth. I choke it
down, grimacing as it slides back down my esophagus.
The lock clicks, and I push the door open, wincing when the tell-tale
jingle sounds through the room. I straighten and slide through the smallest
opening possible, holding the door to close it quietly. I flick the lock back
over and amble across the open floor, bypassing the front desk. The dull
glow from the streetlamps outside makes it nearly impossible to make
anything out.
My breaths accelerate as I come to Jaxon’s station. It’s bare with
everything put away and so clean, it would probably sparkle if there was a
light on. My finger traces along the smooth, slick leather of the chair. It
trembles slightly, so I snatch it back.
My head jerks to the right at a barely audible thud sounding from
somewhere above me. My hand goes to my waistband, and I pull my Nine
out, holding it by my side as I track my way toward the noise.
As a set of stairs come into view, the muffled noises grow louder.
Voices, feet shuffling across the floor, tell-tale creaks of furniture. Air
whistles in and out of my nose softly as I control my breaths, my eyesight
zeroing in at the door above.
The weight of the gun in my hand feels uncomfortable imagining Jaxon
a few dozen feet away, so I shove it back into my pants. I press the ball of
my foot on the first step, testing its stability. It surprisingly doesn’t creak
under my weight, but I’m still cautious, balancing my weight equally on
each step.
Two voices become clear as I near the top. One is Jaxon’s, but I can’t
place the other. I don’t like that.
My fingers circle around the handle. It’s cold, now slick with the sweat
coating my palms. Eyes long adjusted to the dark, I stare at the crack of the
door, at the sharp line of muted, flickering light seeping through.
Jaxon laughs, the sound light and carefree. I swallow and shove the
door open. It swings open, smacking loudly into the wall as I step over the
threshold. My gaze zeros in on Jaxon a few feet away, reclining on the
couch with another man curled into his side, their faces turned toward a tiny
ass TV.
“What the fuck!” the vaguely familiar guy shouts, shooting up from the
couch, eyes wide, but that’s all I notice with a quick flick of my eyes before
they fall to Jaxon. He’s silent—too silent—as he balks at me, jaw slack,
pierced brow raised, the other tugging downward.
A heavy breath of relief seeps from my lungs at the sight of him, and
my tensed shoulders drop, but the rest of my body remains coiled when the
other guy steps forward. I regrettably shift my gaze.
“Who the fuck are you?” I growl, fingers curling into fists. My joints
protest the strain, my split knuckles cracking open.
“Who the fuck am I?” he splutters. “What—”
“Leo?” Jaxon murmurs hesitantly, and like a beacon, I drift to the
sound. “What are you doing here?” he asks. “How did you get in here?”
I know I should answer his questions. They’re more than valid, but I
don’t fucking like this dude that was pressed against him, comfortable. Too
comfortable. Something twists deep, painfully.
“Who. The fuck. Are you?” I ask again, tone low. My body’s vibrating
with tension.
“Jaxon?” he asks, turning toward him, but Jaxon’s eyes never leave
mine. A flicker of regret creeps in.
“Amos, this is Leo,” he introduces me, and the fucking lightbulb digs
into my brain. So, this is the best friend, the business partner. Are they more
than that?
The blue depth of his irises sparkle in the subdued light, so bright
amongst the darkness. I can’t look away as I grit, “Leave.” Amos must
know I’m speaking to him because he splutters.
“I don’t fucking think so. Who do you think you are?” He steps closer. I
can feel it. My body coils impossibly tight.
“No,” Jaxon spits out, finally standing. He’s shorter than me by a few
inches, but he’s so lithe, I could snap him in half if I wanted to—throw him
over my shoulder, and steal him away from everyone to keep all to myself,
like my own little source of purity.
 “No…?” A deep growl vibrates in my chest. I sink my teeth into my
bottom lip as I resist the urge to fucking take him right goddamn now. He
doesn’t understand why I’m here.
I… I fucking need him to.
Amos’s eyes flicker back and forth between the two of us. His
confusion radiates off him in waves.
Welcome to the fucking club, buddy.
As quickly as it flooded into me, my anger drains, and I’m left with
nothing. My shoulders droop, and my hands go lax at my sides.
“I’m gonna go,” Amos states, and Jaxon blinks, tearing his gaze away.
No… please. I want to beg.
They communicate silently for a moment before Amos continues, “No,
it’s okay. It looks like you have…some shit to take care of.”
Shit. That’s exactly what I am.
“But you need—”
“I don’t need anything right now, Jax. I’m good, I promise. I’ll text
you.” He grabs a sweatshirt off the back of the sofa and squeezes past me. I
turn, letting him through as I step further into the room, my skin crawling
with the close proximity.
Amos closes the door with a soft click behind him, and once the sound
of his footsteps thundering down the steps dissipates, Jaxon goes off.
“What in the fuck, Leo?” he snaps as his fingers curl into his white-
blonde strands. The metal in his face glints as he shakes his head. The
downward curve of his lips makes his dimples crease.
It’s not until this very moment, with his frustration directed solely on
me, that it hits. The quiet in my mind. But it’s the good kind. The peaceful
kind.
I don’t know what to do with it.
“How did you even get in? I locked the door; I’m sure of it,” he
mumbles, his voice no longer raised. “This isn’t okay. I don’t even know
you, and you think you can just—what are you doing?” My feet move of
their own accord, bringing me to his side. I tower over him, my presence
swallowing him whole, and for a second, I worry my darkness will too, but
no.
His purity is more than enough to concur with the most disgusting, vile
depravity.
He’s exactly what I need.
 My arms circle around him as I crush him to my chest. He gasps, his
body tensing, and for a moment, I worry he’s going to push me away, yell at
me to get the fuck out, but then, he relaxes against me, his arms wrapping
around my waist. And suddenly, it’s no longer me holding him, but him
holding me, keeping me together.
My eyes burn pathetically. I’ve never been so fucking weak, so
desperate for another person, especially one I barely even know.
I wish I could feel disgusted with myself, resentful even, but with
Jaxon’s body pressed against mine, so warm and welcoming despite my
unbidden intrusion, nothing fucking matters. Not the blood on my hands or
the masses of bodies I’ve eviscerated over the years. Not my position as the
boss of a crime syndicate, or the fact I have a secret life where I’m lying to
everyone in it.
Him. Jaxon. His light, his purity, makes it all disappear, and I’m just
Leo. Broken, pathetic, lonely.
Desperate.
I curl myself around him, resting my forehead against his shoulder as I
bury my face into the crook of his neck. He smells like cinnamon with trace
hints of lavender. It’s homely. His breath hitches, and my stomach flips, but
I can’t possibly begin to think into this, why I’m acting this way. I just need.
His arms tighten considerably as he presses closer until our fronts are
flush. I can feel every ridge of muscle and bone as he melds against me. I
succumb to the urge and let my eyes drift shut in exhausted tranquility.
Hot puffs of air seep into the damp cotton of my t-shirt as Jaxon
breathes against me, his face buried in my chest. “I can’t breathe, big guy,”
he murmurs against me. I steal one last inhale of his smell before
reluctantly pulling away. I drop my arms and take a step back. Warmth
floods my face as Jaxon roams his gaze over mine.
I feel split open and raw, my decayed and decrepit insides obtrusive.
“Come here.” He holds out his hand. I blink, staring at it. Some of the
tattoos on the front wrap around his fingers in wisps of dark ink, but his
palm looks soft, gentle. When I lift my own and notice the faint tremble, I
snatch it back, but not before he wraps his fingers around my wrist.
My eyes flash to his, and all his frustration from earlier is nowhere to be
seen. He’s all gentle eyes and warmth. His long fingers circle around,
applying pressure as he pulls me toward the sofa, which looks like it turns
into a bed as well. He drops down onto it, pulling me with him. I collapse,
my legs giving out with the prospect of not having to keep me upright.
The sofa creaks under my weight, rocking back against the wall. I
grimace, my face flaming. Jaxon wriggles his arm around my back until the
tips of his fingers brush against my ribs. I twitch uncontrollably as he
brushes them back and forth, again and again.
His other arm comes around my front, lifting until his palm rests against
the side of my face, cupping my cheek, fingers splayed across my neck. My
eyes sink shut as the warmth his palm radiates. The faint rustle of my beard
scratching his thumb as he brushes it back and forth in time with his other
fingers is enough to lull me into a reverie, a place where the world falls
away and it’s just this.
Warmth. Light.
An undeserved slice of purity.

OceanofPDF.com
 9

JAXON

H e smells like cigarettes and sweat mixed with the undeniable

metallic scent of blood. If I squint my eyes, I think I can see flecks of it
splattered over his hands and arms.
He smells like death, like danger and ruin.
I brush away a greasy lock of hair that had fallen onto his forehead. My
arms ache from the strain of holding him. He’s so large, but I know he
needs it. The second I calmed my frayed senses, I could feel his fear and
desperation radiating off him in waves so potent, they almost knocked me
on my ass.
In this moment, with him impossibly curled against me, it doesn’t
matter that we don’t know much about each other. He came to me when he
needed someone, and I’ll be damned if I turn him away because of that. I
only wish I could’ve calmed down enough to figure it out sooner.
Him standing there, void of emotion and fraught with wrath—it was
unlike anything I have ever seen. But underneath his masking layers, I
could see it all. Everything he buried impossibly deep. Everything he
refused to let a soul see.
Except for me. For some inexplicable reason, he found me. Chose me.
It’s been three weeks since I saw him last, and I didn’t think I would
again after he never called to schedule another appointment. To say I was a
bit disappointed would be an understatement, but it happens. I wasn’t going
to let it get in the way of my work, but I couldn’t get him out of my mind.
I believe we have a variety of soulmates in our life, most of whom we
consciously choose in a variety of ways. Forming friendships that then turn
into deep-seated bonds. We seek out relationships, the thought of a forever
partner already at the forefront of our mind.
But then, there are the ones that come to you unexpectedly. A glimpse
of a stranger, enrapturing you. A brief interaction, leaving you reeling for
days as the mere thought of them burrows into you so deep, you can feel it
in your bones, leaving you confused and muddled about their position in
your life.
As I look at Leo out of the corner of my eye, I can’t help but wonder.
He’s larger than life in so many ways, but the force of his pain drags
him down. I can feel it, even now as he sleeps against me.
His leg twitches, and I stop the back-and-forth trail of my fingers on his
ribs to place some pressure there in hopes to calm him, but when my palm
brushes along his hip, my entire body stills. The thin cotton of his shirt does
nothing to hide what’s underneath as I flatten my hand against the metal.
With a slightly shaky hand, I grip the hem of his shirt and lift it. With
Leo curled against me, his head pressed heavily against mine, I can’t see
what I’m doing, so I cautiously trail my fingers over it. Once I’m sure I’m
nowhere near the trigger, I pull it from his waistband.
It’s heavier than I thought it would be, and I almost drop it when my
hand cramps. My heart shoots into my throat. Leo twitches again and
mumbles something incoherent before settling once more, adding more
weight against me.
I heave a breath, the pressure against my chest as unbearable as it is
comforting. Lifting my hand from his face, I reach around to grab the gun
and stretch as far forward as I can until it clacks against the table.
Sighing with relief, I relax back into the couch, allowing Leo’s weight
to completely overtake me once more. My hands find their designated
spots, and I find a soothing rhythm to my movements. The bare skin of his
waist in my hand twists something inside me, and the pressure of my hold
increases as I close my eyes and rest my head against the back of the couch.
The flicker of the TV on the other side of the room dances across my closed
lids as the voices dull into a comfortable buzz.
Every few strokes, my fingertips catch on the gauze taped on his ribs.
It’s damp under my fingers—either from the rain, blood, or both, I’m sure.
Thinking about the possibility of it being blood makes my eyes burn, even
behind closed lids.
 The man’s entire being exudes torture and endless fucking suffering. I
can’t blame him for taking respite wherever he can find it. I don’t know
what I did to be it for him, but I’ll do whatever it takes to make the hurt,
hurt a little less.
My limbs grow weak, tingling from the loss of blood flow. I ache to
stretch, to quell the painful pins and needles, but when Leo sighs and
nuzzles into me, contentment crashes over me like a wave, along with the
lull of sleep.

A shout startles me from my slumber , and my eyes snap open , heart

in my throat. I’m disoriented in the darkness, crushed under an
impenetrable weight. My arms tighten around the trembling body lying on
top of me, clutching desperately as my brain scrambles for purchase. I can’t
fucking breathe, but that doesn’t even register as the pained shouting grows
louder, more uncontrolled.
Leo.
Reacting purely on instinct, I shake him as best I can, applying just
enough pressure to hopefully nudge the conscious part of his brain. It takes
a few long, agonizing moments before he jerks so hard, his head drills into
my throat, crushing my Adam’s apple. I gag, my lungs and stomach
revolting. White spots dance in front of my eyes as I wheeze through the
jolting throb.
“Harry,” he whimpers, the sound wretched and hoarse. “No, please.” He
twists in my arms, burying his face back into my throat. The throbs worsen
from the pressure, but the slick slide of tears dripping down my neck and
onto my chest has my throat aching for an entirely different reason.
He pushes into me until he’s lying completely on top of me, my body
placed just enough to the right of him that I partially hang off the side of the
couch. I twist my right half around, throwing my leg over his and my arm
around his waist until every inch of his body is cocooned with mine.
His hot breaths cause sweat to trickle down my temple. My arms ache
with the strain of holding him so tight, I can feel his heart hammering
against my chest, the frantic thumps pounding brutally.
God. My breath hitches, my throat tightening impossibly. I swallow the
lump, but it doesn’t budge. His hoarse cries break off in increments of harsh
breathing and wretched sobs. The muscles in my abdomen convulse the
harder his body rocks, and before I can stop them, tears fall from the
corners of my eyes, sliding down my temples. A few drops caress my ears
while the others continue down my neck and onto the cushion below.
“Shh,” I coo, brushing my fingers across his cheek, in his hair,
anywhere I can reach. His lips tremble against my palm, slick with tears and
spit. I press my own against the top of his head before pushing his face
deeper into my neck. His nose crushes against me, sweat and tobacco
wafting. Hands curled against his abdomen clutch at my shirt mindlessly,
and I tighten my leg curled around his hip. The more I caress him, the
quicker he calms.
I’m not sure how much time passes as I try my damnedest to soothe him
back into a peaceful rest. It’s dark in the room, the movie long over and the
play-screen repeating the same endless tune.
Being crushed by a man I barely know should feel uncomfortable, even
slightly unwelcoming, but holding Leo when he’s clearly in his most
vulnerable state has never felt more fucking wholesome. Like seeing him
like this, taking care of him, is a fucking privilege. One I will never exploit.
I’m sure tomorrow, he’ll regret ever coming to me. I sense he’s not the
kind of man to ever expose his vulnerability, his burdens. But I hope he
doesn’t. I hope when he looks into my eyes, he’ll see how good I can be for
him, how much I care, despite our glaring polarities.
“You’re gonna be okay,” I murmur into his hair, burying my nose into
his amber locks. My eyes scrunch shut as I whisper a vow I have no right to
make. “I can make it all better, I promise.”

T he next morning is as awkward as I feared it would be . I’ m

awoken by the absence of weight, and I suck in a deep breath for the first
time in hours, my eyes snapping open. It’s dully lit, the light from outside
barely seeping through the blackout curtains, but it’s enough that I can
make out Leo’s face.
It’s flaming red, his lips pressed tightly in a thin line as he settles on the
other end of the couch. I pull my feet back, giving him space as I plant them
on the floor in front of me. Resting my elbows on my thighs, I turn my head
to the left, my gaze raking over his frame. He’s tense from head to toe, jaw
set and eyes fixed forward.
I clear my throat, dragging his attention to me. He finds my eyes easily,
staring into their depths before looking away again. I sigh, dropping my
head, clasping my hands together.
“How are you feeling?” I try, hoping maybe if I start the conversation…
I quirk a brow when I’m met with crickets. Nothing.
Awesome.
“Leo,” I try again, “you’ve gotta give me something.”
“What would you like?” His deep tenor skates down my spine, pricks of
gooseflesh biting their way across. His voice is raspy from sleep and
probably crying. It warms my blood and sinks my heart simultaneously.
“The truth?” I try, and he scoffs indignantly. My teeth tug at my lip ring
absentmindedly while I wait.
“The truth,” he breathes out sarcastically.
“Yeah, that’d be nice.” Our eyes meet, amber and sky-blue. Two colors
not meant to be mixed to create a beautiful fusion, yet…
“I—I’ll go.” He stands abruptly, the couch shifting under the movement
of his weight. My mind screeches to a halt, and my arm flies outward
before I can think. My fingers wrap around his wrist, keeping him in place.
Our height difference isn’t substantial, but the mass of his body makes him
tower over me, around me, his frame swallowing mine wholly.
It’s heady. And the way it makes me feel is confusing.
“Don’t go,” I demand him, my words taking on a sharp bite. He can’t
fucking leave after all that. I don’t expect him to go spilling all of his
secrets to me. In fact, I don’t want him to—not yet at least. I want it to
come naturally—when he’s ready. But I do need something.
His brows furrow. He glances at my fingers wrapped around his arm,
the tattooed skin pinched between my index finger and thumb. It’s then I
notice the blood, dried and flaking off from the friction. His throat bobs,
fingers curling. I cannot only feel but see his muscles tensing, and just
before he yanks his arm from my hold, I sink my blunt nails into his skin as
I step against him, putting my front flush against his.
His muscles contract, flexing against my softer, more supple flesh. His
chest expands with a deep breath, pushing me backward slightly. “Stay.”
He releases the breath, and along with it, his fight. “I can’t.”
“But you can,” I plead, staring into his bloodshot eyes. “It’s just us. You
and me, no one else.”
“Just us,” he repeats, the words jumbling together like they’re confusing
to him. I nod, pressing my thumb against his pulse. It thrums steadily.
“Just us, big guy. Come. Sit.” I tug his arm and this time, he allows me
to move him—because let’s be real, I could never make him physically do a
goddamn thing he didn’t want to do.
The couch creaks, and he grimaces but relaxes into it, resting his head
against the back. I never release my hold of his arm as I take the seat next to
him, and he doesn’t make me. I like that.
“Do you want some coffee?” I ask, because fuck, I really do need some.
He shakes his head but then shrugs. I snort, and he fights a grin.
“Sure,” he finally concedes, thumb rubbing against his plump, bottom
lip, and my own grin comes out. “Can I smoke in here?” I hike a shoulder,
forcing my fingers to release his wrist.
“I don’t care. I’ll be right back—the kitchen’s downstairs,” I tell him,
hiking my thumb toward the door. He follows its path, nodding. “Don’t go
anywhere,” I plead when my fingers wrap around the handle.
“I’d have to go past you anyway,” he muses, and I grin before
disappearing down the stairs. I’ve never prepared a pot of coffee so fast in
my life, and now, my fingers are drumming restlessly against the countertop
as I watch the slow but steady drip of the coffee as it falls into the carafe.
The shop phone blares from its spot on the desk, and I nearly jump out
of my skin. I follow the sound, picking it up on the fifth ring.
“Vice Tattoo, this is Jax—”
“Fuck, dude. I’ve been trying to get ahold of you,” Amos’s voice cuts
through the line.
“Ah, fuck. I don’t even know where my phone’s at.” I rub the back of
my neck, temporarily easing the stiffness lodged deep.
“What happened? You’re okay, right? Who the fuck is that guy?” Amos
fires off question after question, and my mind spins.
 “Okay, slow down. Yes, I’m more than okay. That guy is my friend, and
he just needed a shoulder; that’s all.” I glance out the front windows. It’s a
hazy day, mist hanging heavy in the air, darkening the light of the sun.
“Is your friend always that fucking rude?”
“Seems to be.” I snort, shaking my head with a fond smile…a fond
smile.
Jesus Christ, Jax.
The coffee pot beeps, signaling it’s finished. “I’ve gotta go.”
“Wait! When can I come home?” he asks before I hang up.
“I’ll get my phone charged and call you.” Smacking the phone into the
base, I skip across the tile floor and pour two steaming cups before carrying
them up the stairs, watching the brown liquid sloshing precariously close to
the edge.
When I near the landing, Leo rises from the couch and reaches out for
one of the mugs, cigarette pinched between his lips. I can’t help but stare as
he backs up, giving me room to fit through the doorway.
“I know I’m big, but I’m not that big,” he mumbles, his cheeks heating.
I tilt my head to the side, observing his ruddy cheeks, the way the smoke
curls from the end of the cigarette and drifts around his face, masking his
features.
He’s so fucking…alluring.
“You sure about that?” I snicker, bypassing him to take my spot on the
couch again. When the steaming hot liquid rushes down my throat, I heave
a sigh, relaxing back. When my eyelids flicker open, I find Leo staring at
me from across the small room. So really, it’s only a few feet away.
“You gonna come sit down, or are you gonna continue to stare at me
from all the way over there?”
“All the way. It’s like five feet.” But he moves, nonetheless.
“Five feet can make quite a bit of difference.” He grunts, removing the
cigarette from his lips to take a drink of coffee, his tongue flicking out for
the briefest moment. My lips part, enraptured. The way the smoke
surrounds him, licking his skin as it dissipates…
“I can feel your fucking eyes drilling into me.”
I startle, and now my own face flames. “Uh, sorry,” I mumble. He
waves his hand noncommittally. Wrapping my fingers around the mug, I
straighten my spine, hoping for a jolt of resolve for the conversation I feel
I’m going to have to force from him.
 “Who’s Harry?” If he doesn’t want to volunteer, I’ll ask my own
questions, but with the way every ounce of blood drains from his tanned
face, I already regret it. His relaxed muscles go rigid again as he stands. The
coffee table screeches as his long legs bump against it in his haste. My eyes
flicker to the gun still positioned on top.
“Why—how—no,” he stutters angrily. He takes a long drag off his
cigarette, the paper burning dangerously close to the filter. I jump out of my
skin when he spins toward me with a shout, “Why are you fucking asking
me that?” he sneers.
My heart beats loudly in my ears, the heavy thumps ricocheting. His
reaction to a fucking name is so visceral, shrouded in pain.
My teeth sink into my lip. “I’m sorry.”
“I don’t want your goddamn apology, Jaxon. I want you to answer my
question.” He’s working his jaw angrily. I can vaguely make out the crunch
of his teeth grinding together.
“You said that name in your sleep,” I tell him honestly. “You were
having a nightmare.” At my explanation, he seems to lose his anger, like it’s
too hard for him to hold onto. “I just wanted to know because you were…
crying.” I’m not sure if I should say that, but after the disaster that has
already unfolded due to me opening my mouth, why the fuck not.
“Of course,” he scoffs, lighting another cigarette. Smoke curls around
the room in a haze.
“Look,” I breathe out as I set my mug on the askew table with a harsh
clank, on the opposite end as the gun. Coffee sloshes over the side, staining
the wood below. When I meet Leo’s eyes, he levels his gaze, fixing his
features to one of stone, which I now recognize as a fucking defense
mechanism. And even through my frustration with his outrageous defenses,
I wish he would recognize that he doesn’t have to with me.
“I’m not going to judge you, man. Whatever it is. I’m just trying to get
to know you, to figure out what last night was. Because you have to admit,
it was a bit out of the blue.”
“I don’t know,” he tells me as he paces the room. He draws the curtains
open, letting in the cloudy morning light. It washes the color from his face,
accentuating the sharp line of his bearded jaw, the tattoos on his temple and
neck.
It’s quiet for a while, only the clink of my mug and his inhales of
tobacco filling the air. I’ve never much liked the smell of cigarettes, but the
scent on him feels comforting.
“Are you gay?” The words come out of nowhere, and I splutter a laugh,
coffee dribbling down my chin. Leo’s gaze zeros in on the spill as I wipe
my hand across my face. I hike a brow at his inquiry, leaning back against
the couch. My fucking body aches, but I’d do it all again if he needed me.
“Why are you asking me that?” This isn’t exactly the conversation I was
expecting, but if it means he’ll talk to me, then so be it. Maybe he needs me
to open up first.
“You and that…boy.” His shoulder lifts before he leans against the wall,
crossing his legs.
“Amos is hardly a boy.”
“You know what I mean. You’re avoiding the question.”
“I’m not—I’m just saying.” I bite back my smirk at his exasperation.
Doesn’t he realize I’m teasing?
“Fine,” he sighs. “You and that man.” Oh, the sarcasm. I love it.
“Me and that man are just friends.”
“Friends who cuddle,” he bites out. My smile breaks free, stretching my
lips taut.
“Yeah, Leo. Friends who cuddle. You’re telling me you don’t cuddle
with your friends?”
He scoffs. “Fuck, no. Vin and I would kill each other before ever getting
that close.” His words are so dry, I can’t stop the bubble of laughter. When
my eyes open again, he’s staring at me, deadpan.
“Jeez, you’re a tough nut to crack.”
“Who says I want to be cracked?” I huff, shaking my head with a smirk.
He’s so fucking serious all the time.
“You gotta lighten up, man.”
“Are you going to answer my question or continue to skirt around it?”
My eyes widen comically. This fucking man, I swear.
“Says you,” I scoff. His face is made of stone as he stares me down,
amber eyes narrowed, plump lips pursed, eyebrows smooth.
“Jaxon.”
“Leo,” I counter. He lifts from the wall. Each step he takes is with
purpose, silent and unnerving as he grows closer. He inches down until he’s
across from me. The metal frame creaks as he lowers himself, filling my
line of sight with his large frame.
 I suck in a breath. I really hope he’s not some fucking homophobe and
that’s why he’s asking. I’ve dealt with more than enough of that shit to last
me twenty lifetimes. I’ve never gotten that vibe from him, which is why his
line of questioning is confusing me, but I answer him, nonetheless, hopeful
this doesn’t change anything.
“Yeah, Leo. I’m gay. Is that a problem?” My words come out with a
little more bite than I meant for them to, but I can’t take it back. He blinks a
couple of times, eyes widening marginally like he didn’t expect the sting of
my words either.
His dark brows pinch. He shakes his head. “Of course not.”
I release the breath I’d been holding. Thank fuck. “You sure?”
“Yeah.” He rubs his index finger across his lips as he stares into my
eyes.
“Then, why did you ask?” He stills, blinks, and looks away.
“Because.” Do I have to fight him for every answer? It’s like pulling
teeth with a screwdriver.
With his gaze averted, I trail my eyes over him unabashedly. I’m not
ashamed to admit I’m attracted to him. Have been since the moment I first
laid eyes on him, when he quite literally stole the breath from my lungs.
His darkness is appealing. Toxically attractive, really. But that’s not
what this is. I would know. He gives off unavailable vibes from a mile
away. And I’m more than happy with a simple friendship, though I don’t
think anything with this man could ever be considered simple.
“Because…” I mumble, my thoughts circling. I watch in amazement as
his washed-out face blotches with red, his lips pinching before he turns his
head away, reaching for the pack of cigarettes on the table.
That’s not… No. No fucking way.
I look up at the ceiling, staring through my lashes. At the spark of a
lighter, my gaze falls. Leo’s eyes are closed as he lights the end efficiently,
and when the flame goes out, his lids open again, but he still refuses to meet
my eyes.
“Are you curious?” The words tumble out before I can think twice.
“What?” he splutters, smoke blowing out with the words.
“Are you curious, Leo?” I inch up, my ass resting on the edge of the
mattress.
“About what exactly?” He’s choosing his words carefully, that much I
can tell. Him answering my questions with a question is just another way
for him to control the conversation, but I don’t mind.
I don’t know if I’m going too far out on a limb with this one, but I don’t
think I’m wrong to guess that’s why he was asking.
“Have you ever kissed a man?” My heart thunders, my gut coiling in
anticipation.
“Why would I want to do that?” His Adam’s apple bobs. He still won’t
meet my gaze.
Fuck, this is fun. He’s so tense—everywhere.
“Why wouldn’t you?” I tease. God, this conversation is fucking edging
me.
“Because I haven’t thought about kissing anyone in almost two fucking
decades,” he spits out, “until—” The cigarette filter is crushed between his
fingers, the cotton squeaking from the pinched pressure.
My ribs ache from the hammering in my heart as it jumps into my
throat. Twenty fucking years is a long ass time. I can sense the melancholy
in those words. It’s been almost two decades for a reason. But that until he
let spill from his lips—that gives me a jolt of heat.
I knew he was older than me. I never thought much about it, but now I
wanna know just how much.
Warmth coils in my groin, flushing my skin along with my insides. I
shift so I’m facing him. My knee knocks into his, making him jolt. I finally
have his eyes—warm amber pools.
“Until…what, Leo?”
It’s just us, right here, as his gaze falls to my mouth, staring at the way I
twist my lip ring. I sink my teeth into the soft flesh of my lip. His part,
giving me a flash of his pink tongue.
Everything outside of us all falls away. The horns of traffic, murmured
voices of people walking by, the caws of crows. Nothing exists but us.
I shift onto my knees until both are pressed firmly against his thick,
right thigh. I sit back on my haunches, hands lying limply on my lap.
They’re twitching with the desire to touch him, so I do. I drag my fingertips
along his exposed forearm. I trace the tattoos there until I reach his thick
fingers and curl my own between them.
He’s stiff, unmoving as I force myself around him, but he doesn’t push
me away. He stares rapt at the way I touch him, with delicate strokes and
longing caresses. This is different from the way I touched him last night.
That was pure need as I acted on instinct alone.
 This is more.
I don’t need to touch him; I fucking want to. And what’s more, he’s
letting me. A quick flick of his wrist, and he could break my fingers.
Knowing he holds that kind of power and still allows me to touch him as I
please is beyond heady.
I find his eyes. They’re cast downward, locked on our hands, my legs.
I’ve never once felt apprehension touching someone this way, but it’s
almost all I can feel now—almost because the blood rushing from my head
and into my dick clouds my thoughts a bit.
Plus, it feels better.
“Can I...?” I don’t know exactly what I’m asking, but I guess it doesn’t
matter to him either because he gives me a shaky nod. I swing my right leg
over his, so I’m straddling his lap. Our twisted fingers move with me,
curling in front of my waist. My baggy t-shirt bunches around my hips, the
hem snagging on my dark jeans.
My hand falls to Leo’s shoulder to keep myself upright, and it rises
beneath my palm with his sharp intake of breath. I tense to move it, but he
shakes his head. “Don’t stop.”
Oh…oh, fuck.
I’m trembling, my breath stuttering with each shaky breath as I curl my
fingers around the muscle, feeling it ripple. My eyes flutter closed, head
tilting back slightly. All we’re doing is fucking touching, and nothing has
ever felt so consuming.
Leo’s fingers twist in mine, pulling away, and I uncoil our grip, only for
his hands to snake around my waist—against my bare skin.
“Fuck,” I moan uncontrollably at the feel of his large, calloused hands
pinching my skin in their unyielding grip. With my other hand free, I bring
it to his neck, placing my thumb along his pulse. His heartbeat is erratic,
thumping wildly. My fingers scratch along his beard as I let my head fall
back, eyes closed.
He’s touching so much of me at once, my brain’s misfiring at the surge
of rapture.
I shift my hips until the surprisingly hard ridge of his clothed cock
nestles between my cheeks. My eyes fly open in surprise. He’s staring down
at where we’re connected, lids at half-mast. I swivel my hips, and we both
gasp at the burst of pleasure.
 My nails dig into the flesh of his shoulder, my thumb brushing against
his bottom lip. He parts his lips for me as I tug downward, reveling in the
damp heat of his breath brushing against my skin.
Gooseflesh prickles at the nape of my neck, spreading across my skin
rapidly. I can’t tear my eyes away, and with his bottom lip trapped between
my thumb and forefinger, Leo drags his gaze to mine, pupils dilated,
surrounded by a deep, burning pool of honey.
God, he’s so fucking beautiful.
Panting, I lean forward until our faces are a mere inch apart. Still too
far, but I can taste the cigarettes he’s been smoking, the coffee he’s been
drinking, as the flavors linger, melting on my tongue.
The pulse in my groin matches the thudding waves in my ears mixed
with the wavering, heavy breaths we’re both exuding. My head goes light,
my vision swimming from the lack of oxygen. Leo must be feeling the
same because his lashes flutter, his chest heaving uncontrollably.
I tighten my grip on his lip, pulling it outward, my index finger pressed
into his chin. “Hold your breath for me, baby.” With our eyes locked on one
another, I lean in, holding my own desperately as I brush my mouth over
his. My bottom lip meets his teeth, my top curved perfectly to his.
My eyes roll back when his hands constrict, digging in deep enough to
bruise. Releasing his lip, I press deeper into his mouth. A burst of ecstasy
fires into me when he gasps, sucking my bottom lip like he has no control
over himself. Gyrating my hips, I groan into him, white bursts flashing
behind my lids.
I arch my back, my dick rubbing against his heavily-muscled stomach.
The ridges of his abs feel like fucking heaven pressed against me, even
through my too-tight jeans. His palms slide down from my waist to my hips
in a trail of bruising pressure.
I’ve never felt so consumed.
The earthy flavor of tobacco explodes on my tongue when Leo thrusts
his into my mouth unexpectedly. “Fuck,” I groan, my muscles clenching as
I rock my hips mindlessly, my hands roaming his shoulders, biceps, back up
to his neck where I can feel his pulse thundering under the delicate skin.
“J-Jaxon,” he whispers into my mouth, the word broken and raspy.
Thump.
My heart falters at the sound of his voice breathing my name—
desperately. I pull away. I need to see his eyes. Honey amber collides with
my sky-blue between an array of long lashes, and my world tilts on its axis.
“Leo.” And when his blunt nails scrape against my flesh, leaving a red-
hot trail in their wake, I lose all sense of reality. Our teeth crash in a
desperate pull neither one of us can explain until I can’t tell where I end and
he begins.
My hands circle around his throat, the rough scratch of his beard
warming my palms. One clutches his nape while the other presses tightly
against the large ridge of his Adam’s apple, my forefinger and thumb
compressing against his carotid. Feeling his life force pulsating against my
touch is as terrifying as it is intoxicating.
To have Leo in this position, me on top of him, feeling every visceral
reaction as it seeps directly into me is a power trip I’d never thought I’d
experience, let alone crave. For such a big guy, he’s so…acquiescent.
It’s beautiful.
My fingers tighten around his neck, just enough to strengthen his
throbbing pulse. As I squeeze, I drag my teeth across his tongue as I lick the
inside of his mouth with fervor, a groan spilling down his throat.
“You’re so fucking perfect,” I rasp, my mind reeling at this utter
impossibility. The impossibility of him, in this moment, with me.
Like the strike of a snake, Leo’s hand is ripped from my waist,
encircling my throat in a grip so tight, the oxygen in my lungs has no place
to go, trapped under brutal pressure.
“Leo,” I choke out, my face burning hot as the pressure builds in my
head. His eyes drill into me, cold, hard, and unseeing.
Fuck. What happened?
Tears burn my eyes as my lungs ache for air. My hands fly to his wrists
as he chokes me. The unfocused set of his eyes tells me he’s no longer here
with me in this moment but somewhere far away. A place far darker and
crueler than this one.
My nails scratch along his skin in a desperate attempt to garner his
attention. Fuck, I just need something, anything to nudge his consciousness.
I rock my hips, jabbing my now half-hard dick against his abdomen. His
shirt has lifted a few inches, exposing some of his tattooed muscles, and the
rough scratch of my jeans against his bare flesh does the trick. He gasps, his
hand dropping from my neck like it’s on fire.
My head swims, white spots flashing in front of my eyes as I suck in air,
throat aflame. I cough, the burning overwhelming.
 “Shit!” I shout as my body is lifted into the air, Leo’s hands under my
armpits. I’m jolted as he tosses me across the couch, the metal armrest
jamming into my spine as I land against it.
I can’t even contemplate moving, not with the way my body was
abruptly yanked from a state of bliss to one of unexpected pain. It sets my
mind into a tailspin, but that doesn’t mean I can take my eyes off Leo.
He’s…not okay. His chest is contracting at an impossible rate, sweat
trickling along his temples and beading down his jawline. His hands are
clenched so tight, all the blood has seeped from his joints, leaving the skin
taut and white.
“Leo?” I rasp, hating the pain lancing through my neck at the forced
sound. My heart aches, twisting and warping the longer I watch him in this
disheveled, tortured state. He jumps to his feet, sending the coffee table
screeching across the floor as he kicks it out of his vicinity. He swipes up
his gun in the next second, shoving it into his waistband.
His long legs take him across the tiny room in two strides. When his
long, thick fingers wrap around the knob, his head turns to the side, eyes
finding mine, face masked in tortured shadows. I can’t tell from here, but
they almost look like they shimmer with…
Shit.
“Le—”
“I’m so sorry, Jaxon,” he whispers. “So fucking sorry.” And then, he’s
gone as quickly as he appeared the previous night.
Just… gone, leaving me aching and questioning every choice I made
since he showed up, demanding every modicum of my attention.
I don’t know how, but I manage to find my phone buried in the cushion
near the armrest, my fingers trembling as I dial Amos’s number. When he
answers before the second ring even sounds through the line, I croak out a
desperate plea.
“Please come home.”

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 10

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 LEO

T wo W eeks L ater

M y fingers tap aimlessly on the steering wheel as I wait for

Vincent to come through the front doors of the hospital. He’s supposed to
come out in a wheelchair—per hospital policy—but I think everyone knows
that’s not going to fucking happen. Probably what’s taking so damn long.
I’ve been antsy, crawling out of my skin for the last two weeks, guilt
and remorse consuming my every waking moment.
I still don’t even know exactly what happened. What came over me both
times. First when I…when I kissed him—and again when I fucking hurt
him.
“Goddamnit,” I growl, slamming my palm against the wheel, but even
the jolt radiating up my arm doesn’t curb the disdain I feel for myself. I’m
such a piece of shit. And I knew, I fucking knew, something like this would
happen. That I would hurt him, taint him, but even still, with that
knowledge constantly circling in my brain, I can’t ignore the all-consuming
urge to go to him, even now.
He's too good for this world, and certainly for me.
Men like me, in the world I live in so far from what I wish was my
reality, we don’t get happiness. We don’t get lives of our own or people to
love. And if we do, if we fucking risk everything for it, it’s all taken away,
ensuring your left with the nothing you deserve.
I can’t take that risk again, certainly not with someone so bright and full
of life. The stain of my presence is already taking its toll on him. The way
he held me, fucking cried for me like he felt every ounce of pain I’ve been
shoving down for a lifetime—it’s too much, and not nearly enough.
I’m a selfish bastard because I know, without a doubt in my mind, I’m
going back to him. I’m going to make him see me, feel me. Want me.
Because I need someone to.
What about Quinn? Harrison? the cruel voice in my head sneers. You
forget about them already? I jolt from the whiplash, my fingers tightening
uncontrollably on the wheel. I swallow the lump lodged in my throat,
wincing as the bile slides back down my esophagus.
The creak of the front doors sliding open knocks me from my pained
reverie. Vincent comes strolling out, the longer hair on the top of his head
tousling in the wind. I creep forward, bringing my Escalade closer as I slam
my palm against the horn. He twitches, shooting me a glare with his demon-
black eyes through the open window.
“You know I got shot, right? Probably shouldn’t scare me,” he grumbles
as he situates himself in the seat, readjusting the sling around his arm. I can
see the way he’s biting back a grimace.
“Yeah, you got shot by a woman, who then left your ass for dead. Pretty
sure you can handle it.” I smirk, peeling away from the curb.
“Fuck you.” I laugh and crank up the radio as I drive toward his house
on the outskirts of town. The wind whips through the window, the damp air
casting a welcoming sting across my flesh.
It’s dangerous, but I blindly light a cigarette, craving the nicotine more
than ever. I glance at Vincent out of the corner of my eye. His jaw is tight as
he smokes his own cigarette. Words of disapproval sit on the tip of my
tongue, but I bite them back. I know my two cents on his smoking habits is
the last thing he needs.
Apparently, he’s had his fucking hands full with kidnapping and
blackmail. A lovely little mess I’ve worked hard to stay the fuck away
from. It’s one more thing added to the plate though, and even though I have
no idea who the fuck this girl is, I can’t help but feel anger toward her.
Simply because she hurt the most important person in my life—justified or
not.
Vincent’s the only one that helps keep the hell away, and I can’t even
fucking fathom what I would do if he wasn’t here. Granted, he’s a goddamn
psycho, but he’s still good. Frankly, he’s even a bit innocent despite his
blatant depravity.
 My entire world would be disconcerting and unfathomable to outside
eyes, and sometimes, I just want to scream from the fucking rooftops that I
don’t understand it either.
Flicking my second cigarette butt out the open window, I turn down the
long, gravel drive to Vincent’s place. A dark spread of trees enwraps us
completely, and I watch as Vincent visibly relaxes in my peripheral.
“Leo, can you get in contact with Mike and tell him to give me a call?”
His words startle me, but I don’t let it show. I don’t know why I’m
surprised. Frankly, I should have expected it, but for some reason, I was
holding onto the hope he’d let this go—let her go.
But that’s never been in his nature. Revenge is best served scalding hot
with a side of wicked debauchery in Vincent’s eyes.
“What?” he deadpans. I want to fucking laugh. Mike’s an old friend I
keep in my corner because he comes in handy when I need someone found.
But putting him in touch with Vincent can only end one way—bloody and
messy.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea, man.” I shake my head.
“I don’t give a fuck what you think. Tell him to get ahold of me, Leo.”
Silently, I laugh, but nothing about this is funny. He needs to let it go. I
need him to because I can’t handle this on top of everything else.
“Yeah, well, I give a fuck,” I grit. “The bitch shot you and then left you,
Vincent. She. Left. You,” I accentuate each word, hoping they hit their
mark. “And she did it with premeditation. She doesn’t want you, and you
going after her is only going to end with you getting hurt.”
His indignant scoff fills the air, the tension rising rapidly in the confines
of my SUV. It’s spacious, but right now, it feels downright fucking
suffocating. I’ve never hated Vin’s stubbornness more than I do right now.
“With me getting hurt?” he laughs, the sound dark and hollow. “Oh, no,
man. You’ve got it all twisted. I want Mike to find her so I can bring her
back and do what I do best.”
Jesus fucking Christ! I want to shout. That’s exactly what I don’t want!
Shoving the car in park, I lean back, angling my body so I’m facing him
directly. His right arm is dressed in a sling, and with the way he keeps
fingering it, I can tell he’s itching to take it off. As something so visible to
his affliction, I’m sure his skin is crawling.
“What exactly is that, Vin?” I hate that I’m asking because I already
know, and when that demented smile stretches across his lips, his head
angling toward the trees surrounding us, my gut sinks. I can only imagine
how many bodies he’s buried out here. I’ve never asked, and I’m certainly
not going to now.
Some things are better left unsaid.
“I think you know.” And fuck, I do, but damnit, I don’t want a dead girl
on my conscience. Not again.
And the sickest part is Vin doesn’t even fucking know.
Shutting the car off, I nod my head and step outside, needing an
abundance of air to try and clear my head. Shit is already far too heavy.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he spits out as he clambers
out of the car. I watch him struggle with the use of only one arm. We both
round the SUV, and I lean against the hood, warmth from the engine licking
my forearm.
I sigh. “I guess I don’t understand.” So much for steering fucking clear.
“What exactly do you not understand?” He hisses in pain. I swallow,
thinking about how close to the precipice he was. How pale and cold his
skin appeared. How quiet…
Just like it is now. I close my eyes briefly, focusing on the humming
rustle of tree limbs.
Maybe what he needs, and what I need too, is to understand to some
modicum. “Why do you want to look for her?” My eyes crack open. “And
before you go all caveman on me,” I laugh dryly, “I’m asking because look
around at everything you have and what you’ve accomplished.” I gesture at
his land, his home. How he came from fucking nothing and now he has this.
“Remember when we first met?” I reminisce. “You were homeless,
alone, constantly fucking miserable,” I drone on, needing him to see where
I’m coming from with this. “You’ve made quite a life for yourself, Vin. I
guess all I’m trying to say is, I don’t want you to throw it all away for a girl
who clearly does not want you. She made a choice, and I think it’s one you
simply need to accept.”
I place my hand on his good shoulder, squeezing, my eyes finding his.
Deep, black pits stare into me. “You need to let her go.”
I crossed the line, throwing in a bit of a parental bite to my words, but
fuck. His selfishness is going to get him killed, and I won’t allow it. Not
after what she did.
And I wish more than anything I was blind to Vincent’s brutality. I
know this Essa girl was well within her right to do what she did. She was
kidnapped, held against her will, forced to do things I’m sure she didn’t
want to do. She fought her way out—but in doing so, she almost killed
someone I love.
My not-so-blind loyalty to Vincent makes me fiercely protective of him,
all while wanting to also save her from her fate if he ever gets his hands on
her again.
Fuck, what a goddamn life I live, my morality battling between
protecting the depraved and the girl he craves to ruin.
Vincent’s good arm connects with my chest, shoving me backward. I
stumble at the unexpected touch, blinking at him with wide eyes. He takes a
step toward me, fire licking in his hollow irises, and it’s then I know I hit a
fucking nerve.
Please don’t tell me he actually fucking loves her. I resist the urge to roll
my eyes. He always makes shit so goddamn complicated, and falling for
your kidnappee who tried to kill you takes the fucking cake.
He puts himself in my space, our noses almost touching. Vin’s a couple
of inches taller than me, but where he’s full of lean, compact muscle, I’m
bulky and rippling with it. I can feel his anger rolling off him in heated
waves as our noses bump.
Lip curled, he snarls, “She’s mine. I’ll never fucking let her go, and I
won’t stop until I have her again.” His lips brush across mine with every
word he spews, coiled with venomous intention. His heaving chest bumps
into mine with every uncontrolled breath.
He’s too far gone for me to stop him now.
My tongue slips from between my lips as I wet them. It brushes along
Vincent’s mouth, and the unexpected touch has him taking a step back. I
smirk. “Don’t fuck with me, boy. I get you’re angry, but don’t take it out on
me when all I have ever done is help you. I’m trying to get you to see the
bigger picture here, but you can’t look past your angered obsession. Don’t
make me embarrass you by knocking you on your ass,” I add with a bite,
flexing my fingers by my side, eyebrow arched.
Vincent laughs, haughty and mocking as he spins on his heels in the
gravel, kicking up dust. He makes his way up the stairs, toward the front
door. Watching his back for a moment, I take a deep breath, hating the way
he makes me feel sometimes.
Maybe if I help him, I can help control the outcome, keep him from
doing something he’ll regret.
 Just one more thing added to my plate.
Rolling it off my back for now, I follow behind him. “I’ll give Mike
your number, but don’t be fuckin’ dumb.” I feel like I’m chastising a child.
“Yes, sir,” he mocks, and I grit my teeth, rolling my eyes. It’s going to
be a long next few days.

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 JAXON

T he ringtone drones on and on as I call V incent for the third time

in the last few days. It’s been a long couple of weeks without hearing a
goddamn thing from Leo, and at this point, I’m desperate.
It’s irrational and probably a lost cause, but I need to talk to him, and
Vincent is the only connection between the two of us. If only he would
answer his goddamn phone.
I pull my cell from my ear and slam my index finger on the red button,
ending the call and the sound of his voicemail kicking on with a bite of
disdain.
“What the hell is going on with you?” Amos’s voice cuts through my
frustration, and I melt back into the chair at the front desk, closing my eyes
as my hair flops in front of them. The shop doesn’t open for another half an
hour, but I don’t have anything better to do than sit here and twiddle my
fucking thumbs.
“I—” My rebuttal sits on the edge of my tongue, ready and waiting to
spill from my lips, but I bite it back. Amos doesn’t deserve lies, especially
not since he already fucking knows the gist of…whatever Leo and I are.
Which is nothing. Except it’s not.
Swallowing the lie, I tell him the truth. Well, more of a partial one. “I
don’t know. Just don’t feel like myself right now.”
“I’ll fucking say. I’ve never seen you so pissed off before. It’s worrying
me.”
“Uh-huh,” I mumble. What am I supposed to do with that? I know I’m
not acting like me. I don’t fucking feel like me, and I don’t know what to
do.
“What can I do?” My eyes crack open as Amos rounds the desk and
situates himself between my spread legs, ass against the edge of the counter.
He crosses his long arms over his chest, patchwork tattoos on full display.
“Nothing different than you’re already doing.” I shrug. “Thanks for
coming back that night.” My throat burns. I feel ashamed. At my feelings
for a man I barely know.
“I’d do anything for you, you know that. But you need more than
talking. Tell me what it is.” When my blue eyes meet his, water pools over
the surface and slides down my cheekbones.
“Him.”

T wo W eeks A go

“J axon ?” I hear A mos ’ s voice bellowing downstairs . L eo left the

door wide open behind him. I stare vacantly through the darkened space,
unable to tear my eyes away from the last place I saw him.
My dick deflated a while ago, but I can still feel the throbbing ache in
my balls from the lack of release. It’s a sick reminder of the best I ever felt
before it was literally ripped away from me, disappearing in a cloud of
tortured guilt.
Leo must hate himself for touching me. Maybe because I’m a man—and
I think that makes it so much worse.
I have never once in my life felt ashamed of who I am. Not when my
parents spewed vicious, endless hate for years on end. Not at church where
they made me stand in front of the entire congregation while they all prayed
publicly for the forgiveness of my sins, my parents right alongside them,
whispering my devious behaviors in their ears.
And man, did they get fucking specific.
Especially not even at that fucking “church camp” they sent me to,
which was really a conversion camp where they made horrid attempts at
brainwashing us in forms of physical and mental abuse.
Amos was there for that, too.
We have always been best friends, but experiencing something like that
weaved us closer together. We never talk about it, but sometimes I can feel
the memory of it sitting heavy on both of our chests—just like how it is for
me right now.
But Leo kissing and touching me like I was his lifeline, then tossing me
to the side like I was nothing, hurt worse than all of those memories
combined.
I jump when Amos’s feet thunder up the stairs. He flies into the room,
sweat dampening the hair across his forehead, lips parted with heaving
breaths, and bloodshot eyes wide with worry.
When our gazes connect, his body deflates. Nothing is said between us
as he draws closer, arms spread wide as he gathers me in them.
I’ve always been the caretaker between the two of us. I could handle
everything more adeptly than him. It’s the only way I know how when I’ve
always felt everyone else’s pain on top of my own.
But right now, I just need someone to love me.
The moment my head presses against his chest, I break down. Years of
pent-up pain and anger spew out of me in the form of wretched sobs. His
nails scrape across my scalp as he holds me to him, his hand rubbing back
and forth over my head.
He leans back, pulling me with him. He smells like cheap beer and
weed. My nose wrinkles, but at least he doesn’t smell like cigarettes.
I squeeze my eyes shut. Pain lances through my chest, coming directly
from my head. It radiates through my vital organs, veins, and even my
bones, making it almost impossible to breathe.
“Shh, Jax. It’s gonna be okay,” he murmurs quietly over and over. The
repetition of the words lulls me into a dazed trance, and after a while, my
tears dry up, leaving me feeling drained. Melancholic. Pitifully empty.
I pull out of his arms, hating the tightness in my face from the obnoxious
amounts of dried snot and tears. Avoiding his gaze, I stand on shaky legs
and walk across the small room to grab a fresh shirt—one that’s not damp.
One that doesn’t smell like him every time I take a breath.
“Are you gonna tell me what’s going on?” He’s not pushing me, but I
can tell he’s more than curious.
 It’s been years since I’ve cried like this. Hell, I can’t even remember the
last time it happened myself. And now I recall why—it hurts so much more
than just keeping it inside.
This is why I’d rather take on everyone else’s pain. That I can control.
This? I fucking can’t.
“Do you remember that church camp they sent us to?” I ask him,
sneering the words. I turn around and find his eyes. They widen at my
unexpected question, at the one subject we never broach.
He clears his throat, and my eyes follow the dip of his tattooed Adam’s
apple. “Yeah, you know I do.”
I nod, my lip ring latched between my teeth. “Did you ever feel
ashamed?” I ask around the metal in my mouth. Amos puffs out a breath,
his arms spreading wide as he leans forward. Drawing his long legs
together, he wraps his arms around them, curling in on himself on the sofa
bed.
“Every second of every day.” His words are quiet, but I hear them all
the same. The pain in the memory. I rake my fingers through my hair as I
pace the small space, hating how close the walls are for the first time.
It’s an uncomfortable feeling.
“I never did,” I tell him. We’ve never talked about it before together. We
know what the other went through as it was pretty much one shared
experience, but I need him to understand my side of it.
“I’ve never felt ashamed one time in my life. Maybe it was because I
didn’t want to give them the satisfaction. But I accepted who I was long
ago, and I fucking love myself for it.” My chest is heaving, aching from the
strain.
“Even when they were beating the shit out of us, forcing us to watch
things we shouldn’t. Touch people we shouldn’t. But Leo.” I scoff, blowing
out a breath and tugging on the ends of my hair until I feel a jolt of pain in
my scalp. “I fucking feel it now.”
“What happened, Jax?” His bloodshot eyes never stray from mine. I
wonder how high he is.
I don’t think he gets stoned often anymore, at least not like he used to,
but I know he’s going through shit. His family is constantly at the forefront
of his mind. And who can really blame him? He left someone behind. I
never had anyone to begin with—aside from him, of course.
 “Do you regret leaving?” He doesn’t note my obvious shift in the
conversation.
“I regret leaving…” he takes a tiny breath, “him.”
“You ever wanna go back?” I turn my back to him to sit on the coffee
table, my eyes back to staring down the darkened staircase.
“Every day.”
I nod my acceptance of his answer. It’s sincere, even lanced with
remorse.
“I kissed him. And he fucking kissed me back. But then, he shoved me
away and left. No one’s ever left me before.” I blurt out the extremely run-
down version of what happened, needing to get it off my chest, but unable,
or maybe even unwilling, to go into the heavy details of how good it felt,
how good he felt.
Why do I even feel this way so soon? Too soon.
“Shit,” is all he says, and I snort, a grin making my lips curve tiredly. I
spin around.
“Yep.”
“Must be serious if he made you cry like that.” I drop my head into my
hands.
“For me, but not for him. And I barely fuckin’ know him, Amos.” That
fact alone is unbelievable. “We only met a few weeks ago.”
“You know time has no relevance when it comes to shit like that, man.”
“I wish it did.” Because then, maybe this would all make a little more
sense.

S eventeen Y ears O ld

“A re you okay ?” I whisper to A mos , my eyes unbelievably dry . M y

tongue brushes against my dry, cracked lips, and I wince when saliva enters
the deep split down the middle, copper lingering on my tongue.
 “I—I think so.” His words shake as he trembles uncontrollably. We’re
naked. Honestly, I can’t remember the last time I even wore an article of
clothing. Time blurs here, an endless cycle of bullshit.
I’m enduring it, but Amos… I’m worried about him in a way I’ve never
felt before.
“I’m right here,” I whisper, hating the way my voice cracks, but I can’t
help it. My throat is so dry.
“I know.” I step closer to him, lifting my aching arms to wrap them
around his shoulders, drawing him as close as I can to give him some of my
body heat, which isn’t much.
It’s January, below freezing, and we’ve been locked in this fucking
outhouse for hours. It smells like ammonia and shit in here, but it’s better
than even seeing the faces of our church. People that claim to want the best,
yet they’re treating people worse than animals lined up at a slaughterhouse.
Amos shoves his face into my neck, and I shiver when his damp breaths
fan out over my skin. His tremors radiate into my own body, and I rock with
the force but never loosen my hold of him. As long as I help him, keep him
safe, I’ll be more than okay.
“We’re gonna get through this,” I promise him, my jaw setting tight
with resilience. “We’re almost eighteen. They can’t keep us here forever.”
“B-but what a-about…” His teeth are chattering so hard, the loud
clacking makes my own jaw ache.
“Asa?” I try, and he whimpers, nodding his head. They shaved all our
hair off, so all I feel is the small, buzzed hairs scraping against me.
“Yeah, Asa,” he chokes out. I know it’s still hard for him, the change
after growing up together, but I know he accepts Asa, wants to try.
“I don’t know,” I admit truthfully. “He’s only fifteen.”
“Almost sixteen.”
“I know,” I placate him, scratching my ripped nails over his scalp. My
cuticles are cracked and bleeding. I hope I don’t get any more blood on him.
He shuffles closer, putting our bodies flush and sighing. I release my
own breath of relief, too. The warmth, even as cold as it is, feels better than
the biting wind creeping in through the endless cracks in the walls, around
the door, and through the jagged, busted-out window.
Someone tried to escape, I think. With the dried blood coating the
fragments left, that’s the obvious conclusion, but I haven’t seen anyone with
that sort of injury, which makes me wonder what happened to them.
 I would’ve escaped by now if I had the chance to get us both out, but
they keep this place under lock and key. The only option really is to fucking
endure it all.
I’ve never looked forward to my birthday so much in my life.
“We’re gonna leave him with them, aren’t we?” Tears drip onto my
chest, sliding down my pecs and onto my hollowed-out abdomen. They’re
warm. Then so, so cold.
“I don’t know,” I say again, hating it’s the only thing I can say.
“I can’t,” he sobs. My heart aches.
Why is this our life?
“Sometimes, you have to save yourself,” I tell him honestly. “It’s okay
to be selfish when it’s necessary. We can’t get him out, Amos. We’d go to jail
for kidnapping, you know that. But you can’t stay here and take this any
longer. It’s gonna kill you.”
“I’d die for him.”
“I know you would. And I’d die for you, but maybe we deserve a chance
to live.”

I jolt out of the chair , tears stinging my eyes , pain lancing at my

temples, the memories of our time there blaring bright and unwelcome.
“Jax?”
“I’m going out for a smoke,” I mumble, snatching my hoodie off the
back of the chair and slipping it over my head. I fix the hood over my head
and shove my hands in the front pocket.
“But you don’t smoke?” Amos cuts through my inner turmoil, and I
snort.
“Apparently, I do now.” I don’t tell him the smell reminds me of Leo, of
how it lingered on his tongue as he kissed me, how his skin exuded the rich,
toxic scent.
How I find it fucking comforting.
I shove my way through the front door, inhaling the damp air. A car
passes by, the bass bumping with some heavy metal song. I nod my head to
the tune before it passes, leaving me in silence.
Leaning against the glass window with our shop logo—two dark orange
skulls melded together, gothic and grungy—I pull out the pack of cigarettes
I bought the other day and press one between my lips. The nicotine hits
with a bite as I inhale deeply, my eyes fluttering closed at the burn in my
lungs and my throat.
The taste is nasty on my tongue, but as I exhale through my nose,
watching the smoke curl up and out from my nostrils, I can’t help but
appreciate the toxin I’m putting in my body. The instantaneous relief.
Sadly, I see the appeal.
Clouds roll across the gray sky, dark and ominous, matching my mood.
I feel like I’m crawling out of my skin, my thoughts and feelings odd
and unwelcome.
This isn’t who I am. But maybe I don’t even know who that is anymore.
With my head pressed against the cool glass, I watch a black SUV roll
by. The windows are tinted almost black, so I can’t see inside. It rounds the
corner, disappearing from sight. I straighten my neck, jumping when there’s
a tapping against the glass right behind me. Glancing behind me, Amos is
staring, a little oddly.
I quirk my brow, and he taps his wrist, indicating the time. Pulling my
phone from my pocket, I glance at the screen. It’s time for the shop to open
up, and I’ve got a full fucking roster today. Yay me.
I hold up my hand, showing him I’ve got a few drags left. He rolls his
eyes but turns around, leaving me to it. Taking another inhale, I force my
thoughts to today and what I have planned. But I guess I’m kind of looking
forward to the distraction.
Another black SUV comes through my peripheral again, only this time,
it slows in front of the shop, pulling into one of the spots directly in front of
me. Must be someone with an appointment.
I drop the cigarette and crush it beneath my shoe, watching the car.
When the door cracks open and a large, tattooed arm snakes out from the
opening, my breath hitches in my throat as a weight sinks into my stomach.
Leo’s long legs step out, right into a small puddle next to the curb. My
eyes flit over him as he’s revealed to me. Jean-covered legs first before
trailing up his torso, covered in a nicely fitted black T-shirt.
And then, finally, his face—nose curved up slightly, dark brows, those
honey eyes I know too well. The tattoos on his neck, his temple, his
cropped hair grown out a little.
He looks damn fucking good, and I’ve never hated myself more for
loving it.
His eyes find mine as soon as he’s clear of the door. He never takes
them from me as he dips his head down and says something to whoever is
driving. The door slams shut, and the car drives off, leaving him standing
on the side of the road.
He shoves his hands in his pockets, making his biceps bulge. I
remember those arms wrapped around me. Neither of us moves, trapped in
a warped vortex of uncomfortable silence and mixed emotions.
“Jaxon,” he breathes, my name on his lips sounding like a relief. My
own hitches, my heart thundering against my sternum. My teeth latch onto
my lip ring, my head dipping down, severing eye contact.
“Leo,” I murmur, detesting the way his name falls from my lips so
effortlessly. I didn’t mean to say it, to even acknowledge him, but now that
he’s here, it’s like the last two weeks never happened.
“I missed you.” That makes my head snap up. I narrow my eyes.
“You…missed me,” I deadpan, but fuck if my heart doesn’t take a
flying leap.
“We should talk. I know we should, but I wanted to see you. Get to
know you, I think.”
What is he even talking about?
“You’re gonna have to spell some shit out for me. Forgive me for being
confused.” A low blow to go there already maybe, but I also want him to
know that it fucking hurt when he just left me.
His chest expands with a deep breath. Clouds billow from between his
lips. “I fucked up,” is all he says, and I can’t help but laugh, loud and
surprisingly genuine.
Running my hand over my hood-covered head, I say, “Yeah, you did.”
“I want to make it right, that’s why I’m here. I never wanted—I don’t
want to hurt you. But I think I will anyway.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m selfish in some ways. In others, I’m wholly self-sacrificing. I want
to be that way with you, but I don’t think I can.” He never takes his eyes
from mine, and it’s unnerving, his confessions, the depth of his irises.
“I want to be selfish with you, Jaxon. I want you—anyway I can have
you.”
 Shit.
I hold my breath for a few, long seconds before pushing it back out.
Leo’s stepped closer, only a couple of feet away now. My eyes drop to his
black leather boots, spotted and dripping with water.
What do I do with this?
“Friends?” I ask, hating the word even as it leaves my tongue. He arches
a brow, a smirk curling his lips, a stark contrast to his usual controlled,
blank mask.
“Friends,” he repeats. I shrug at the lie we can both feel, but I can’t give
him more.
“It’s all I’ve got.” For now. But I don’t say that.
“I’ll take whatever you give me.”
Oh, fuck.
I resist the urge to groan at those words, blood traveling to my cock
anyway.
My eyes roll into the back of my head as I arch my neck, needing to
sever eye contact. He probably has no idea what he just said, the way I took
it. But after the way he kissed me, held me… how could he not?
I have no idea how to be friends with someone like him, but if anyone
can do it, it’s me. Because maybe this is the way he’s meant to be in my life
—and nothing more.
“I know you have to work,” he shatters the anxious silence, swallowing.
“But I’d like to just sit and talk with you while you do. If that’s allowed?”
It’s a question.
He wants to stay. Watch me work. Talk.
Who is this guy, and what did he do to the Leo from two weeks ago?

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 12

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 LEO

S eeing him … I feel like I can breathe again .

I don’t know if I like it, but I can’t ignore the relief.
It’s all so confusing but irresistible.
“Well, come on.” He jerks his head as he turns toward the door, and I
follow him, hands still shoved in my pockets. Holding the door open for
me, I brush past him, angling my body so we don’t touch but just barely. I
can’t help the way I inhale deeply as I pass him, smelling of cinnamon and
tobacco with a hint of lavender.
It’s enough to curb the rampant thoughts of Blaine’s voice in my head—
his blatant disapproval alongside a brutal reminder of where my attention
should truly lie.
But I have today.
“What the fuck is he doing here?” Jaxon’s friend, Amos, spits as we
step inside. I feel Jaxon at my back as the door drifts shut behind him,
closing off the current of damp wind.
I tense, and my arms drop to my side, curling around my back toward
Jaxon. My fingertips brush against some part of him, but I can’t tell where
exactly because my eyes are glued to his friend, a sneer on my lips.
“Amos, relax. Leo, it’s fine,” he placates me, his own fingers brushing
over my arm before he steps around me, his touch a lick of fire. A fire I
crave. My hand catches on his hip, my fingers desperate to curl around him,
keep him close to me.
“Jax,” his friend grates. His dark hair is shaggy, hanging in front of his
eyes, full lips pursed.
 “It’s all good. Leo and I are friends now.” He drags the word out.
“Watch the sarcasm,” I bark, and he coughs a laugh.
“Sure thing, big guy.” I want to roll my eyes, but I love it when he
sasses me. Makes everything feel a little bit better. Easier.
Their whispers permeate the air, loud despite their hushed tones. “After
everything you went through?”
“I’m allowed to do what I want. And he makes me happy.” My fingers
flex, the collar of my shirt feeling far too tight around my neck. Warmth
floods into my cheeks. I hate the way it stings.
He said I make him happy. I didn’t know I could be that for someone.
“Happy?” his friend snips. I want to break his fucking jaw for speaking
to Jaxon like that. I don’t give a fuck if it’s about me, but he’s close to
crossing a line, friend or not.
“We’re just friends.”
“Yeah, ‘cause I want to fuck my friends, too.”
Jaxon laughs, light and airy and beautiful. “Pretty sure we’d all be a lot
happier if we started fucking our friends.” When he’s met with crickets, he
throws his hands up, moving away from Amos to the front desk. “Tough
crowd.”
His banter makes it hard to keep my face blank, something I’ve never
had an issue with before.
The guitar intro to Nickelback’s “Feelin’ Way Too Damn Good”
crackles through speakers lining the room, and when my eyes catch on
Jaxon’s smile, one of my own, as wide and blinding, spreads across my
face. He bobs his head to the beat, dimples etched deeply into his cheeks.
My eyes flick to Amos as he switches the open sign to on, the skull logo
next to the sign a dark outline against the glass. I’m not really sure what to
do with myself as they both practically float around the room, doing little
things here and there, which I’m sure is their usual routine with the ease and
speed they complete each task.
Shoulders tense, I lean against the front counter, my eyes following Jax
as he readies the drawer with cash and a small card reader off to the side.
The light behind the glass in the lower half of the counter shines against my
black boots. I crouch down, peering inside. Silver jewelry is displayed out
in neat rows with every kind of variation of barbells, horseshoe-looking
ones, and studs.
 “Do you do piercings, too?” I ask him as my eyes coast over the
jewelry. He leans over the top, his forearms pressed against the counter,
tattooed hands dangling just above my head. His skin is pale, the tendons
and veins stark beneath his tattooed flesh.
“I do. Why—ya want one?” One-half of his face scrunches with a half
smirk. A look that would probably not do anyone any favors in the looks
department, but on him, it’s fucking adorable.
My tongue feels leaden in my mouth as that thought catches up to me,
his blue irises shining brightly, staring far too deeply into me.
“I’m good.” I clear my throat and extend my legs. His delicate
fingertips brush along my face as I stand, and I lean into his touch, my
lashes fluttering at the cool warmth. His breath hitches, the sound rushing
through his nostrils. Crouched in an awkward position alongside the
counter, I hover while Jax caresses my face, his touch hesitant and delicate,
like he’s afraid he might break me. But the truth is, I’m the one terrified to
break him.
“Friends don’t do this,” he utters the words, almost like he hates to
speak them into existence. The moment they flood into my ears, I
understand why. They break our connection. I fully extend, hissing as his
hand slips away, palm landing gently against the black countertop.
He blinks up at me with a lopsided grin. “Being friends with you might
actually kill me, big guy.”
“You’re preaching to the choir, kid,” I remark.
“You know, that idiom doesn’t even make sense.”
My retort is cut off when the front door creaks. A gaggle of girls pours
through the door, immediately filling the space with their banter. I stiffen,
straightening away from Jax, my hands delving into my pockets. I wrap my
fingers around the brass knuckles there.
They center me while also filling me with a sense of dread, knowing I
might need them tonight. Blaine’s been drawing a tight fucking leash
around me ever since the bullshit with Vincent. He’s worried about my
“double life”, as he likes to put it. I’ll never admit it to him, but I am, too.
I’ve never been so distracted, so split between who I am and who I want
to be.
And it’s all because of Jaxon.
He’s shown me a side of myself I haven’t seen in almost twenty years.
His youth, his blissful optimism, his pure fucking light, is a goddamn
siren’s song. Only in this situation, that’s a good thing.
I think.
Amos strides up next to Jax, their shoulders brushing as they chat with
the women. I absorb their conversation, listening to every word, but my
gaze never strays from Jax. The way he’s glaringly extroverted, making
effortless conversation, receiving smiles and giggles in return.
Long, red nails brush over his forearm, and my eyes snap to the blonde
they belong to. She’s flirting with him, her eyes downcast, full lips curved,
breasts on display. My lip curls at the realization.
I don’t fucking like it. It shouldn’t fucking matter. So, why does it?
“Sure thing. Why don’t you hand me your I.D. and get this paperwork
filled out. Once you’re all done, I’ll take you back.” He slides her a tablet,
explaining how to fill out each page. She nods along with his explanation,
her eyes locked on his lips.
Heat nestles in my chest, hot and uncomfortable. I dig the heel of my
hand into my sternum. His eyes dart toward the movement. I still. Eyes.
I feel that fucking heat in my cheeks again, flushing down my neck. I’m
almost thirty-eight fucking years old, and I’m goddamn blushing.
Disgusting.
Rejuvenating.
I don’t deserve it. I shouldn’t even want to fucking feel it. How can I
when they…
“You all right over there, big guy?” Jaxon smirks at me knowingly, the
little shit. Just like that, they’re gone.
Shoving my shame down, I stare back, deadpan, which only makes his
grin widen. Never taking his eyes from mine, he holds his hand out, taking
the tablet back. “Thanks, hon. Give me a few to get set up, and I’ll come get
you.”
He flicks through her paperwork. Then he’s gone, leaving me alone.
Amos is going over tattoo designs with a couple of the girls—matching
tattoos apparently. Should turn out spectacular for them.
My skin crawls being surrounded by strangers. I spin on my heels in
search of Jaxon. The lights in one of the backrooms is on. Standing on the
threshold, I watch him sanitize the station with precision.
He knows I’m here, but he doesn’t pay me any mind. Impatience creeps
through my blood, growing more unpleasant by the second. I shift on my
feet, crossing my arms over my chest.
 I spent endless months training, quelling every natural instinct I ever
had, rewiring my brain only for a man, a friend, to completely undo me
with his mere presence.
“What’s with the face?”
“This is just how I look,” I growl, hating the way he unnerves me.
“Well, no shit. But why are you glaring at me like I ruined your day or
something?” He snaps off his black gloves, disposing of them in the bin. At
some point, he took off the hoodie he was wearing. He’s dressed in tight
black jeans and a button-down only halfway done up, showcasing his bare,
tattooed chest.
His ink is patchwork, a bunch of singular designs placed near each
other. But on him, they flow so effortlessly. They’re a testament to his
personality.
“I’m not.”
“Okay, ya grump.”
“Maybe I wouldn’t fucking be grumpy if you would quit flirting with
people in front of me.”
Aaand, shit. “Flirting?” he questions, eyes lighting up. I groan, rolling
mine, fingers clamping over the back of my neck.
“You heard me,” I grumble. This is going swimmingly. Great idea, Leo.
“That I fucking did.” He’s grinning like the Cheshire cat. He saunters
closer, his hips swaying. I remember how they felt in my grasp—delicate
and honed. Too good to be held by hands tainted with death.
Jaxon bypasses me, my skin sizzling with his near touch. I give myself a
moment to catch my breath and gather my bearings before following him,
but before I can, he returns, the touchy blonde in tow.
“All right, Leo. You’ve gotta go,” Jax excuses me, never glancing my
way as he indicates to the girl where she should sit. Her eyes trail over me,
widening. I almost roll mine.
“Excuse me?” He’s not fucking kicking me out.
“You heard me. My client’s privacy is paramount.”
“I don’t give a—” The heated glare he shoots at me makes my words
die on my lips. His sky-blue eyes are narrowed, pointed. I swallow down
my retort and exit the room without a word, slamming the door behind me.
Amos is busy with the rest of the girls. They’re all crowded around his
station as his tattoo machine glides over one of their wrists. He’s slightly
hunched over, dark-brown hair hanging down, blocking most of his face
from my line of sight.
Not sure what to do, I stroll to Jaxon’s station and plop down in his
black, rolling chair. He’s got a few notebooks shoved under a stack of
papers, so I pull them out and flip over the cover.
Dark gray stains white, flashes of color prominent as I quickly flick
through the pages. The wavering depth of his style is staggering. It varies
from dark and gothic—matching the logo on the front window—to light
and almost…bubbly; that’s where the color comes in.
He’s got a tone for every person imaginable in here. It’s truly an
attestation of his talent. A sharp shriek has my ears straining. I turn toward
the sound, coming from the back room. My thighs tense as I prepare to
stand before a voice to my right stops me.
“I can’t believe she went through with that.”
“I couldn’t. Ever.” Someone else shivers, shaking their head.
“Just think how hot they’ll be when she’s done, though.”
The back door cracks open, and out comes the screeching girl. She’s got
her tight shirt pinched between her fingers on both hands, holding it away
from her chest as she makes her way to the counter to pay.
Ah, her nipples. I resist the urge to scoff. Try getting your dick pierced.
Jaxon strolls out behind her, face set in concentration. He takes her
money with a smile before striding to Amos. He lifts his head, lips curved
as he blows his hair out of his face. The buzzing of the machine cuts off,
and he finishes by wiping up the area he tattooed. When the girl lifts her
arm to look, I notice a tiny, black heart just inside her wrist.
How fucking original.
“All right, who’s next?” Jaxon and Amos ask at the same time, and
every single one of those girls burst into a fit of giggles. My eyes roll into
the back of my head. I’m going to get a migraine if I have to keep listening
to this shit.
I’ve never felt out of place with Jaxon until this very moment where our
age difference is now glaringly obvious.
I don’t belong here, in any fucking capacity. I don’t even bother saying
goodbye to him as I make my way toward the door.
I should have listened to Blaine, to the burdensome voice inside of my
head. I can’t be here. I can’t let myself feel this, be this.
It was never my life to live.
 “Leo!” Jaxon’s voice penetrates deep and warm. I shake it off, resolve
setting the tone. I pull my phone out of my pocket and pull up Blaine’s
number. As annoyed as he will be about picking me up, he’ll also be
relieved, I’m sure.
Fingers wrap tightly around my wrist, yanking my arm backward. My
phone flies from my grip and slides across the tile floor with a loud crack.
Jaxon pales as he follows my phone’s descent before looking up at me
through his lashes, eyes wide, lips parted in surprise.
I step, but I don’t remove my hand from his hold. In fact, I use it to
force our bodies closer together. I can’t fucking stand this shit—the constant
back and forth in my mind. One second, I’m fighting with myself to stay
away from him; the next, I’m battling the guilt because I can’t. Because
they don’t deserve that, for me to put anyone else first. Jaxon doesn’t either.
No one wants to be second, especially to two fucking ghosts.
“Don’t go,” he pleads. I love the words on his lips, but he doesn’t
understand. Frankly, neither do I. I’m not even sure where I come to these
conclusions—to stay, to go. None of it makes sense when I’m no longer in
the moment.
“You don’t understand.”
“Then make me. Just stay.” Holding my breath, I press our chests
together, my arm between us, trapped in his embrace.
“Is this what being your friend feels like?” I ask, needing to know if I’m
simply out of my mind.
He licks his lips, that fucking hoop trapped between his teeth. “I… I
think every friendship is different. Ours is no exception. Every person needs
something different.” He tightens his grip, the tips of his fingers pressing
against my knuckles. Somehow, his fingers curl around me.
“And I know that there is nothing wrong with taking what you need
from someone if they’re willing to give it to you. And I am.”
My vision goes hazy. It hurts to breathe.
“You don’t know what you’re saying.” He can’t really think that, not
after I hurt him the way I did.
“I do. I’ll be whatever, whoever, you need me to be. I promise.” He has
no idea what he’s saying to me, what I’ll do to him.
“That’s a promise you can’t keep, Jaxon. I won’t let you.” He’s too pure.
It’s wrong, I’m wrong.
 “It’s a good thing you can’t decide things for me then, huh, big guy,” he
quips, attempting to lighten the mood.
“But I can if I want to. I can walk out that door and never come back. I
can leave you be.”
The room’s gone quiet, ears probably straining to absorb bits of our
conversation. We both lower our tones, speaking in hushed, desperate
whispers. “Is that what you want?” he asks. He’s looking at where we’re
connected. I wonder if he feels it, too—the peace his touch brings me. The
way the licks of fire ease the strenuous ache in my muscles.
“There’s a lot you don’t know. That you can’t.”
“Why not?”
“It’s dangerous.” That makes him scoff, indignant.
“I’m not a fucking child. I can handle it.”
I exhale heavily through my nose. “That’s what I’m afraid of.” He has
no retort for my words. Of course, I’ve wanted to tell Vincent about my life
more times than I can count, but Vin is the type of person to take that shit
personally. He’d be offended and hurt.
I can’t be the one to hurt him like that, so I’ve stayed silent, inevitably
making everything worse when the truth finally spills. Because it will. It
always does.
But maybe Jaxon can be the barrier between the two, a lifeline tethering
me to both places. A common ground.
Fuck.
“Let’s just hang out today. Amos seems to want to take care of all those
girls himself, so why don’t I get to work on that piece of yours? Maybe
finish it up?” he asks. Relief fills me at the change of conversation.
“I’d like that.” Watching him work is mesmerizing to me. I can feel his
passion in what he does, the joy it brings him. I envy it.
“Sure thing, big guy. Come on.” He tugs my hand, making me follow. I
think I’d follow him anywhere just to absorb a sliver of his light, and that
terrifies me most of all.
I’m going to snuff it out until there’s nothing left in either one of us.
But how can I resist when he’s just so willing?
When we’re back at his station, Jaxon pulls out a partition, spreading it
into place to give us the maximum amount of privacy. I undo the button on
my jeans. The fact I went commando this morning doesn’t even cross my
mind until air hits my bare skin as I pull the zipper down.
 My hand pauses, eyes shooting to Jaxon. He’s not paying me any mind
as he gets his shit set up, methodical and precise. “Hey, Jax,” I blurt. I’ve
never called him that before, but I like the shortened nickname. It suits him.
“Yeah?” he asks, his voice floating over his shoulder. He doesn’t look at
me. I don’t like that.
“Jaxon.” My tone is sharper this time, and that gets his attention. My
blood’s hot as his eyes pursue me. His jaw is set, the defined angle sharper.
“Yes?” he asks curtly.
“I need something to cover up.” More specifically, something to cover
the erection I’m bound to get.
“Why? Just do what you did with your boxers like last time.” He’s
staring at me oddly.
“I’m not wearing any,” I mutter, and just like I knew he would, he grins
slyly. He waggles his eyebrows at me, his button nose scrunching.
My face is deadpan, which only makes his smile broaden. “Do you not
want to be naked around me, Leo?” I think I do, a little too much, which is
part of the fucking problem. “I’ll grab you a towel.” He disappears around
the partition, and I feel like I can breathe again for a moment.
My fucking friendship with Vincent never feels this tense. Well,
actually, it does, but in an entirely different way. But I suppose, now that I
think about it, I don’t think I’ve ever really had a friend—or at least, not
one like Jaxon.
Blaine and I are close, but that’s because of the life we lead and the
bond that grows because of that. Business and homicide bring people
together. Vincent’s like a… son, who I want to punch in the mouth every
two seconds, yet still feel a vast amount of love for.
Jaxon’s… Jaxon.
“Here.” A towel is thrown in my vicinity, and I catch it with ease, my
fingers gripping the cotton tightly. I bring it to my nose when I catch a whiff
of lavender.
“Thanks,” I grumble and shed my jeans, the angle awkward as I try to
keep myself covered.
“Whenever you’re ready.” When I look up, I notice Jaxon purposefully
avoiding me so I can get situated on the chair. There’s a pillow for me
again, and once I’m situated, I adjust it, glancing down to make sure my
dick isn’t hanging out—mostly.
 “All right,” I tell him. He spins around, eyes dropping to my mostly
nude form. I kept my shirt on this time, mostly to hide the healing scar from
when Seb sliced me up. It’s angry and red now, puffy and abhorrent. I like
the reminder though, but that doesn’t mean Jaxon needs to see it.
“Ready for some black work?” he asks, the wheels of his chair scraping
across the linoleum. Some song I don’t recognize begins, but the heavy
melody is nice.
“Like I have a choice,” I grunt.
“Well, you do.” He laughs. The machine buzzes, and he dips the needles
into black ink. I glance down at the reaper on my hip and thigh, and the
irony is not lost on me.
“Not with you,” I mumble. Fire licks across my flesh as the needles
hammer into me. Jax has one of the lightest hands that has ever tattooed me.
The pain is nice, constant, and coming from him, even better.
“We all have a choice, big guy.” This conversation feels heavy, like
most of ours have been. I hate it as much as I crave it.
“Do we, though? Do you not believe in fate, that our paths have already
been paved?”
“Hmm.” The voices of Amos and the girls fade into the background,
Jaxon and I trapped in our own little world behind the temporary wall he
placed. “No.”
“You don’t?” Fuck, I do. If I had a choice in fucking anything, I
wouldn’t even be here.
“Nope.” His fingers are splayed across my hip. An innocent touch.
“Why not?”
“It’s a long story.” Now, who’s refusing to talk? I want to retort but hold
it back.
“I’ve got time. Clearly.”
“Yeah, you’re stuck with me, big guy.” He’s quiet for a while,
ruminating. And I think, whether he talks to me or not, this is okay.
“I don’t,” he begins, taking in a shaking breath. I have a feeling that
whatever he’s going to say means something to him. Defined him. “I don’t
believe in that shit because it’s not true. I didn’t have a great childhood. I
didn’t even have an okay one.
“My parents were abusive and homophobic. They hated the fact I was
gay, and I didn’t hide that shit from anyone. That I was proud. For years,
they probably tried everything they could think of to set me straight.” He
laughs dryly at the expression, and my gut tightens painfully, hating the
direction this story has taken.
“I was beaten, assaulted, tortured. Fuck, they even tried to brainwash
us,” he sneers, his voice taking on a sinister lilt. Bile creeps up my throat,
white-hot and stinging. My eyes prick with unshed tears.
Us. I guess that explains why he and Amos are so close.
I’m having a hard time imagining him going through any of that. He’s
so fucking…happy all the goddam time. Positive and wholesome. How
could he live that kind of life and turn out the way he did? He’s only
fucking twenty-two years old.
“Jaxon.” He refuses to meet my eyes, his own face flushing with what I
think is embarrassment. “Your strength is fucking admirable.” He needs to
know that. I never would have suspected he was a survivor of so much
agony, but he’s done so much more than stay alive.
He’s healed, made a new, better life for himself. He’s fucking happy.
And that’s the craziest of them all.
“You’re happy?” I ask. I can sense he wants to quit talking about
himself, and I push in a different direction. He shared so much more than I
would have thought. More than I have. More than I deserve to know.
“Yeah.” He smiles—bright, white, and genuine. It floods through me,
adding a coolness to the torrid heat flushing my veins.
“Are your parents still alive?” I ask the question before I can really
think about what I’m asking. He’s staring down at my leg, his concentration
never wavering, but I see a notch form between his brows.
“Last I knew, yeah.”
“You don’t talk to them?” He fucking better not.
“No. I haven’t since before I left.”
“Good,” I growl, hating the mere thought of them still having any sort
of connection with him. The mere fact they share blood is enough to make
my fingers twitchy.
“You’re so weird,” he laughs, and the sound shatters the veil of anger I
was holding on to.
I grunt. “Why?” I’ve never been called weird a day in my fucking life.
He pinches me. My leg jerks. “You just are, but I like weird.”
“You better not fuck it up by pinching me, kid.”
He mock-gasps, his hands flying through the air, near his face. “I would
never.”
 My eyes roll into the back of my head so hard, I can feel the start of a
headache forming. “I think you would, if only to fuck with me.”
“I would never mar your beautiful skin, Leo. Not like you do.”

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 13

OceanofPDF.com
 JAXON

T his is one of the best days I’ ve had in a long time . T he shop stays
relatively busy all day, but not too much to where Amos can’t handle it
himself, seeing as I’m busy with Leo.
I take my time gliding the needles across his skin, each line made with
deliberate purpose and innate detail. I’m working faster than I thought I
would. Leo distracts me on an undeniable level, but when I’m hunched over
his body, despite the original heaviness of our conversation, it flows well
and makes the time effortlessly fly by.
I’m working on the finishing touches, a few little spots here and there
that need a little more attention to make it the best it can be. The dark
shadows surrounding the reaper melt into his skin, fusing beautifully with
his other tattoos. I’m beaming as I wipe the excess ink off, leaving his skin
red and glistening.
A low vibration goes off, long and drawn out in intervals. I glance up,
finding Leo’s face pinched, eyes scrunched closed.
“Are you okay? Are you in pain?” I set my machine down and stand. “I
just finished, so let me—”
“Everything’s fine,” he rasps. He looks tired, the dark circles under his
eyes pronounced.
“Then why’s that face on your face?” He barks out a laugh, his large
body shaking the chair. My cheeks hurt from the depth of my smile. His
laugh is lovely, a bit dry and rough.
“I have work to do,” he tells me, the words sounding bitter.
“Work?” It’s…dark outside. “What do you do for work?”
 “One of those pesky things I can’t tell you.” He sounds resigned.
“You seem to not be able to tell me anything.” I try to keep the
indignation out of my tone, but it slips out anyway. I just want him to tell
me something, anything, about himself, his life.
“I know.”
“It’s your choice, you know.” I place the plastic wrap over his tattoo and
secure the edges with tape.
“I know, Jaxon.” He sighs heavily, shifting on the chair so he’s sitting,
his back to me. His muscles are tense, long, wide ridges rippling under his
tattooed flesh.
“Great. Glad we settled that.” I’m angry now. I don’t like secrets and
lies. They’re messy and unpredictable, and I don’t want to live like that.
“Jaxon.” Leo reaches for me, but I turn away to start cleaning
everything up, leaving his arm hanging in the air. The rustle of his clothes is
loud around us as he gets dressed. He’s being unreasonable. It’s not like I’m
asking for his whole life story, which I would gladly take if he’d give it to
me, but I just want something.
I don’t think that’s too much to ask.
His phone vibrates incessantly again. “What?” he snaps. I turn. His
phone’s pressed to his ear as he speaks into it.
“I told you I needed today—” I wish I could hear the voice on the other
line, but the low hum of voices and the music through the speakers keeps
me from hearing much of anything, so I just watch Leo. The way his body
grows rigid the longer the phone call lasts, the way his fist clenches by his
side.
“Fine.” He rips the phone away, his large fingers slamming down on the
screen as he types something rapidly.
Leo spins around so fast, lunging toward me, I stagger back. The chair
is still between us, but his thighs are pressed against it, arm extended before
he drops it. His fingers scrape along the leather, making it squeak under the
pressure.
His back is curved as he bends over, glaring at me through his lashes.
His bearded jaw is tense, his teeth grating. “I have to go.”
I take another step back, my arms crossing over my chest. “Then go.” I
jerk my head in the direction of the front door.
“I’m not going to leave you like this.” He straightens, long legs bringing
him around the chair separating us. The closer he gets, the more I back up,
until the backs of my thighs bump against the low-level counter behind me.
“Wouldn’t be the first time.” He makes a noise that sounds like
something between a growl and a groan.
“Why can’t this just be fucking easy?” he snarls. Closer still, he comes.
I hold my hand up to stop his incursion, but it doesn’t deter him in the
slightest. He presses his chest against my hand, pushing close enough for
me to feel the hot breaths puffing from between his lips.
“Nothing is ever easy, Leo. But you’re making it harder.” My fingers
curl of their own volition, knotting themselves into the cotton.
“I know I am,” he resigns. His heat thuds against my palm—steady.
Applying pressure, I push my hand upward until my fingers brush along the
spread of his neck. I’m not even thinking as I wrap my fingers around it,
palm pressed against his Adam’s apple. It rolls with a swallow. My grip
tightens.
I can feel his pulse. His heartbeat was steady only moments ago. Now,
it’s hammering. His chest is much of the same. I can’t stop staring at my
pale, tattooed hand wrapped around his thick, tanned neck.
It’s too much. And not nearly enough.
I use my hold on him to pull him toward me. He could fight me off, but
he doesn’t as he allows me to manipulate him. It’s fucking heady.
My lips brush against his as he hunches over, right where I want him.
We don’t kiss. That’s not what this is.
“If,” I start, licking my lips, “or when, you come back, bring some
fucking answers with you.” My resolve is set. I’m taking a step and telling
him what I need. If he doesn’t fucking give it to me, I don’t know what I’ll
do.
But he wets his lips, his tongue flicking out against mine, the tip tracing
along the hoop.
Tobacco.
I moan as he plays with it, almost like he doesn’t even realize he is
before his tongue disappears back into his mouth.
“I will.” I flex my fingers, constricting his airway. His breath cuts off
mid-inhale. A smile flicks across my lips at the control he’s allowing me to
have.
It’s a goddamn power trip.
“I won’t wait for you.” I drop my hand to my side, leaving Leo
staggering at the sudden loss. Watching the surprise and confusion splay
across his face is enough to keep me whole, hope and promise at the
forefront of my mind. Need and unrelenting want.
“I’ll…call?” he tries, and I shake my head. It’s not good enough.
“You’ll come here.” He nods, amber-honey eyes drilling into me. He
licks his lips again and my cock twitches, painfully fucking hard, and when
I glance down, I notice Leo has the same problem.
Good. I hope it fucking hurts.
His phone vibrates again, and he growls, eyes leaving mine to glance
down at the screen.
“Goodbye, Leo.”
“Jaxon.”
Someone walking away from me has never looked so agonizingly
divine.

“J axon at V ice T attoo . W hat can I do for you ?”

“Hey, man. It’s Vincent. Can you meet me sometime today? I need
some work done.” I blink a couple of times in surprise. I haven’t heard from
him since he introduced me and Leo, despite me trying to get ahold of him
not too long ago, but that’s not exactly surprising. Vincent’s more of a
doesn’t-exist-until-he-does kind of guy.
“Uh, yeah, man, sure. No problem. Any specific time?” I only have one
appointment today. I’ve been keeping my schedule pretty open since Leo
left two days ago for whenever he comes back.
He’s texted me a couple of times. Short, simple messages.

I’m fine.
I’m sorry for disappearing.
I miss you.

I haven’t responded, but I look over them often, hopeful despite every
bone in my body telling me it’s foolish.
“No. Whenever you’re available is fine for me. Just let me know.”
 My eyes scan over the computer screen in front of me. “Sounds good.
I’ve got someone coming in…” My eyes lock on the time stamp, “in about
ten minutes, but after that, I’m free. Give me two hours, and I’ll head to
you. Are we meeting at the pub?”
Vin’s the only client I’ve ever traveled for, which is why I was surprised
he even came into Vice in the first place. In the past, he’s had me meet him
at a bar downtown…called Leo’s Pub.
Holy shit.
Is that Leo’s place? It’s gotta be.
It’s actually a short distance from the shop. Is that where Leo is right
now? If he’s so close, why hasn’t he come?
“No, my place. Get a pen and paper.” I reach across the counter and pull
out a pad of sticky notes wedged underneath a stack of notebooks. He gives
me his address and hangs up abruptly.
Dropping the pen, I heave out a sigh, my palms digging into the
armrests. I’m craving a cigarette, just a few drags to take the edge off, but
before I can, my next client, Jonah, walks through the door.
“Hey, Jax.” He gives me a smile, excitement rolling off him in waves. I
take a deep breath, my own smile pulling my lips when I sense his
enthusiasm. Forcing thoughts of Leo away, I allow my body to absorb the
good shit, keeping the rest at bay and off my mind.
“Come on back.” I push away from the counter. Amos’s eyes connect
with mine as I pass by him. “Go take a seat, man. I’ll be with ya in a sec.”
Jonah nods and makes his way to my chair.
“What’s up?” Amos asks, wiping at the tattoo he’s doing. The girl
beneath him is playing idly on her phone, not paying us any mind.
“I’ve got a travel job after this one, so you probably won’t see me until
late.”
“You do?”
“Yeah, Vincent,” I tell him. He rolls his eyes, getting back to work.
“Crazy eyes,” he mumbles, and I laugh.
“Yeah, him. You can close up, yeah?”
“Yeah, no problem. I don’t know if I’ll be home tonight.”
“Where are you going?”
“Goin’ to Jeris’s.” My eyes drill into the top of his head, a mop of
shaggy, brown hair.
“Again?”
 “I’m a big boy, Jax.” I’m being pushy. Got it. I wish he’d understand
I’m just worried.
“Yeah.” I run my fingers through my hair. “I know. I’ll call you later.”
“Have fun with crazy eyes!” he yells at my back.
At least Vincent’s entertaining.

“H oly shit .” I can ’ t contain my awe as I pull down the long , gravel
drive. My piece of shit Honda clonks with the dip from concrete to rock.
She’s a piece of shit, but she’s reliable, nonetheless.
Trees line the long, winding drive on either side, sending me deep into
the shadows despite the setting sun melting through the clouds.
My fingers tap along to the beat of Sleep Token as I travel down the
drive. After a few minutes, a big ass house comes into view. My jaw
fucking drops.
What the fuck?
Vincent’s house is fucking huge, made of dark wood and glass walls.
With the forest as a backdrop, it’s like something you’d see in a murder
film. Goosebumps break out across my skin, and I shiver. Parking next to a
badass Camaro, I switch the ignition over and step out, breathing in the
uniquely fresh air.
Hauling my supplies into my arms, I make my way to the front door.
When I called Vincent to let him know I was on my way, he told me to
come inside, so I let myself in. I walk into a large, open space bathed in
shades of gray.
“Vin?” I call out, my voice echoing.
“Over here.” I follow the sound of his voice, finding him leaning back
on the couch, one arm stretched around the back, the other cast in a sling.
I step down the single step. “What happened to you?” I ask, eyeing the
sling. His eyes narrow, jaw tightening.
“A little mishap.” Vague, but I’m not surprised.
“Are you even cleared to be tattooed?” I ask because if he’s hurt, that
increases the risk of infection greatly, and I don’t exactly want to tattoo him
if it’ll get infected or hurt him worse.
“I’m fine, Jaxon. I don’t pay you to ask questions.” Does he realize how
similar he is to Leo? He’s like a creepier, more deranged version. It’s
unnerving.
I swallow and shrug. “If you say so.” I set my bag on the small table in
front of the large sectional. “So, what were you thinking?”

“Y ou sure ?” I ask , the outline of sharpie a stark contrast against

his tanned skin. He’s lying on his side, injured shoulder pressed into the
couch. I tried to talk him into a different position, but he was unrelenting.
His shoulder’s covered in a square of gauze, so I can’t see what’s
underneath. But my curiosity is piqued. Especially with the design I just
drew on him.
It’s dark outside now, the sun having set completely, but the lights in the
room are vivid.
“Yes, I’m sure. You know this.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know. But I still like to ask.” It comforts me to have that
last answer of reassurance before I start—before it becomes forever.
I leave him to get my shit situated. It takes a bit longer since I’m not at
the shop and everything’s packed in my bags, but Vincent’s house has more
than enough room for me to spread out. Not that I necessarily need it but,
nonetheless.
Planting my ass on the coffee table with my machine in hand, I ask him,
“Ready?”
“You fucking know it,” he grumbles, eyes closed. I take a breath and dip
the needles in black ink, starting on the outline. It’ll take me a while
because it’s large, but it’s not too heavily detailed.
I start on his hip, slowly working my way up his ribs, each petal a
single, delicate line. He twitches as I graze over a particularly sensitive
spot. “You good?”
“I’ll tell you if I’m not,” he grates, and my eyes widen, lips pursing.
 “All right, man.” Switching out cartridges, I work on the name he asked
me to incorporate with the poppies. It’s more of a nickname, I’m assuming,
but if he’s having me permanently etch it into his skin, it must belong to
someone important.
Someone he’s hurting for. He hasn’t said a word, which isn’t out of the
ordinary for him, but out of the couple of years I’ve been tattooing Vincent,
I’ve never seen him as anything other than strong and unyielding. Seeing
him in pain, eyes rimmed in dark bruises, it’s not him.
Hours pass in silence, apart from his muffled grunts. I have to pause a
couple of times for him to readjust, but it doesn’t slow me down much. I
work as fast as I can while still doing the best job possible.
I want to ask him about Leo, about what happened to him, the questions
pressing on the tip of my tongue, but the anguish-masked anger rolling off
him is enough for me to resist.
It’s not even my place, but he’s connected to Leo in a way I’m not, and
I’m sure Leo knows what happened to Vincent. But he didn’t tell me, and I
can’t ignore how that hurts.
Whether it’s my business or not, I just want him to divulge in me, even
a little.
But apparently, that’s asking too much.
My eyes flick over the bright, red-orange color of the flowers. It’s
vibrant, contrasting beautifully with the black, yet flowing eloquently with
the script at their center.
I clean him up. “All right, I’m done.” I push back, my eyes tracking
over the art. I’ve never done anything quite like it, and I have to admit,
Vincent’s got a good eye—personal or not.
“What the fuck are you staring at?” He barks as he shoots into a sitting
position, startling me.
I mask my surprise with a smile. “Nothin’. I fuckin’ love it, dude.” I
turn away to start cleaning up. It’ll take me longer, again, because I don’t
have any of my usual shit, but I’ll make do. Vincent leaves without a word,
probably to go look at it in a mirror.
Hope all that pain was worth it.
He’s gone for long minutes, and by the time he’s entering the room
again, an expression of resolve on his face, it’s like his entire mood has
shifted. A wad of hundreds is slapped into my hand. Without hesitation, I
say, “You know this is too much.” I don’t mind being paid a little extra for
the mild inconvenience, even a tip, but this is hundreds of dollars too much.
“Yeah, and?” He shrugs, like my rebuttal is a nonissue. “You did a good
job, and you earned it.”
“Um, okay, I guess.” Honestly, he seems too stubborn to argue, so I
pocket the money and finish wrapping his fresh tattoo, reminding him of the
aftercare. I grab my bags and exit the room post haste, my next destination
all I can think about.
If Leo’s not going to give me any answers, maybe I can find some shit
out for myself.
But before I walk out the door, I turn around, finding Vincent standing
in the middle of the large room, looking small despite his unwavering
height. “Hope you get her back,” I tell him earnestly.
I don’t know a thing about her, the baby doll I tattooed on him, but I can
tell whatever it was is eating him alive.
The only confirmation I get is a slight, rigid nod, and then, I’m out the
door. A chill has settled in the air without the warmth of the sun, and I
shiver, my shoulders hiking as I rush to my car. After placing my stuff in
the backseat, I connect my phone to the aux, press shuffle on my playlist,
then google the address for the bar I’ve been thinking about ever since I
connected the dots.
I have no idea if Leo will even be there, but at this point, it doesn’t
matter.
I have to try something before I lose my mind, before he takes it from
me. He doesn’t understand my issue with secrets. It never came up, but two
days is too long.
He has a choice to make. Give me something and keep me, or give me
nothing and lose me. Because all of these lies, even a small, simple one like
this… it’s too much.
And even as my tires bounce, skipping from gravel to paved road as
they take me back into Portland, I can’t ignore the intensity of my own lie.
As much as I want it to be true—to make it fucking true—I can’t ignore that
if anyone can twist me up and make me ignore my own morals, my own
fucking boundaries, it’s him.

OceanofPDF.com
 14

OceanofPDF.com
 LEO

“T he blowback from this has been astronomical , L eo . E veryone is

fucking antsy; tension is high.”
“And?” I ask, smoke pluming from my nostrils.
“And?” Blaine grates. I can hear the distinct squeeze of his molars
grinding together. “You know what happens when people get nervous. They
react without reason—impulsively. That’s how people get hurt. And Ivan
Volkov decided to give me a call.”
I arch a brow, the only reaction I give him. I swivel around in the chair,
my t-shirt pulling tight around my bicep as I extend my arm, cigarette
pinched between my fingers. My phone burns a hole in my pocket, my text
thread with Jaxon pulled up on the screen so it’s the first thing I see when I
unlock my phone—a list of a one-sided conversation.
Ignoring the quip about Ivan, I ask, “And what people would that be?
Hmm? We’re guarded. No one can get in here; you know that as well as I
do.” Many have tried in the past, but Jameson went through the measures to
ensure our safety was paramount.
“We are not who I am referring to.” My blood runs cold, dread-laced
panic clawing into my veins.
“Be more specific, Blaine, and say what the fuck you mean.”
“You want to pretend to be obtuse? Fine. I’ll play your games, Leo. I’m
talking about your whole other fucking life. The one with Vincent and that
boy you’re playing with.”
“Boy?” I growl. I don’t fucking like the way he’s speaking about Jaxon.
“That’s what I said.”
 “Watch your tone when you talk about him.” My fingers curl into my
palms, nails nestling into the permanent ridges there.
“Why?” His suit is black, crisp, and unrumpled as he leans back in his
chair across from me. A large desk separates him, but that doesn’t stop my
mind from flashing with images—me lurching across and taking his throat
in my hand, squeezing the life from his veins.
“You know why.”
He scoffs, slamming his glass tumbler against the wood. It jars me, but I
don’t let that show. The only person who gets to see my every genuine
reaction isn’t here. “Actually, I don’t. You’ve always been cavalier about
your role in this life. I let it slide because you were grieving, even years
later.
“I don’t know what you went through, Leo. In fact, I can’t imagine the
impact that still has on you, but Jameson—” his voice breaks, his breath
trembling when he inhales through his nose, “but Jameson left this all to
you. You can’t half-ass that anymore. People are noticing.”
I know who he’s referring to. “What if I don’t want this, huh? Have you
thought about that?”
“Of course, I have. But that’s not an option.” He makes it sound so
absolute.
“You sure about that?” Frankly, getting out is all I have ever thought
about, and even I never saw an escape route.
“You know it to be true, Leo.”
My chair creaks as I lean back, staring up at the high ceiling, cigarette
between my lips.
“So, what’s the word on the street?” I need to change the subject; I can’t
keep thinking about the impossible.
But Jaxon is another impossible I have to face—one I can’t force out of
my mind. But lanced with the mere thought of him is years of guilt
intertwined in my very core.
There is no him without them, but there’s no them without me. And I’m
afraid I don’t have enough of me left to split into fractions without
disappearing completely. And Quinn and Harrison shouldn’t have to share
me—not after what I did to them.
“Word of the Sullivans…divulsion, to state the obvious. No one knows
what happened, but it has tensions high. They’re saying a rival crew is out
for blood.”
 I scoff, rolling my eyes. Tequila burns my throat as I down the rest of
my glass. Warmth travels down and flushes out before settling in my gut.
“Okay, if there’s no blowback on us, then why concern ourselves? Let the
wolves take care of themselves.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“And why is that?”
Blaine’s hands slam against the desktop, my glass vibrating. I glance
down before trailing my eyes up his covered arms, over his crisp, white
shirt before meeting his eyes. They’re narrowed and pointed at me, wrinkles
prominent, brimming with anger.
“Taking initiative gives us the upper hand—an opportunity to control
the narrative.”
I take in his words, my thumb brushing back and forth across my
bottom lip. My beard scratches my lip, the motion burning my skin after a
while.
“Yeah, I see what you mean. That could be good for us—except I’ve
taken the time, years, matter of fact, to keep us neutral—and you want me
to make moves, putting us back in the limelight.”
“They see us as weak,” is the only reason Blaine gives me. The
tightness in my jaw increases.
“Weak? Do you really think I give a fuck how we’re perceived?”
“You should.” I push my chair away and make my way to the bottles on
the mini bar near the far window. After refilling my glass, I peer outside.
It’s dark, the grass sparkling in the moonlight, damp with rain. My eyes
skim along the fencing—tall, concrete, impenetrable—at the men lined
about, walking casually, yet alert.
Like a goddamn prison. For my body and my mind.
“Why didn’t you ever take over?” I turn around to face Blaine. He’s
leaned back in the chair, glass back in his hand. The wrinkles in his
forehead deepen, his salt and pepper hair brushing along them. He glances
down at the desk in front of him, over the chair where Jameson spent many
hours with Blaine by his side, running the business effortlessly together.
“He didn’t ask me to. He trained you for it.” Shaking my head, I sigh.
“You’ve always known I wasn’t good enough.”
“That’s not true. Jameson wouldn’t have taken you in if he didn’t
believe you were.”
 “You know how he felt. Guilty, worried. His business transactions got
my family killed. He wanted to make it better by giving me what I needed,
and in return, he gave me his entire life. Everything I never wanted.
“You fucking know I wanted out; he did, too. But no one would let me
leave once I avenged my family. I’ve been fucking trapped.”
“It’s—” he cuts himself off, lips pursed. The warm, yellow lighting
casts shadows in the room.
“It’s exactly like that.” I finish his sentence for him. “And that’s why I
accepted my fate. Because of him and everything he did for me.”
He pushes out of his chair, spinning around to grip the back of it, head
bowed. “You loved him.” It’s not a question but a statement. He nods,
resigned.
“You were in love with him.” Again, not a question.
“I loved him more than anything.” He sounds defeated. Exhausted. Just
like me.
“Is that why you’re fighting so hard for this?” The tequila is bitter on
my tongue as I down the rest of it in two swallows. My skin prickles, my
stomach churning, but the warmth feels nice.
“I’m trying to keep his dream alive. He worked endlessly his entire life
to make this business what it was.” He stands up straight, his palms sliding
down the front of his jacket, working out the creases. “And getting out isn’t
worth the risk it would put on everyone.”
“And this business is what got my family killed.”
“Leo, it’s not that fucking simple.” My arm wings the tumbler across
the room. Glass shatters, splintering when it crashes into the wall. Blaine’s
shoulders twitch, but otherwise, he remains impassive.
“It is that fucking simple.”
“It’s been just about twenty fucking years. You need to let it go.”
Let it go.
Fucking let. It. Go.
I’m over to Blaine in a flash, my hand around his throat. I have him
flipped, back pressed against the wooden desk in a flash, pinned beneath
me. I curl myself over him, my face to his, so close our noses brush.
He keeps the same expression. In fact, he doesn’t even look surprised.
Of course, he doesn’t. He knew I’d react this way. My family’s a fucking
hair-trigger.
 “I will slit your throat right fucking now,” I spit. His lips twitch when
my saliva flies across his face, skin flushing red from the lack of oxygen.
“Go on,” he rasps, barely able to choke out the words. So fucking
tempting. My fingers twitch against his shoulder, the material of his suit
impossibly soft against my calloused flesh.
My eyes drill into him, hating everything I see. The house, engulfed in
flames, white sheets dragged carelessly over my family, stretchers bouncing
along the concrete, pushed into ambulances.
Sirens, horrified screams, uncontrolled shouts. The high-pitched rush of
water.
And I didn’t hear any of it.
Just…quiet.
A vibrating ringing as me blinking rapidly, Blaine’s face coming into
view, blotchy and pale. I yank my hand away, forcing myself to take a few
steps back. Turning around, my eyes roam around the room, putting things
back into focus.
Fuck. My fingers tangle in my hair, jerking until my scalp stings, the
sharp bite of pain helping to center myself.
The ringing sounds again, and I realize it’s coming from my phone.
When I turn around, Blaine is sitting back in the chair, his chest heaving a
bit. I swallow the lump in my throat but avoid his gaze as I round the desk
to pick up my phone.
The Pub displays on my screen, and my brows pinch. “Hello?”
“Leo? Hey, it’s Andy. I—”
“What’s wrong?”
“Ah,” he trails off. The echo of voices filters through the line. It’s the
weekend, so it’s probably busy, but there’s more than enough help he
shouldn’t have any issues.
“There’s someone here looking for you. He’s…persistent.” My blood
runs cold, and I don’t know why.
“What does he look like?” I grate. I shove a cigarette between my teeth,
eyes closing as I light it.
“Blonde hair, tattoos, lots of metal in his face—”
“I’m on my way. I’ll be there soon.” I slam my finger down on the end
button. How the fuck does Jaxon know about the pub?
“I’ve got to go,” I tell Blaine, leaving him alone in the office without a
backward glance. The halls feel longer than normal, the space of this place
swallowing me whole.
“Where are you going in such a hurry?” Sebastian’s voice comes from
somewhere to my left. I look over my shoulder, finding him standing in the
kitchen, clad in only a towel.
“Do you not own any clothes?” I grunt.
“Sure I do,” he replies, shoving a forkful of some sort of pasta into his
mouth.
“Then why aren’t you wearing any?” The door to the garage is on the
other side of the room. I pass by Seb without a second glance.
“Was hungry,” he says with a mouth full of food, cheeks puffed. I yank
the door open, slamming it behind me.
“Bye to you, too, Mister-on-a-mission!” he shouts from the other side. I
roll my eyes, sliding into my Escalade. My fingers tap along the wheel as I
wait for the door to open. When there’s just enough room for me to fit
underneath, I’m peeling out and down the drive. The gates open for me, and
I pull onto the road toward the pub.
The car dips as I pull into the back, the tires sinking into a pothole. I
park in a space just for employees and jump out. The night air is cold along
my bare skin, but once I’m inside, I’m welcomed by the heat coming
through the vents along with the grills cooking food.
“What’s up, boss,” a few voices call out as I make my way through, and
I nod to them as I pass. Pushing through the door, my eyes lock on Andy
filling glasses and sliding bottles across the bar top. His forehead glistens
with sweat, and he swipes his arm over his face, huffing out a breath.
When his arm drops, he finds me and jerks his head to the right. I follow
the movement, my eyes falling on Jaxon, arms slumped over the bar, blonde
hair hanging down over his glass, almost touching it.
I don’t move for a moment as I stare at him, liking the fact that he
hasn’t noticed me yet. I don’t know why he’s here, how he’s here, but I like
it.
The bar is crowded, loud, but it all turns into a dull hum with Jaxon in
my sights. My feet move, bringing me closer to him until we’re facing one
another, me on the other side of the counter.
“Want another?” I ask, my eyes flicking down to his glass. The red
liquid inside is almost gone. I have the pleasure of watching his shoulders
hiking to his ears, blood blooming to his skin and spreading along his neck.
He hesitates to raise his head.
 Come on, Jaxon. Look at me.
His lashes flutter, sky-blue eyes locking on mine. They’re bloodshot,
and it makes me wonder how many drinks he’s had.
“Hey, sweetheart,” I murmur, my voice getting lost in the noise around
us. His face flushes, a sheen across his skin. His lips part, showing me a
sliver of his pink tongue, of that barbell in the center.
“Leo,” he breathes, his words slurring a bit. I arch a brow.
“How much have you had to drink?” I ask him.
“Just a few.”
“A few too many it seems,” I state, mostly to myself.
“You’re not the boss of me, big guy,” he bites, and I smirk. As I lean
down on the counter in front of him, I cross my arms. We’re inches away,
his bare, tattooed arms so close, my skin prickles with awareness.
“I don’t think anyone could boss you around, sweetheart.” I’m not sure
why that name keeps spilling from my lips, but I think I like it, and
guessing from the deepening blush on Jaxon’s face, he likes it, too.
“Why are you calling me that? Friends,” he sneers the word, “don’t call
friends sweetheart.”
“Isn’t it you who said every friendship is different?” Yeah, I’m using his
own words against him. He doesn’t have a retort, but he does purse his full
lips, the hoop on the right side twisting as he does, creating an indent.
“So, what are you doing here?” I ask him.
“Having a drink,” he mutters, upending the rest of his glass, sharp
Adam’s apple bobbing. My eyes never stray from the arch of his throat, his
corded muscles, and bulging tendons.
Fuck.
My dick stirs in my jeans, like a low, warm hum in my groin.
“I can see that,” I muse. I can’t take my eyes off him. The worries from
only an hour ago are long gone with Jaxon in front of me, like they never
existed to begin with. When he’s around, everything falls away.
“How’d you know this was my place?” It had to be Vincent that told
him; it’s the only thing that makes sense.
“It’s literally fucking called Leo’s Pub.” He rolls his eyes. He’s so
fucking cute.
“Yeah, it is.”
“I tattoo Vincent here,” he offers. My eyes widen.
“Here? Why?”
 “Dunno—never asked.” His fingers trace along the rim of the glass.
“Can I have another?” He peers at me through his lashes, and the
unexpected flash of heat that jolts through my stomach is staggering. I’m
not exactly thinking as I take the cup from between his fingers.
“What were you drinking?”
“Vodka Cranberry. I’m a simple boy.” He smiles sloppily, his eyes
glistening and wide. My lips purse with a grin I try to hide as I make his
drink. I have to reach across Andy to grab the cranberry, and he leans in to
whisper in my ear.
“So, you know him?” I nod, my eyes scanning over the crowd. It’s
rowdy but respectful, and the bouncers are keeping the place mellow, all
things considered.
“He looks at you like you’re his whole world,” Andy tells me. My
hands still, fingers loosening on the bottle. It clatters to the floor, juice
spilling. Andy swipes it up and drops a rag to the floor, cleaning it up with
efficiency.
“All good, boss?” he asks once it’s cleaned, and I nod, my eyes never
straying from Jaxon. He’s looking at me, his cheek resting against his palm.
Like I’m his whole world?
I hand Jax his drink. He downs it in one go, mouth stretching wide to
accommodate all the liquid, and my eyes narrow. That’s going to go straight
to his fucking head, and I want him to talk to me.
The irony isn’t lost on me, but…I never said I was a fair man.
I try to yank the cup from his hand, but he snatches it back, bloodshot
eyes narrowing at me, lips pursed. He’s going from hot to cold every other
minute. I don’t like it.
In fact, I don’t know if I like seeing Jaxon inebriated. He’s not acting
like himself.
“Do not take things out of my hand,” he says, and I have to lean closer
to his mouth to hear him properly.
“Excuse me?” I blurt, surprised.
“You heard me, big guy.”
“What’s wrong?”
“You’re what’s wrong.” A weight settles in my chest, and I resist the
urge to rub my palm over the ache.
I can hear the bitter resolve in his words, the finality in them. He doesn’t
understand all the acts I’m fucking juggling, the constant whiplash from
switching back and forth.
And it’s my own fucking fault. I can’t blame him, but the words sting,
regardless.
“What did I do?”
“It’s what you haven’t done.”
He doesn’t even look at me as he leans to the side, his body swaying
precariously on the stool he’s perched on. I feel neglected, ignored, as he
keeps his eyes from mine. I stand helplessly in front of him as he waves his
cup, garnering Andy’s attention.
The crowd around the bar has thinned some, and he easily makes his
way over. I can feel Andy’s eyes on me as he squeezes between me and the
wall to my right. “What’s up?”
“Gimme another,” Jax slurs. My hands clench along with my jaw,
something like worry in my gut.
“Uh,” Andy trails off, his eyes hot on the side of my face. I look over,
nodding my head ever so slightly. He takes that as an okay and gets Jaxon
another drink. My frame radiates with tension. It crawls along my flesh, just
underneath the surface, making its presence known, driving me absolutely
fucking mad.
And it’s all because of him. Because he’s doing whatever the fuck he
wants without a single thought of consideration for me.
What makes you think he should think about you? You’re not worth it.
Andy’s arm grazes mine as he slips Jaxon his cup, filled to the brim, but
it’s looking more red than a normal vodka cranberry, and I store that
thought away so I can thank him for it later.
Jaxon takes a gulp, his sharp Adam’s apple bulging, gliding down his
sleek neck. He doesn’t even notice that it’s mostly cranberry juice, a telling
sign of how fucking wasted he is.
“What are you still doing here?” he mumbles, rim to his lips, slumped
over the counter.
I smirk, leaning down, putting my face near his. I wish I could smell
him, but the bar just reeks of sweat and beer. It’s not unpleasant but not
what I would prefer to smell in this moment.
“Well, I do own the place.”
“You smell like tequila,” Jaxon sneers, pulling himself away. My lips
purse along with my brows.
“No, I don’t.”
 “Yeah, you fuckin’ do. I can smell it when you breathe all over me.
Give me some fucking space.” He shoves away from the bar, the stool
scraping across the floor in his haste. He jumps down, staggering, gripping
the bar top to keep himself upright.
Yeah, I’m fucking done with this shit.
I press my palms against the counter and hoist myself up, swinging my
legs around, and landing on the other side, directly in front of Jaxon. He
stumbles, and I reach out, grabbing him just above the elbow.
He yanks out of my hold viciously. I let him, his anger throwing me off
kilter. I bite my lip tentatively but refuse to drop my arm. “What’s wrong
with you?”
“Do you not even realize how ironic that question is? What’s wrong
with me?” He sounds hysterical, his tone hitching above the pitch of the
music.
“I don’t even know who I am right now because you’re just stringing
me along. Making me feel things I don’t want to fucking feel. Hiding
things, coming around to use me and then disappearing again.” I have to
focus to understand what he’s saying, his words tumbling together in an
endlessly venomous spew.
I puff out a breath, running my fingers through my hair. We’re close
enough to the bar, we’re not bothered, Jax and I in our own little world,
even surrounded by people. I wish I could say I’ve grown accustomed to
the feeling, but it’s still as surreal as the first time.
I want to live in it forever.
“You have to leave me be, Leo. Please. This…you.” He pushes against
my chest. I fall back, letting my spine dig painfully into the edge of the
counter. I’ll do anything as long as he keeps his hand on me, centering me.
“You’re breaking my fucking heart, and I barely even know you!” His voice
breaks, wet and wretched. His eyes glisten, a glassy sheen coating them.
I wince, my stomach rolling, the muscle in my chest coiling, sending
bolts up my throat. I feel eyes on us all around—we’ve become quite the
spectacle—and while I normally wouldn’t mind the eyes on me, I fucking
hate them on Jaxon. And this conversation is private—painfully so.
I duck down, wrapping my arm around the backs of his knees, and
throw him over my shoulder. He lets out a breathless squeal, his hands
slapping against my lower back as he tries to brace himself. He’s so light,
I’m scared he’ll blow right out of my arms, so I tighten my hold around his
legs and wrap my other around the backs of his thighs.
His jeans are a grayish-blue color, and they feel surprisingly soft. He
wriggles, feet jerking. “Hold still,” I grumble, pushing my way through the
crowd toward the backdoor. Eyes burn into my back, but I shrug them off,
unbothered. My eyes catch with Andy’s as I push through the door to the
kitchen.
His eyebrows are sky-high, but he nods, turning back to keep working.
No one working the grills says anything as I stomp through the small space.
They just shuffle out of the way, giving me the room I need to pass by.
The air washes over my blistering skin, sweat-slick and clinging to my
clothes. “Leo, get your fucking hands off me,” Jaxon orders, his words
shockingly clear, and I still, fingers wrapped around the handle to the
passenger side of my car.
My hands loosen of their own accord as I let him slide down my torso. I
can feel every inch of him, how soft he is. I groan softly in the back of my
throat, my neck flooding with warmth.
Once his feet are planted steadily on the ground, he looks up at me
through his lashes, lids hooded. “What makes you think you can fucking
touch me any way you want.”
He doesn’t say it like it’s a question, so I don’t bother attempting to
fumble up an excuse. Now that we’re outside, away from the heat and
thrum of bodies, my mind clears a bit, but it’s still no less focused solely on
him.
“I—” Fuck, I can’t talk about this here. Not when he can still run away
from me. “I know I’ve been a selfish prick.”
“Yeah, you have. I don’t deserve that shit.”
“You don’t,” I agree. “Come home with me,” I blurt.
Yeah. He needs to come home with me, where he can’t run away. So I
have time to come up with something to tell him…
“I’m drunk, and that sounds too fucking good. I shouldn’t say yes.” It
sounds like he’s thinking out loud instead of in his head like he probably
would if his inhibitions weren’t lowered.
It makes my lips twitch. “Please,” I add. I think he’ll like hearing that.
His blue eyes, rimmed with red, stare so deeply into me, I feel
unnerved. I shuffle my feet back and forth. “Please, Jaxon. Please.”
I need this, you, I want to say. More than is right for either of us.
 “Fine.” He turns, staring at the passenger door. “You need to move.” I
glance down at my fingers still wrapped around the handle.
“Right. Sorry.” I drop my hand and step back, waiting to move until
he’s in his seat. He climbs in, slamming the door. I release a heavy breath,
my shoulders dropping. As I round the car, I drag out my pack of cigarettes
and light one blindly.
Now in my own seat, I start the car and crack my window. It’s dark,
yellow street lamps lighting chunks of the darkness. I pull out of the
parking lot and start toward home.
A home no one but my family has seen.
This probably isn’t a good idea, but I just need him with me. The things
he said… the fact he tried looking for me, even though I hadn’t gone to
him… it means something.
Jaxon fumbles with the buttons on the radio, settling on some early
2000’s rock—my favorite. “So, where do you live?”
“With my family.” It’s not what he meant, but he’ll see soon enough.
“And who’s that?”
“I guess you’ll see,” I murmur, a rush of trepidation buzzing in my
veins. It feels wrong, mixing my two worlds, like introducing one to the
other—no matter how small—will be cataclysmic.
We’re both silent as I drive down the highway, each mile marker we
pass bringing me closer to the estate. I refuse to look at Jaxon as we pass
through the gate when it parts for me, and even more so when I pull into the
garage and shut the car off, sitting in strained silence.
“Who are you?” His words drill straight into my core. I drag my eyes to
his, filled with defeat, with pathetic helplessness.
“I don’t know.” I pause, ruminating. “Come on,” I finally urge as I step
out. The door shuts, echoing off the concrete walls. Jaxon rounds the car,
coming to stand in front of me. I can’t meet his gaze again, fearful I’ll see
disappointment.
I hold my arm out, indicating for him to go first. I want to be on his
flank in case he tries to run away. He rolls his eyes but steps through and
into the kitchen. It’s quiet and dark, only a small light above the stove
turned on. It’s just enough to illuminate a path.
He stumbles, and I lurch forward, hauling him against me. His breath
hitches, body tensing. The sting of rejection rolls through me, and I drop
my hands by my sides, fisting them.
 “Don’t,” he whispers. Reaching down, his long, delicate fingers wrap
around my wrist. He drags my arm back up and holds it against his soft
stomach. I can feel the soft wave of muscles there. I splay my fingers over
his abdomen, the width of my hand covering a large expanse.
He’s so warm and delicate. I’ve never held something so precious.
Except…
I choke on the thought, my heart lurching unexpectedly at the fucking
reminder. My hand trembles uncontrollably, and Jaxon’s grip tightens. He
doesn’t say anything. He just holds me in place, anchoring me, filling me
with his light.
My eyes flutter closed as I lean down, pressing my nose into his hair.
Lavender. Cinnamon. Sweat.
Comfort.
“What’s going on here?” Blaine’s voice comes out of nowhere, and I
stiffen, but I can’t take my face out of Jaxon’s mop of soft, blonde hair.
Jaxon must feel my agitation because he clears his throat, his words
coming out mostly enunciated. “I’m Jaxon.”
“I know who you are.”
“Ah, of course, you do. And who are you?” His tone’s snarky and a bit
slurred. I hide my smirk in his locks.
“I’m Blaine, Leo’s…” I glance up as his eyes raise to mine, “uncle, for
all intents and purposes.” Well, it’s not exactly a lie.
Though, it’s not the truth either.
Jaxon scoffs. “Sure you are. But hello.” He’s never been so sarcastic
before. I wonder if he’s truly over my bullshit or if it’s simply the alcohol
coursing through his system.
“Hmm,” Blaine hums, hands clasped in front of him, still clad in his suit
as he stands in the doorway. I force myself to pull away from Jaxon’s
homely, lavender scent.
“Why don’t you go to bed? We’ll talk in the morning,” I say.
“Yes, we will.” His eyes narrow at me before flicking down to Jaxon,
and then, he leaves us.
“Sorry about that,” I mumble. “He means well.”
“Does he?”
I don’t know how to answer that, so I don’t. “I’ll show you to your
room.” I detach myself from him, hating the rush of cold air at his absence.
Jaxon stills me with a hand on my chest.
 “I didn’t come with you to sleep alone, Leo.” My throat bobs with a
swallow. He smirks, dimples peeking out. I want to stick my tongue in
them.
“I… Jaxon, I—”
“I’m not going to fuck you; don’t worry.” He rolls his eyes.
I blink rapidly, his words catching me off guard. “You…”
“I want to fuck you, yeah, big guy.” His smile is blinding, so bright and
genuine. He has no idea how badly it twists me up inside.
Sex. With him. Of course, I’ve thought about it, but I haven’t had sex in
almost two decades. Haven’t even thought about it until him. Until he
wrapped his lithe little body around me and made me question fucking
everything.
“I—fuck.” I’m a stuttering mess. I can’t gather my thoughts, but Jaxon
seems to find it fucking amusing.
“That’s not going to happen tonight. I just want to sleep.” I wish I felt
relief with his words, but all I can think about is his tongue in my mouth,
his hand on my throat, the roll of his hips…
“Are you going to show me to your room?”
I can’t talk. Otherwise, I’ll say something, do something, I shouldn’t.
Wordlessly, we travel down the long hall, surrounded by ornate art and high
ceilings. If any of this surprises Jax, he doesn’t show it.
He’s so quiet, it’s driving me mad.
Pushing open the door to my room, I flick on the light and move to let
him walk through first. He doesn’t bother looking around, just yanks back
the dark duvet and climbs underneath, the pillow deflating slightly under
the weight of his head.
After flipping the light back off, I drag myself to the end of the bed,
staring helplessly down at him. “Get in.” He pats the bed, and I climb in
without preamble. He knows what I need without me saying a word.
Having someone read me so well after feeling lost in the abyss for years
twists everything up inside of me. Jaxon holds his arm out for me, and I
tuck myself against his side, my head resting against his chest.
I worry that I’m crushing him, but he just tightens his arms and places
his chin on my head, leaving no room for second-guessing.
Every fucking modicum of unease escapes through each breath I exhale,
leaving me warm and comfortable in its wake.
 I’ve never been held like this in my life, but Jaxon? Jaxon holds me like
I’m his lifeline, like I’m the one keeping him together—not the other way
around.
Exhaustion from years of fruitless fighting lingers on the edges of my
consciousness, drawing closer. He’s so soft beneath me, wrapped around
me, holding me together.
“I had a family once,” I whisper into the dark. It’s quiet, only the sound
of our mutual breaths permeating the air. He doesn’t react to my words,
visible or audible, but I know he’s listening.
He’s always listening to me.
“This life killed them. I won’t let that happen to you, too.” It’s not
everything; in fact, it’s not even a scrap of the truth he deserves, but…it’s
something. Something I’ve never told a soul.
A warning he needs to heed, but one I selfishly hope he doesn’t.
Because I’m a fucking bastard.
My eyes droop, and I willingly succumb to the comforting darkness,
except this time, it feels a bit lighter.

OceanofPDF.com
 15

OceanofPDF.com
 JAXON

T he drunken words I spoke to L eo ’ s sleeping form still ring true ,

even in the dull light of morning. A headache bangs around my skull,
drilling right between my eyes. I want to groan, but I bite it back.
Let me make my own choices, big guy. Let me in. I want you to.
Leo’s still tucked into my side, curled into himself, one arm brushing
my hip, the other latched tightly around my waist. His big ass body adds
weight to my chest, and I have to struggle a bit for each breath, but it comes
with comfort, with knowing I’m taking care of him.
Shit, I don’t even know what originally got me so upset last night after
the drinks started flowing. I think it’s because of the pub. It’s such a small
piece in the grand scheme of things, but also simple enough I felt he could
have told me.
How many secrets can a bar hold?
“Yo, boss man. You’re in fucking trouble,” a voice sounds from just
outside the door, the last word breaking through the barrier as it’s shoved
open. A man about my height with brownish-blonde hair freezes in the door
frame.
His mouth drops open like they do in cartoons, and it’s so comical, I
can’t hold back my laugh. Leo jostles in my arms, the vibration of my
chuckle funneling into him. His arm squeezes, crushing my ribs. A breath
hisses from my lips.
“Why’re you laughing?” he grumbles, shaking his head. My shirt had
ridden up during the night, so his beard scratches along my bare skin,
feeling too damn good with company right in front of us.
 The door latches closed, but the guy hasn’t left. He’s still balking at us.
“Time to wake up, big guy.” I nudge him. He groans, shoving
underneath the covers. His large head plops on my stomach, lips pressed
against my belly button. My stomach flutters, warmth pooling in my groin,
despite the watchful eyes on us.
My eyes roll back when Leo nuzzles into me. And shit yeah, it feels too
fucking good, I’m not going to stop him. Large fingers dig into my hip,
wrapping around the bone, thumb pressing into the hollowed dip.
I breathe out shakily, my eyes locked on the stranger standing at the foot
of the bed. Leo has no idea he’s there, and while I wouldn’t particularly
mind an audience, despite how innocent Leo’s actions really are, I don’t
think he would appreciate one.
“Leo, baby.” I place my hand against his cheek, thumb brushing his
nape. He turns into it, his lips down sliding along my palm. “Fuck.” My
breath hitches, balls drawing up tight. He doesn’t even fucking realize what
he’s doing to me, I don’t think.
His innocence hurts as much as it turns me the fuck on.
“Mmm,” he grunts, and Jesus fucking Christ, I can’t—
I use my grip on his face to rip his head up, out of the covers. Reaching
desperately, my lips cover his, my tongue shoving into his mouth as I
fucking devour him. I lick the backs of his teeth, the fronts, the sides of his
mouth, the roof of it. Every fucking inch I can reach, I claim with my
tongue.
He’s pliant in my arms, mouth stretched shamelessly wide as he lets me
claim him, like I’m only his, forever his, anyway I want him.
Once I feel his mouth has been licked clean, I wrap my tongue with his
and massage them together, groaning at the rough, elegant slide. Our faces
are soaked with saliva. It pools down my chin and soaks his beard as it
burns across my face.
I’ve never wanted to take someone so badly as I do in this moment, but
like with all good moments, they’re interrupted.
“Uh,” the guy gaping at us mumbles. My eyes peel open, my mouth still
latched onto Leo’s. He stills against me. The guy shuffles on his feet, and
when our eyes connect, his widen a fraction further before dropping to the
floor. He clasps his hands behind his back, taking a few steps back.
Leo pulls away, blinking at me. I give him a warm smile, watching the
tension ease out of his shoulders. He turns towards the guy, but he doesn’t
let me go.
He has no idea how much that means to me, the fears it ebbs.
“Sebastian,” he rumbles.
“Uh, hey,” Sebastian mutters. Oh, his face is flaming. How cute.
“What do you want?” Leo asks, and he shrugs.
“He burst in saying something about how you’re in trouble.” I drag the
word out playfully, trapping my lip ring between my teeth. Leo catches the
movement, his hand twitching on my hip.
He likes that.
“Oh, am I?” he asks, staring at me. I shrug, beaming.
God, I feel great, all remnants of my headache gone, replaced with a
cloud of fuzzy lust.
“I’m gonna go.” The door clicks shut abruptly, and Leo and I are left
alone. I’m all too aware of his body pressed against mine, the hard ridge of
his dick digging into my side.
“So, who’s Sebastian?”
“A killer puppy.” He chuckles, shaking his head. I arch a brow. I hope
he doesn’t mean that literally…surely not.
“Hmm, a puppy, huh?” I card my fingers through his hair. He drops his
head to my shoulder, nose against my throat.
“Yeah.”
As much as it kills me to break…whatever this is, I have a feeling that
dude’s not going to leave us alone.
“So, are you gonna show me around this place? I didn’t know you were
rich.” I’m teasing him, but I’m also serious. Because this place is fucking
insane, modest in a way that truly shows it’s a home to many people, but
you can also tell the value put into it. It’s not huge in its literal term, but
vast in a way that screams wealth. It’s tasteful and homey.
Leo grunts, constricting around me. My breath becomes trapped, and I
wheeze, but shit, he’s so large and warm. I play with his hair, giving him
time to wake up. Not that I mind. I feel peaceful, content.
Questions swarm my mind, innuendos he’s made scarily clicking into
places I don’t wish to think about.
Knuckles rasp on the door, loud and jarring. Leo stiffens, growling
under his breath. I huff out a laugh, my hand dropping to his throat,
pressing against his pulse point. “Come on, big guy.” I use my grip to push
against him.
 He protests but detangles and sits up, swinging his legs over the side of
the bed. His shirt is wrinkled and twisted, giving me a glimpse of the
ornately tattooed muscle beneath. I want to see it all again, commit it to
memory out of fear of never seeing it again, him again.
“I didn’t know you were a cuddler,” I remark, standing from the bed and
stretching. My shirt rides up, and Leo’s eyes skim my exposed abdomen. I
smirk and drop my arms to play with the hem. I don’t even think he realizes
he’s staring.
“I’m not.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
“It’s just…you.”
“Me, hm?” The knocking sounds again. I roll my eyes and round the
bed, shoving my feet in my shoes.
“Give us a goddamn minute,” Leo snaps, his voice still slightly raspy
from sleep. I shake my head and lean against the frame with my arms
crossed, watching Leo throw on a fresh shirt.
“He’s persistent.”
“He’s fucking annoying.” He yanks open the door, and Sebastian almost
falls through, his face flaming at Leo’s pinned glare. I give him a grin,
which he returns. He’s older than me, probably closer to Leo’s age, but he’s
youthful in a way Leo’s not.
“Blaine wants to talk to you, about…” Our eyes meet for a flash. Leo’s
not touching me, but I can still feel the way he stiffens, his body morphing
back to the statue he was when I first met him, the mask he puts on in front
of everyone else. Except me.
Except me. Fuck. Except for me…
“I don’t give a fuck what Blaine wants.” Leo’s hand presses to the small
of my back, pushing me forward. I allow him since I don’t know where I’m
going. Aside from that, it seems like he needs to touch me, needs me to
ground him.
“Blaine, your uncle?” I ask, making sure I remember correctly through
the drunken fog of last night.
“Not exactly,” he grumbles. “But close enough, yes.”
I arch a brow, but he turns away and shoves a hand against Sebastian’s
shoulder. He falls into line as Leo leads us down the hall. My eyes catch on
the art splayed on the dark-colored walls. Some photographs, other abstract.
It’s a unique combination, but I like it.
 He tosses out blunt, brief explanations as we pass each room. Bathroom,
closet, bedroom, bedroom, bedroom…
“Okay, smartass.” During our short walk, we haven’t seen anyone,
which surprises me since he said he lived with his family, but I don’t
comment on it.
“Well, this is the dining room,” he snarks. We step into a large,
elaborate room, a long, dark wooden table taking up a large area. I run my
fingers along the smooth wood, and they glide along effortlessly, my eyes
taking in the accents of gold and muted red.
“So, are you guys fucking?” Sebastian blurts like he’s been holding the
question in, and it finally got too much for him to keep to himself.
I snort, unperturbed, but otherwise remain silent. That’s not for me to
answer. As a matter of fact, it’s for Leo to answer. And his response
determines, well, everything.
“Well, big guy,” I prompt, “are we fucking?”
“No.”
“No?” How disappointing. I withdraw, a flush of cold dread washing
through the low buzz of comfort.
“Not yet,” he tries again, the words falling oddly off his tongue, like
he’s ambivalent. He’s still masking his emotions, but I notice the twitch in
his fingers and the way his feet shift in place. The tightness in his jaw. The
way his amber-honey eyes warm marginally, only for me.
Pursing my lips, I tug on my lip ring.
“Well, that’s not a fucking answer,” Sebastian grumbles, shattering the
tension. I bark out a laugh. Leo just glares at him. They act like brothers.
“Are you brothers?” I ask. In this moment, it’s glaringly obvious how
much I really don’t know about Leo. It bothers me more than I care to
admit.
“Nah, not through blood. But Leo’s my best bud. Aren’t ya?” Sebastian
reaches up, standing on his toes to throw his arm around Leo’s shoulders.
It’s comical, the way he’s beaming at me like…like a puppy, and Leo’s
standing there like he wants to snap his neck, rigid and resisting.
“Get the fuck off me, Seb.” He shoves him away, and Sebastian falls
back with a laugh. Footsteps thud along the floor, and they echo. Someone
rounds the corner, coming into view. He’s older with dark brown skin, hair
cut in a way that accentuates the sharpness of his impassive face.
Does everyone Leo knows do that?
 “Roy.” Leo nods, and Roy repeats the action. His brown eyes flick to
me, and I smile, giving a small wave. He tilts his head at me before
continuing on his way without a word.
“A man of few words,” I say, and Sebastian snorts.
“Yeah, but he’s good shit.”
My stomach rumbles, reminding me I haven’t eaten in hours. Leo
must’ve heard because he holds his arm up. “Come on, let’s eat.”
Apparently, ‘let’s eat’ means Leo making me breakfast. I’m sitting on a
barstool next to Sebastian while Leo whips up French toast, bacon, and
eggs. He moves around the kitchen easily, his bulbous muscles rippling.
I have to wipe the drool off my chin.
“What’s going on with you guys?” Sebastian leans down to whisper-yell
in my ear. I bring my coffee cup to my lips and take a tentative sip, debating
on how to answer that because I don’t even know.
“We’re friends.” It’s true enough.
“Friends,” he drawls. “Riiight.”
“What?”
He leans back, his arms going behind his head. His brown hair is
ruffled, clothes casual. He looks comfortable here, like this is his home, too,
which I’m assuming it is with the way he just barged into Leo’s room this
morning.
“Leo doesn’t have friends.” Shit. That makes my heart ache.
“Why do you say that?” The coffee is smooth and strong on my tongue,
working to quell the hunger pains. The scent of butter and bacon permeates
the air, along with the sharp sizzle of it hitting the pan.
“Because it’s true. He’s never brought anyone here. Not even Vincent.”
“Shit, really?” That surprises me. I thought they were best friends.
Surely he would’ve been to Leo’s house before? But I guess not…unless
Sebastian is lying to me, but I don’t get that vibe from him. He seems like
an okay dude. Rowdy and maybe a bit childish but fun and genuine.
And I always trust my gut.
“Yep,” he pops the p with a smack of his lips. “You’re the first.”
Maybe I’m his first for a lot… That thought has blood rushing to my
groin unexpectedly, and I bite back a groan.
“Quit gossiping behind my back,” Leo sneers, never turning away from
the stove. Sebastian and I break out into a fit of laughter, the vibe easing
into one of strange familiarity.
 We all eat our breakfast together around the counter, Leo’s thigh pressed
incessantly against mine. His leg bounces, sending waves of vibration
through me. I drop my left hand and place it atop his thigh, squeezing the
tense muscle.
Leo stills, his shoulders dropping with an exhale as he leans into it.
Every time he rounded the counter where Sebastian and I were sitting, he’d
trail his fingers along the back of my neck, against the short hairs there.
Like he had to touch me, made excuses to, even in front of family.
And now, he presses against my side, crunching on a piece of bacon.
“Well, thanks for the breakfast, boss man.” Sebastian drops his plate in
the sink and practically skips out of the room with a wink.
“That’s the third time he’s called you that,” I point out, dropping my
fork onto my plate. My stomach aches, having eaten too much, but it was so
good. The French toast was buttery, the bacon crispy, and the eggs fluffy
and cheesy.
Apparently, Leo knows how to cook, too—and well.
“Yes.” He doesn’t give me more. I want to obliterate his stubbornness
until the mere thought of keeping anything from me twists him up inside.
“You know none of this is making any sense, right?” The vague
comments, this fucking house. The fact Vincent has never been here. So
much more.
“You said you had a family.” I don’t want to bring up what he said last
night, but I can’t stop thinking about what exactly he meant by that.
“I suppose I did.”
I wait a few beats. “And?”
“What?” He withdraws, digging into his pocket to pull out a pack of
cigarettes. I observe him as he brings the flame to the end, his eyes
scrunched shut. It’s not the first time I’ve noticed it, either.
Why do you do that, baby?
I ache with the desire to lull his pain out of him, to get him to let me
have it.
I would do anything for you. Can’t you see that by now?
But that’s not what comes out of my mouth. I focus on the anger, the
disbelief, as wrong as it feels in this moment.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” I push my stool backward, déjà vu from
just last night coming over me. Maybe it’ll always be the same shit with
him. Maybe he simply doesn’t want that from me. “I told you I wasn’t
going to do this. You can’t keep playing with me.” I turn.
His arm lurches out, stopping me. I look down at his skin, at the dark
hair dusting it. “Don’t go—not yet.”
“Then give me a reason to stay.”
“I did have a family. They were my life. My…son,” he chokes on the
word, and the room tilts around me.
Holy fucking shit. His son?!
He said Harry in his dream…
Fuck.
“And my wife. They…fuck, Jaxon. I don’t know if I can say this
fucking shit out loud.” I don’t think; I just act. I put myself flush against
him, giving him my body to anchor himself. My chest pangs with guilt, for
my anger and resentment, when he’s been holding this in.
Does anyone know?
It seems to work when he drops his head to my chest, his breath
stuttering. My hands find his hair, my fingers carding through the amber
locks, soft and silky. “Shh,” I whisper. “Just take your time.”
And he does.
Once he settles, he takes a long, drawn-out breath. “They were killed.
Because of what I do.”
The words bounce around my skull. Killed.
They were killed.
Because of what he does.
When he pulls away, my arms drop, falling limp to my sides. I can feel
his eyes drilling into the side of my turned face, my eyes staring blankly at
the dark wall. “Say something.” He’s breathless.
“How long ago was this?” His pain feels fucking visceral, radiating off
him so potently, it latches around my heart, gnawing at the throbbing
muscle. It steals my breath.
“Almost twenty years ago.” He sounds wrecked, shattered to his very
core, and fuck. It makes sense. The back and forth with him, the way he
pushed me away when we kissed for the first time, that dark, twisted twinge
in his eyes.
“Have you…” Shit, I don’t even know how to ask. If I even should. It’s
not exactly my place.
 “No. There’s only been you.” His words are a whisper spoken into the
vortex consuming us. My mind is reeling, my body fucking stinging,
aching, burning. I’m crawling out of my skin because of what this means—
and what it doesn’t.
He told me a truth… but this was so much more than I ever expected. I
don’t know what to do with it. What can I even do?
It’s clear this was never meant to be more, the torment inside of him
deeply rooted.
There’s no space for me inside that big body of his.
“So, that’s it for us then?” The words taste bitter, but their meaning is
fucking agonizing. I should have known there would have never been
anything between us. Friends and nothing more.
I suppose this is what I deserve for getting my hopes up. For thinking,
or even imagining, it was possible. Because Leo… Fuck. Leo’s so good and
he doesn’t even see it. I wanted to make him, but now, I’ll never get the
chance because his heart already belongs to someone else.
“What?”
I take a step back, forcing resolve to overcome the feelings of
hopelessness. I wanted to be happy. And making other people happy brings
me more joy than anything in the world, but I can see now; Leo’s trapped in
his own, dark prison. Locked up tight with me standing helplessly on the
outside.
“Jaxon, wait,” he calls after me, but I can’t listen. To the lilt of panic,
the desperation in his words. He said he wanted to be selfish with me, but
now, it’s my turn to take the high road.
It may have been twenty years since his family died, but they’re still
very much on his mind—and in his heart, where they belong. And I refuse
to push them out. That would be selfish, and Leo doesn’t deserve that.
I think my best bet is to go home and focus on myself, on getting where
I need to be after the loss of this, of him, of something I never really had,
but… I blink a couple of times against the sting in my eyes. I place my hand
over my chest and dig the heel of my palm into my sternum, but it only
deepens the throb.
It felt like maybe I could’ve had him.
The garage is cold, the cement walls radiating with it as I pass between
them and the endless line of black cars. They blur and warp as a pool of
water settles over my eyes. I try to blink it away, but it only makes the tears
fall faster.
A hand grips my shoulder, biting deep into the muscle as it lurches me
to a stop. I whip around and shove both hands against his chest, knocking
him back. Leo grunts in surprise, falling back against the door of one of the
cars.
He lets me pin him in place, his large frame dominating my senses. He’s
all I can see, feel, smell, and I hate it because he’s not mine.
“Don’t touch me,” I wretch. “Just… please. Don’t.” I’m staring at his
chest. The dark cotton of his shirt is twisted between my fingers. I can feel
the rapid thrum of his heart, his warmth.
“Jaxon.” He croaks my name like it’s his goddamn lifeline.
No.
Please.
“I don’t…what’s going on?” He sounds so confused, and it’s as
endearing as it is heartbreaking.
Does he not see?
“I’m going to leave, and you’re going to let me go.”
“What—why? I don’t…you—” He’s tripping over his words, each one
broken and disjointed. “You said you wanted to know things. And I’m
trying. You have no idea how hard,” he pleads, splitting my heart right in
half.
“I’ve never said that before, to anyone. And I know…I know it’s not
enough, but it’s something, right? You said you needed something and I just
—I just need a little time.”
Tears cascade in fast tracks down my face, each drop a hot path of
shame. His words, spilled between us right here and now, mean more than I
could ever tell him. I’ll forever keep them locked in my heart—selfishly.
Sometimes it’s better to quit before you’re ahead. Maybe this way, we’ll
be able to move on without too much heartbreak. I just hate that it was now,
when he finally pried his barriers open to let me in, that ended up tearing us
apart.
I force my eyes to meet his, shimmering and pinched with confusion. I
brush my thumb along his bottom lip, over the rough split in the middle
from him gnawing on it. Over his beard, feather-light touches across each
dark brow, his eyes lids which shut automatically, for me.
 He’s devastatingly beautiful. His wife was a lucky woman. Still is, even
in death.
I take in every inch of him.
They must have had something special, a once in a lifetime kind of love
for Leo to still be so affected by her loss. The loss of them both.
And maybe we could truly be friends, but it’d never feel right. Always
like something was missing.
“You told me you wanted to be selfish with me, but that you also
wanted to be selfless. But that you couldn’t.” I think he can sense where I’m
going with this because he tenses against me, lips thinning into a straight
line. I give him a weak, pathetic smile.
I don’t feel it. I don’t feel much of anything right now.
Sickeningly numb.
“But I can—for the both of us. I think we always felt our friendship was
more than that, but now, we both know it can’t be. At least, not in a way we
both need, in a way we both deserve.”
Stretching on my toes, I press my lips to his temple, tasting salt on my
tongue, breathing in the dark, woody scent of tobacco. My lips linger. I
don’t want to let go because once I do, this is it.
Melancholy immerses me, heavy, hollow, and dull. Taking one last
lungful of him, I step back, my skin already stinging from the separation.
Leo’s lips part like he wants to argue with me, but I hold my hand up,
silencing him.
His jaw snaps back together, and my hands twitch with his blind
obedience. I know he’s not the kind of man to take orders from anyone but
with me…it feels right. Natural.
Fuck, this is gonna suck.
I swallow, my mouth dry. “Goodbye, Leo.”
“Jaxon,” he rasps, like he wants to argue but can’t.
Shit, I really think I love you, big guy.

OceanofPDF.com
 16

OceanofPDF.com
 LEO

I t ’ s quiet .
Agonizing.
Torturous.
The silence echoes in my ears, like a high-pitched scream clawing at my
fucking brain. I slump against the car, sliding down the sleek metal until my
ass hits the floor. With my knees drawn to my chest, I bow my head,
scrunching my eyes shut.
It pulsates around me, a descension into the darkness.
Footsteps, heavier than Quinn’s were. A smile with dimples that Quinn
didn’t have. Hair blonde, unlike Quinn’s reddish-orange. Skin marred in
beautiful art, whereas Quinn’s was dark, sleek, and flawless.
But they were both so light, so beautiful. So pure.
Except Jaxon’s not a were.
But now, maybe he is.
Because just like I fucking knew would happen if I succumbed to his
requests to know more about me, he left. My family being killed because of
me was too much. That has to be why…right?
I can’t blame him for wanting to protect himself. I’m dangerous. At my
core, I’m the fucking Grim Reaper, and I don’t know if that will ever
change.
But with Jaxon, I didn’t feel like that. I didn’t always feel dark and
hopeless. Like he was my light at the end of a very dark, limitless tunnel.
“Leo.”
 Blaine’s voice is sharp, jolting me out of the fog consuming me. I blink
warily at the last place I saw Jaxon walking away from me, shoulders high,
back straight, blonde hair tousled in the light breeze. Confident and assured
as always.
Ironically, the sun seems to be out today, and it’s like a slap in the
fucking face.
I fucking tried. I gave him a fucking piece of me, and it’s that very piece
that ripped him away.
“Leave me the fuck alone.” I scrub a hand down my face, feeling the
skin tug from the resistance.
“We need to talk.”
“I don’t want to fucking talk, Blaine.”
“It’s about him.” It sounds like a sneer, but when my head jerks up, he
meets my stare evenly, his eyes pinched, if not a little soft.

“W hat the fuck is this shit ?” I stare down at the papers lining my
desk, a glass of tequila in one hand, a cigarette in the other.
“Everything I found.”
That much I can fucking see. Jaxon’s name is scattered all over these
papers.
“Why the fuck were you even looking?” I’m pissed the fuck off. At
him, at Jaxon, at the fucking world.
“Because I’m worried about you.” As if that’s a good enough
explanation. My eyes skim over the paragraphs in a police report, chunks
redacted in black, because these are from when he was a kid.
Fuck, I knew his parents were pieces of shit from what he told me they
did to him, but seeing it in front of me in black and white? It’s like a knife
in my gut—and in my heart.
He went through fucking hell. But not only did he survive, he fucking
prospered. Became the best version of himself he could be.
“What fucking relevance do these have?” I shove them away, a few
sliding off and floating to the floor in a flourish.
 “They tell you more about him than I’m sure you know.” And he doesn’t
know nearly enough. The power imbalance makes my skin crawl.
“What’s your point?” I take the final drag and crush it in the tray,
extinguishing it before immediately lighting another. The burn in my lungs
and the heady twinge of nicotine in my head is the only thing keeping me
upright.
“You brought him here.” Blaine’s standing at the other side of the desk.
Just a couple of feet away, but he’s looming in his dark trousers and button-
down, freckled skin taut with the strain of standing so still.
“Yeah, I fucking did.”
“Why?” I sigh, sick of the back and forth with him lately.
“Because it’s my house and I fucking wanted to, Blaine. I don’t owe
you any explanations.”
“You’re acting like what I did was out of the ordinary, Leo. Like we
don’t have a file in your fucking desk right now about Vincent Anthony.”
My eyes flicker down to the very drawer. “That’s different.” My molars
grind together. “He was only a kid when I met him.”
“And still, he’s never been here. He doesn’t even know who you really
are, and you’ve known him for ten years now.”
The reminder of my lies is like a slap in the face. I jerk back, shoving
away from the desk.
“You don’t get to comment on my choices. It’s not like you would agree
if I did anyway. Just how I can feel you fucking judging me for Jaxon right
now. But you don’t have to worry about it because he’s gone.”
Blaine rounds the desk, seating himself on it, fingers curled around the
edge. “I’m not worried about anything other than you. And you’re not okay.
Haven’t been for a long time.”
His unexpected words startle me. I tip back the rest of my tequila and
set the glass back down, absorbing what he said. It’s early, but I need
something to numb whatever it is I’m feeling.
Hopeless.
Dull.
Alone.
“I did this.” He nods down to the mess of papers. “Because I wanted to
help. You seem to…like him.” A noise comes from somewhere in the back
of my throat, a mix between a snort and a groan.
 “I also have something else.” The desk creaks as he pushes himself off
it. He walks to the corner of the room, to one of the shelves where he pulls
out a notebook. I arch a brow when he places it in my hand, eyes intent on
me.
“What’s this?” He nods, indicating for me to open it, so I do.
YOUR WAY OUT.
The words stare at me, taunting and bold.
My blood runs cold, my heart skipping a beat.
“What the fuck is this?”
“Your way out, Leo. And I’m going to help you.”
I choke back a sob at the impracticality of it. “What I said to you wasn’t
okay. I would have been irate had you told me to get over Jameson’s death.
Not that you can compare the two, but it’s all I have.” He clears his throat,
fingering the collar of his shirt.
“I think I’ve been making excuses, pushing you to keep at something
that was killing you. For Jameson. But he’s dead, and what he would have
wanted was for you to be happy.
“You were like a son to him; you know that. And my own selfishness,
my own desire to keep this part of him around…I’m ashamed of myself,
Leo.” He scrubs a hand over his face. The bags under his eyes are
prominent.
“Of course, Jameson isn’t my entire reasoning for being reluctant, but I
saw the way you looked at Jaxon. Fuck, I remember that look. The
hopelessness, the way you can’t even control it—it’s all-consuming. That—
that was what made me see the errors of my ways.”
I glance back down at the notebook in my hands, the words staring at
me, taunting me.
Impossible.
“It’s not possible,” I croak, slamming it shut and tossing it atop the
desk. My molars grate, fingers clenching into fists. “It’s not. You’ve always
said it wasn’t.”
“Technically, no. It’s not. But we are going to make it so.”
“How?” I can’t bring myself to look at his notes, the endless neat scrawl
spread across each page.
“If you’d look—”
“I want you to tell me. I want to hear the words from your mouth.” I
lean forward, the chair beneath me creaking.
 Blaine rounds the desk. Sitting back in his chair, he crosses his right leg
over his left, hands clasped in his lap. “It’s going to be a fucking mess. With
a lot of blood and bodies. You have to be prepared for that, Leo. No one’s
going to like losing their access to our guns—not that I don’t have a plan
for that—but Ivan…that’s going to be complicated.”
I meet his heavy gaze evenly, a wash of cold dread flitting over my flesh
at dealing with Ivan Volkov. But with that dread is a microscopic shred of
hope. Of freedom from my endless prison.
It doesn’t seem plausible, but Blaine seems confident, his resolve
unwavering in his intense gaze.
"Why now? After all these years.”
“I told you why. It doesn’t need to make sense for you to take advantage
of my change of heart, does it?”
I sigh, rubbing my blunt thumbnail along my cracked bottom lip, the
exact same way Jaxon did. It doesn’t feel the same, and I hate it. “No.”
“Good. Let’s get started.”

S ebastian balks at us , his eyes wide , tongue practically fucking

hanging out of his mouth. Roy, of course, is silent, his expression deadpan,
not giving a single thought away except for the small crease between his
dark brows. The rest of my men—Jerry, Kline, Rooks, Major, O’Leary, and
a handful of others who work more on the backend—look somewhat
shocked themselves, too.
“What—what does this mean?” Seb asks.
“It means we’re getting out of guns. Out of it all,” Blaine replies.
“But…why?”
“Because it’s time. This has become something we no longer wish to be
involved in. And frankly, I’m getting too old for this shit. I think I’d
actually like to retire and enjoy my last few years.”
“You’re not that fucking old,” I grumble at his dramatics.
“My point still stands,” he states gruffly. He looks as exhausted as I feel.
 All of our men are seated around us at the table, me at the head and
Blaine sitting to my right. Seb is to my left, Roy seated beside him, and so
on.
My eyes fall to the spot Jaxon traced with his fingers, the wood sleek
and smooth. I force my eyes away to track all their expressions. Most of
them seem surprised, Seb most of all.
I can’t really blame them, but at the same time, they had to have noticed
my lack of contribution, my blatant disregard of what we do. My own
fucking job.
Looking at Roy, I say, “Tell me what you’re thinking.” I value his
opinion. He’s always been very levelheaded, emotion never striking in any
decision he makes. Even in the heat of the moment, he’s perfectly
calculated.
His brow arches. “Whatever you say goes, boss.” He nods. I expected
nothing less from him. He’s been loyal to me and to my uncle since he was
in his twenties.
“Do any of you have anything to say?” They’re all silent, poised and
ready for fucking war, just as they should be. I know I got lucky. Many
people in my position worry about loyalty and obedience. But I don’t have
to.
Each and every man standing in front of me would die for me, as I
would for them. They’re my family in every way that counts. And I’m
about to risk each and every life dedicated to me and this business for my
own selfish fucking reasons.
“I’m going to be transparent with you all because you deserve it. I’m
sure you’ve all gathered my disinclination over the years. How I pulled
myself further away with each year that passed.” I light a cigarette,
relishing in the rush of toxins.
“I don’t deserve your devotion. But I can’t tell you how grateful I am
for it, regardless. You are all my family, and while I wish I could say I
would never risk your lives, I have—many times. And will continue to do
so for my own greed.”
Blaine shifts next to me, his shoulder brushing against my arm. I glance
around. Muted sunshine flows through the open drapes, smoke curling in
the rays. Sounds come from the kitchen, the occasional bang of a pan, the
hiss of water boiling, food frying.
 It’s not often I’m here when the chefs are preparing the food, but I find
the noise comforting and homely. I like making sure everyone is taken care
of, even when I slack off. It’s more than worth the dent in my dwindling
paycheck.
“In all transparency, I can’t do this anymore. Losing my son and my
wife nearly killed me physically. But mentally, I’ve been gone a long time. I
can’t say I feel alive again, but there’s someone who has recently come into
my life that has shown me this world isn’t all as dark and cruel as I once
thought.
“And no,” I add before anyone can ask, “this isn’t about love.
Truthfully, I don’t know if that’s in the books for me, but the time has
finally come for me to step down, and when I do, I’m taking you all with
me.”
I release a heavy breath, some of the weight easing off my chest. This
isn’t even the beginning of what’s to come. But it’s the first step, and telling
my men makes it a little more fucking real.
“What’s gonna happen with us?” Seb blurts. He looks hurt, like a kicked
puppy. My heart squeezes at his downturned mouth and droopy eyes.
“This home will always be yours. This isn’t me kicking you out; it’s me
giving you all an out, too, no matter how self-centered my initial reasoning.
An opportunity at a different life, to do something legal.” Muffled chuckles
flit around the room, making my lips twitch.
“After all is said and done, if you’d like to stick around, I’d love
nothing more than that. Maybe we can find a different venture to dive into
—one of the legal variety.” I lower my voice but keep my tone just as sharp
to get accentuate the seriousness of what I’m about to say. “But for now,
before we go into the details of what can be after, we must get through the
hell that’s about to rain down on all of us.”
“Tell us what you need.” It’s Major who says this, and I nod my thanks,
flicking the ash from the end of my cigarette into the tray. One of the
housekeepers brings in a cart with carafes of coffee, placing them in the
center of the table before handing out mugs for each of us.
We all give our thanks and pass around the coffee, the rich, roasted
scent of the ground beans filling the room.
When we’re left alone, I turn to Blaine. “Well, tell them your plan.”
He rolls his eyes but pulls out the very notebook he showed me two
nights ago. We spent all that night going over each and every detail we
could think of. We conceptualized an idea, exhausted every scenario that
came to mind.
It’s been an exhausting two days. I haven’t slept more than three hours,
my mind refusing to shut off for a moment of rest. It doesn’t help that I
can’t stop thinking about Jaxon, can’t stop replaying him walking away
from me, tears in his bright blue eyes, dimples popped out because he
pursed his lips so hard to keep from saying something I know he’d regret.
He thinks he’s being a fucking martyr by leaving, by breaking off…
whatever we were. Are. I’ve never felt so fucking confused about something
in my life, but I do know that I need him. His light, his purity. From the
moment I experienced his luminosity, the euphoria of his gaiety, I’ve been
consumed.
But he walked away. Because he didn’t want this, want me.
Maybe if he knew…if I gave him some fucking truths, he’d stay.
I tune Blaine out as he goes over the idea with the guys. They add in
their two cents when they come across something they don’t quite agree
with, and I’m grateful for it. We can’t leave a single stone unturned, and
being knowledgeable of every possible scenario is ideal.
Pulling out my phone, I pull up my text thread with Jaxon. Each
message in the chat is from me; he never bothered to respond any of the
times I contacted him. It stings, that glaring silence.
My large thumbs hover over the keys. I fucking miss him. It was all so
easy. Bright and comfortable. Curling into his side, letting my guard down
and allowing him to…fuck—to take care of me was the most euphoric I
have ever felt in my life, like I was high. No thoughts, no feelings other
than pleasure and peace.
He doesn’t know the extent of the baggage I carry, but he didn’t even
blink at taking it all away and just…letting me be. With him.
Just Leo and Jaxon. Death and paradise. Except with him, I’m not
death. I’m just me. Someone I thought didn’t exist anymore. Not since
them.
But can I ever really exist if they’re not the center of me? Can it be any
other way?
I think I’m too terrified to find out.
Hours pass, daylight morphing into darkness. The lights overhead
illuminate the plates from the food served stacked in piles, casting shadows
on the dark wood. We’re all lax in our chairs, smoking, drinking, and
simply enjoying the sliver of peace while we have it.
Because tomorrow?
We’re descending into hell.

OceanofPDF.com
 17

OceanofPDF.com
 JAXON

T wo M onths L ater

“H ow ’ s the new girl been doing ?” I ask A mos as I merge onto the
interstate. I don’t know what time it is—I refuse to look at the clock or my
phone except to call Amos. Time is a reminder of how long it’s been since
I’ve seen Leo or even talked to him. Our empty text thread even more so.
I haven’t been able to stay in one place for very long, the desire to just
move all I feel.
“She’s great. Really talented and the customers seem to like her. She
does piercings, too.” Northlane’s “Clockwork” plays in the background,
muffling Amos’s response.
“I know. It’s why I chose her. Multitalented.” My foot presses down on
the pedal, the gauge on the speedometer floating higher. My shitty Honda
Civic groans with the extra speed, but I know it can handle it. This isn’t the
first time I’ve pushed it this hard. It’s not even the first time today.
“Where are you?” he asks, and I shrug even though he can’t see me.
“I don’t know,” I finally answer after a while.
“Jesus, Jaxon,” he grates. I can hear his heavy exhale. It makes my chest
ache, but it doesn’t even make a dent in the constant pain already lancing
through it.
“I’m worried about you.”
“You’ve said that,” I deadpan. Frankly, I’m sick of fucking hearing it
already.
 “Well, can you blame me? I’ve barely seen you in months. Months, Jax.
This isn’t you.”
I scoff, the sound dry and raspy. My throat burns. When was the last
time I drank some water?
“It is now.”
“No, it’s not. You’re hurting. I understand; you know I do. So, why
won’t you talk to me?”
“What the fuck can you do about it, Amos? You left your brother.
You’ve been without him for years. If you can do it, then so can I. I just
need time.” Words left unsaid hang heavy between us. We both know what I
know, but aside from the one time Amos let it spill from his drunken lips,
we have not brought it up again.
He clears his throat. I grip the dial and turn the volume down on a song
by Like Moths To Flames so I can hear him better.
Maybe I’ve gotten this wrong. But I don’t know what to do with this…
turmoil inside me. I’ve never felt it so viscerally before. It’s always been as
easy as breathing to me to help ease everyone else’s to curb my own, but
this is too much. And it’s driving me insane.
“Yeah. I left Asa because I had to get out. It was the most selfish thing I
have ever done and not a day goes by that I don’t fucking regret it.” His
words sting, and I can’t help but feel guilty myself because I didn’t want to
go alone. I couldn’t leave him there. Not without me by his side.
“You know better than anyone it’s okay to be selfish. To put yourself
first. You can’t fucking kill yourself for someone that doesn’t deserve it.
And not many people do.”
The speedometer hits ninety, inching higher. I don’t even bother using
my turn signal as I weave between cars. Someone honks. I flip them off and
light a cigarette before cranking down the window. It gusts inside like
static.
“How fucking fast are you going?”
“You’re saying fuck a lot.”
“Answer the question, Jax.”
“Not fast enough,” I grumble pathetically. I am pathetic.
“Don’t do this. I can’t lose you.” He knows exactly what to say to get
inside my head. I should be mad at his blatant manipulation, but my foot
eases off the gas pedal, and the gauge ticks back to an even seventy-five. I
swallow the lump in my throat and blink away the burn in my eyes.
 I take a drag and hold it in my lungs before breathing out. “I slowed
down.” His own exhale is clear as day.
“Thank you.”
It’s quiet, neither of us speaking, but he doesn’t hang up.
Eventually, the cars around me dwindle down to almost nothing, the
interstate growing dark and abandoned like my fucking heart.
“Are you coming home tonight?”
“Probably not,” I tell him honestly. It’s been a while since I’ve been to
Vice. I should probably come home soon. I’ve been wearing the same
clothes going on four days. It’s been just as long since I’ve showered.
“Jax…”
“I’ll come home tomorrow,” I say just to shut him up, then I end the call
so I can crank the music back up. “Happy?” by Mudvayne begins, and I
want to laugh as I sing the lyrics in my head.
Are you happy, Leo? Now that you’ve ripped me open to my core and
left me fucking bleeding out?
It’s even more pathetic because we were nothing. Yet, he felt like
fucking everything. And I’m just a moth to a flame, enamored with his pit of
darkness.
A blue sign comes into view indicating a hotel coming up at the next
exit, so I take the off-ramp and follow the signs, stopping when I pull into a
run-down parking lot. There’s more gravel than concrete, and the place
looks downright shabby, but it has a bed.
It’s better than Vice.
“What can I do for you?” some girl who looks like a teenager asks me
from the front desk. She eyes me up and down, her brow arching. Yeah, I
look like shit.
“Just a room for the night.”
“Uh huh. Sure. Queen good?” She smacks her gum.
“I don’t really care.”
She taps away on the keyboard and then dips down to grab a set of keys.
Jesus, this place really is old. Whatever.
“Fifty bucks.” I toss a few twenties on the counter, grab the keys, and
spin on my heels, the ratty ends of my sweatpants catching under my heel.
“Number nine!” she yells at my back, and I toss my hand up in
acknowledgement. I grab my backpack out of the car along with the bottle
of cheap vodka. I let myself into the room. Smoke and musk hits me like a
punch in the face.
“Well, at least I can smoke in here,” I grumble to my fucking self, like a
lunatic. Scrubbing my fingers through my hair, I groan. What the fuck is
wrong with me?
I toss my bag on the bed, planting my ass on the end. It sags under my
weight. I unscrew the cap and upend the vodka. It burns its way down my
throat, and I splutter, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.
Heat coils in my gut. It feels good. Better than the bitter emptiness.
I fall back on the ratty quilt. It scratches against my neck. The dull,
yellow light above my head blurs above me, the room hazy and spinning.
My eyes close before I force them open when my stomach starts to spin
along with the walls. My head rolls, eyeing the empty spot next to me. I
wish Leo was here. He’d take up most of the bed if I let him. But no, he’d
choose to curl up next to me, wrapping his big body around me.
He’d want me to hold him, to keep him together.
I fumble with my phone in my pocket. It takes me four tries with one
eye closed to focus the screen enough to unlock it. Leo’s contact stares back
at me, the video call button right there.
Fuck it all to hell.
I press it, struggling with keeping my phone above my head. My arms
shake with the strain. The dull ringing sounds throughout the small room.
I don’t realize my eyes have closed until a voice fills my head, warming
every inch of my core.
“Jaxon?” Leo rasps, voice low and rumbly.
“Mmm.” I drag my lids open. It’s dark, wherever he is. His beard is
longer, darker. But maybe that’s just the light. His eyes are scrunched, but
his irises, so warm, are staring right into me.
Heat unfurls. I love you. And you won’t let me.
My eyes burn because I fucking hate it.
“Sweetheart. Fuck.”
“I think you’ve broken me.” My words slur. I think I’m drunk, drunker
than I’ve ever been. My tongue feels heavy, throat tight.
“Are you drunk?” he demands, and it makes me smile. Silly boy.
“Where are you?”
“Far away from you,” I slur. He’s staring intently at me. My tongue
drags across my bottom lip, lathering it in saliva. My tongue ring clacks
against my teeth. He tracks the movement with a heavy gaze. Shit yeah.
“What—are you okay?” No more demands. Is he learning? I doubt it.
“That’s a silly question,” I reply. Why would I be okay after you broke
me?
“Sweetheart, you’re worrying me.”
“I like that,” I hum, eyes closing. My face stretches into a smile. His
voice is so warm, warmer than the alcohol rushing through my bloodstream.
My groin floods with it, my dick twitching for the first time in weeks.
The feeling makes my eyes snap open in surprise. Oh.
“What do you like?” he asks like he genuinely doesn’t know.
“Say it again.”
He hesitates, his thumb brushing along his bottom lip. He’s shrouded in
shadows, but his screen illuminates his face perfectly. “Sweetheart.” It’s
spoken breathier, drawn out.
I groan, shoving my hand beneath the waistband of my sweatpants. I
brush my knuckles over my hardening dick. It feels so fucking good, and I
tell Leo it does.
“W-what does?” Is he breathing heavier? I crack open an eye, but I can’t
tell. Damn.
“My dick’s in my hand,” I tell him. Everything feels so cloudy.
“Fuck, Jax.” Shit, it sounds like he’s panting. I know I am.
I drag my fingers along my length, jerking myself slowly, lazily, letting
the heat coil leisurely. “Tell me.”
“What do you want to know?” He acts like he’d actually give me some
truth—willingly. But it’s a lie. He already did, and it ended so poorly, he
won’t risk it again.
“Tell me.” I have to unstick my tongue from the roof of my mouth. “Are
you playing with yourself, big guy?” This doesn’t feel real—like I’m
existing in a dream with the fog wrapped around my mind.
“Jaxon…” I imagine what it looks like. Big—that much I know from
when it was nestled between my cheeks when I was grinding against him in
his lap. So hard. He probably has those thick, pulsing veins and an angry
red head when he’s close to the edge.
My fingers tighten, strangling the base of my cock. My neck arches,
hair scratching over the quilt. “I love it when you say my name. Say it
again.”
 My hand holding my phone above my face shakes from the strain, but I
need to see his face. His eyes roam all over the screen, presumably taking in
every inch he can see. The shape of my phone blocks the dull, yellow light
above, casting my face in a shadow.
“Do you like what you see?” My eyes are bleary, and I look like shit.
Haven’t showered in days. My hair knotted from the constant motion of my
fingers tangling in it.
“Yes. Jaxon.” His face disappears followed by a thud. I slow the
movement of my hand, my knuckles resting against the stretched cotton of
my briefs. I hear the distinct rustle of jeans before his face comes back into
view. His hands are shaking now, too.
“You’re touching your dick, aren’t you, big guy?” Fuck, I wanna see it.
I can’t believe it.
“Shit,” he groans. “Yeah.” I think I see heat blooming on his cheeks.
“Awe, are you embarrassed about jerking your cock to a guy, baby?”
This feels juvenile, like I’m playing with fire.
“It’s—not that.” His lips tremble.
“It’s okay. Tell me what it feels like.” I’m panting, chest rising and
falling so fast my head swims worse. It takes more energy than I have to
focus, but Leo touching his cock is more than enough motivation.
His head drops marginally, giving me a glimpse of the rose tattoo on his
temple. “It’s… fuck,” he stutters. I give him a lazy smile. “It feels good.”
“You can do better than that. Paint a picture for me, baby.” I flick my
fingers up, curling them around my bulbous head, pressing deep into the
ridge just below. It steals the breath from my lungs.
“Fuck, when you say shit like that…” He must have propped his phone
up on something because it’s still now, but I can also see more of him. He’s
sitting in a chair, a dark colored wall at his back. I can see midway down his
torso, where the hem of his shirt is folded over, his right arm stretched
across, moving slowly.
He’s touching his cock with me, for me.
This can’t be real.
My balls draw up tight, pulsing. “Oh? What’s that do to you?” I’m
slurring so hard, I can’t even understand myself. I dig my nail into my head,
hissing at the bite of pain. It usually centers my pleasure, but now, I can feel
it all over, like fingertips pressing over my skin in the form of bruises.
“I miss you. I want to see you.”
 It’s not what I was expecting to hear, but the words shoot straight down
my spine and into my cock. It jerks in my hold, and I whimper.
“You’re already seeing me,” I pant. My lips feel tingly, so I sink my
teeth into them.
“I want to see all of you before you’re gone again.”
“You’re not in the position to make demands, baby.” My mind is
disoriented. Refusing him is harder than I thought because I want that, too.
More than anything. Doesn’t he understand he’s the reason I’m gone? That
I can’t do this with him?
The lies, the painful truths, the precarious tower they’re all stacked on,
threatening to fucking crush me under their weight.
I’m not in my right mind for this. Everything feels too muddled, too
warm. Too good.
“Please, sweetheart.” His shoulders are hunched over, shaking. My
arm’s full of pins and needles, all the blood having left my nerves, and I
have no choice but to lower my phone. I roll to my side, the room spinning
along with me. My eyes roll back as vertigo hits me.
“Woah, shit,” I chuckle, my throat dry and scratchy. It burns, like nails
are scratching my flesh raw.
“Are you okay?” He sounds breathy but worried. I don’t know why.
“I’m fine,” I grit. My arm is pinned between my torso and the bed, my
fingers fumbling to keep my phone in my grip. It’s harder to jerk my dick
evenly at this angle, the confines of my clothes increasing the difficulty, so I
just hold myself. I’m painfully hard, my slit slick with a bead of precum. I
absentmindedly brush my fingers over it, shivering.
“We shouldn’t be doing this,” Leo says. His eyes are downcast, his arm
still. Of course, that’s what he says. It’s like a bucket of ice water on my
brain. It doesn’t feel so good anymore. Just shockingly empty.
I never thought touching myself would feel so…melancholic.
What are we even doing? This isn’t me. I don’t want this—the heartache
pulsing through my desires. It’s all so fucking confusing.
He’s confusing.
His eyes are pensive with small crinkles at the corners, amber irises
warm. He rubs his thumb against his bottom lip, tugging against it briefly,
as if in thought.
The moments gone, lost in the depth of our imagined bond. Because it
wasn’t real, and I wish more than anything that I would have known he
couldn’t ever love me, want me. Not like I need.
I don’t deserve to be someone’s second choice. Except I was never a
fucking choice. Not even a possibility.
Fucking friends. I tried. I really did, but feelings I didn’t expect came
into play way too fast, way too strong. And now?
“You’re right. I should’ve left it at goodbye.” I slam my finger down on
the red button, and his face disappears.
Why did he even answer?
“Because he’s fucking selfish,” I say to myself, laughing when I realize
I said it out loud. “So, I’m talking to myself now. That’s great.”
Who have I become? I don’t like this person.
Warily, I push myself up, tossing my phone to the side. It pings with a
text. It’s him; I know it is.
The floor tilts under my feet as I shuffle toward the tiny bathroom. It’s
dingy, carelessly clean, but right now, I don’t care. Actually, I don’t think
I’d care either way.
My clothes fall to the floor in a heap by the door, and I step over the
threshold of the shower. The water is shockingly cold as it hammers down
against my bare skin. My teeth chatter, clanking together loudly. The sound
reverberates in my skull, making my eyes squeeze shut. My tongue is
leaden against the roof of my mouth as I shiver.
It warms gradually, my body dethawing as it does until I feel pliable,
slumping against the cold plastic wall. I don’t have the energy to clean
myself, so when I’ve gathered myself just enough to get out, I do, wrapping
a towel around my waist.
The bed is warm beneath me. I yank the quilt around me and let the
dark pull me under.

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 18

OceanofPDF.com
 LEO

T hese last couple of months have been the most trying of my life ,
physically and mentally. Jaxon’s absence sits like a tombstone against my
chest, an immeasurable, consistent weight. But I’ve been forcing myself to
focus on this. Not on his unexpected, drunken video chat. Or the things he
said that made my mind go fuzzy and my blood boil as it shot straight to my
cock.
My knees throb with the strain of being crouched in the brush. The air
has warmed some, but the sun set long ago, bringing a bite to the night with
its descent. My black, long-sleeved t-shirt clings to my skin, same as my
tight, black sweatpants.
As a matter of fact, me and my men are all clad in black, doing our best
to hide in the shadows. We’re placed along the radius of Soren Cooper’s
residence. According to the intel Seb acquired, he’s home alone. An easy
target.
It seems too good to be true, but he doesn’t know we’re coming. And
we came prepared, just like every other time.
Months have passed in a blur of blood, bodies, and flames, along with
tense discussions and deals. It’s been so long since I’ve set anything ablaze.
It still makes my gut churn excruciatingly, my eyes forever downcast, but
burning shit to the ground was always my specialty when I wanted to create
a spectacle, and I’m not about to change that now, not when we’re so
fucking close. It’s also conveniently a forensic countermeasure.
Of course, we drop bodies in the Pacific when that’s the better option,
but sometimes, Blaine lets me go a little haywire. And I want every
motherfucker to know this isn’t up for debate.
My brass knuckles sit heavy in my pocket, thoughts of cracking Soren’s
face open a happy distraction from the sweat itching down my temples.
Soren Cooper is an up-and-comer, the exact kind of rival crew Blaine
referenced months ago. Sebastian heard he came up from California—who
the fuck knows why—but he’s been trying to dip his toes into the exact
business I’ve been conducting for years. His distribution has been basic
enough, leveling off at just handguns because I’m sure that’s all he has
access to, but I know he’s wanting to expand. Get deeper. And I’m standing
in the way.
He wants what I have. And it’s come to the point it’s either him or us.
This wasn’t part of the original plan, but adjustments have to be made
sometimes. The problem is Soren and all the fucking noise he’s making, on
the hunt for our supplier. He doesn’t know how we fucking work, and his
cocky-ass attitude sets me on edge.
We were so fucking close, I could almost taste it, until this son of a
bitch started fucking sticking his nose in where it doesn’t belong.
“What’s your twenty?” Blaine asks through my earpiece.
“I’m looking at the front door. Light’s still on, but it’s quiet.”
“Yeah, here, too.” Seb shifts next to me. A branch snaps under his
weight.
“Would you calm the fuck down, you antsy fuck?”
“Sorry,” he mumbles meekly. I arch a brow and roll my eyes, focusing
back on the house. My eyes flit across the large yard. We’re a few miles
outside of town. It feels simple, but this is our one and only chance.
“You feel good about this?” I ask Blaine. Seb’s shoulder bumps into me,
and I jerk my head to glare at him. He gives me a weak smile and backs up
a foot, holding his hands up.
“I don’t know,” Blaine answers, pulling my attention away from
Sebastian. He’s pissing me off.
“What are you thinking?”
“This location, for one. It’s fucking quiet, Leo.” All of this has been too
straightforward. He doesn’t say it. But I know we’re both thinking it.
Despite the people we’ve killed who didn’t want to cooperate, who wanted
to make a mess instead of accepting a large buy out, this has been less of a
strain than we originally thought.
 “Yeah, I was thinking the same thing,” I mumble. My attention is laser-
focused. Every sound feels louder, my breathing, Sebastian’s rustling. The
sound of the insects buzzing behind us. The air colder, more biting.
“But this is our one shot, and we came more than prepared.” Every
single one of my men are here, armed and ready for anything.
The shit we’ve been through lately has been strenuous on all of us. Most
connections we have been able to make a deal with. I’ve lost a lot of
fucking money to these motherfuckers recently, but if it means I can get out,
then I’ll lose everything I have to make it possible.
It hasn’t always been that easy. Some of them have wanted our contacts,
and that simply was not going to happen. If there’s one thing you don’t do,
it’s piss off your supplier by breaking their trust in any capacity.
That was a long, tedious conversation that sent goosebumps of straight
terror down my spine—a feeling I’m unacquainted with. I know Ivan runs
his own business, a lot smaller in the grand scheme of things, but he’s still a
fucking mob boss.
And it’s a relationship I always wished my uncle never got involved
with.
“You think you can get out of this with your life?” Ivan asks dryly,
unperturbed by my request.
I inhale deeply, grateful he can’t see my face over the phone. As a
matter of fact, we have never spoken face to face. Jameson is the one who
conducted business with him, and since he died, Blaine has handled it,
though in-person contact hasn’t been necessary, our relationship flowing
respectably all these years.
Until now.
“As I said before, I have another buyer lined up for you. They will take
the same stock we always have and cover distribution as well. As a plus,
they’re willing to increase your revenue. It’s a better deal for you, overall,
sir.” The word tastes bitter on my tongue, but if I want this to work, he
needs to think I respect him.
And in all fucking honesty, the last thing I need is a mob boss sending a
fucking hitman after me for pissing him off.
“You do realize it is not that simple.” His Russian accent is heavy,
sharp, and angry.
“I do. I can set up a meeting between the three of us to discuss.”
 “I will be coming to the states in a week. I expect your presence at the
docks.”

O ne W eek L ater

“Well, well, Mr. Harms. I didn’t expect you to pull this off. I was fully
prepared to end all relations tonight,” he says casually, as if he doesn’t
have my hand in his as he threatens my life. I keep my features schooled—
so fucking close.
He was the last big obstacle I had to pull off, and from the looks of it, he
likes the Stahl’s proposition.
It’s going better than any of us could have hoped. Now we just have to
fucking pull this last shipment off.
I’m not ignorant to the fact he could kill me and my entire family
without blinking an eye. He’s a dangerous man—more so than my own
family ten times over. Ruthless, emotionless.
“Thank you for taking the time to meet with us.” My heart is pounding
up into my throat, so hard I almost choke on the pressure.
His eyes are dark and narrowed as he looks me up and down, a smile of
amusement splaying on his thin lips.
“You must have been thinking this through for a while, yes?”
I should lie. “Yes and no.”
“No?”
“Our relationship has always been important to my family. It has
remained strong and reliable over the years, and I took this decision into
deep consideration.”
“As I’d expect you would.”
He’s looking at me oddly, dark, beady eyes roaming over my frame. It
makes my skin crawl with the urge to burn this place down and everyone in
it so I can just be done. But playing nice and respectable is paramount. And
once we help Stahl pick up the first shipment, solidifying their new
partnership, we’ll be done.
“Well, let’s hope you’re able to pull this off. I’d hate to see you…fail.” I
swallow at his not-so-veiled threat. Either this works, or I die. Simple
enough. Absolutely no fucking pressure with my life and everyone else I
love on the line.
“I suppose this is goodbye for now, Mr. Harms.”
 I nod my head, hands clasped behind my back, fingers digging deep into
the heels of my palms. “Yes. Good evening, Mr. Volkov.”
It takes every ounce of willpower within me to turn my back on the man
and walk out without a backwards glance, head held high, Blaine and Seb
on my flank.
This arrangement was easy, but money talks, and that’s what all of this
comes down to: greed and power and whatever option will get them the
most of both.
But it’s done, and now, it’s time to pull the fucking strings together and
tie this bitch into a pretty little bow.

“B laine , you and R oy take the back . S eb , R ooks , and I will take
the front. Everyone else, line around the perimeter and watch our backs. On
a twenty count,” I whisper into my earpiece. I shift the AK in my hands as I
stand from my crouched position. Moving silently has never been an issue
for me, each step light and meticulous as I weave around broken tree limbs
and mounds of upturned dirt.
I feel Seb at my right, close but not too close. He’s silent now, too,
thank fuck. This shit has everyone on their toes, eyes never fully closing,
even in sleep.
We’re all drained down to our very cores, but we’re close, the end just
on the other side of this.
I hit fifteen in my head, my eyes tracking over the house, my men in my
peripheral. It’s silent apart from the noises of nature. It’s a quick walk to the
front of the house. The curtains are drawn, a single light illuminating
through the fabric.
Looking back at Seb and Rooks, I jerk my head and they fall behind me
on either side, scanning our surroundings. Leaning closer, I peer closer in
the window. I can make out a shadow of a body, but that’s it. I’m too close
to say anything, so I dig my phone out of my pocket and type in a text to
Blaine.
 Only one, from what I can see, but we’re not taking any
chances.

I put away my phone and grip the gun in my hands tighter. Seb moves
with me like a shadow as I creep my way up the stairs to the obnoxious,
green front door. Rooks flanks Seb.
Blood rushes in my ears, my breaths even and controlled.
Three, two, one…
The sole of my boot slams into the metal with brute force. Seb’s arms
are braced against my back to support the blowback as I regain my balance.
The wooden frame splits from the force, the door flying open and smacking
against a wall with a loud crack.
Eyes wide, I scan the front entrance, stepping over the threshold.
Sebastian and Rooks follow my every step as I make my way into the quiet
darkness. It smells of musk and dust, so thick it clogs my nostrils.
Another loud crack sounds seconds after mine—Blaine and Roy.
Suddenly, it’s loud, my earpiece crackling with the ruckus as we rush
inside.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
My heart beats in my throat, pounding heavily as we spread out,
footsteps now loud, making ourselves known. I take the front room where I
saw the shadow of Soren Cooper, while Seb and Rooks check the rest of the
house. Turning to my left, I step into the main living space. I catch Blaine
coming up behind me, eyes narrowed, gun aimed steadily.
My eyes fall to Soren, seated comfortably in a metal chair placed
deliberately in the center of the room, clad in jeans and a t-shirt. He has a
small, knowing smile stretched across his thin lips, a scar running through
the top, making his grin appear wretched and gnarly.
Only seconds have passed before all hell breaks loose. “Boss! There’s
more!” Sebastian shouts, followed by a few loud grunts, the sounds of a
scuffle. My eardrum throbs painfully. Something clatters to the ground. I’m
spinning around before I even realize what’s happening, gut coiled tightly.
Blaine and I come face to face with four men, Glocks pointed at our
fucking faces. Soren chuckles darkly at our backs. A drip of apprehension
curls down my spine, licking along every fucking ridge.
 My ears ring with static. The house rumbles with the sounds of a fight
—grunts and shouts, metal scraping across the hardwood floor.
Fuck.
Fuck, fuck, FUCK!
One wrong move and my men could get hurt. I need to be smart about
this. They don’t have the upper hand—not really—but I’m not ignorant to
the fact they could seriously hurt us right now.
I just have to bide some time.
One of the motherfuckers trying to stare me down jerks his head
towards the floor. “On the fucking ground.” I level my gaze at him, jaw set
so fucking tight, it aches instantly. Blaine stiffens, arms poised, finger on
the trigger.
“Seb, Roy, Rooks, someone,” I speak, hoping one of them hears me
through the chaos.
“We’re fucking surrounded, boss.” It’s Roy who answers, but his voice
gets cut off. He’s breathing heavily, voice cracked. “But we can—” There’s
a sharp screech and then silence.
“Shit!” I hear from somewhere in the house. “You stupid fuck!”
How did we not see them? How could I let this happen?
Control is slipping.
“What do you want us to do?” O’Leary asks. He’s one of my men
posted outside. I look around, at the goddamn fucking ambush we walked
into.
But there’s something off about this. Something…impulsive.
Why’s my head so fucking quiet?
Think, Leo.
Before I can open my mouth, Soren speaks at my back. “I’d tell them to
back off, if I were you.”
I whirl around; I know Blaine has my back. “Why the fuck would I do
that?” There’s no point in giving false pretenses.
“I’ll just have Connor over there put a bullet in your friends head. And
then the rest of them who are locked in the back room.” I don’t know if he’s
speaking the truth, but there has to be some validity to it if they haven’t
come back to me yet.
As if to accentuate his point, Soren nods his head. It’s followed by a
sickening crunch. Blaine groans, hand coming up to his forehead that’s now
split open and trickling with blood. But thankfully, he never drops his gun.
 He let him hit him.
Blaine meets my eyes. They tell more than words ever could. And it’s
like I can hear his voice in my head.
Ignore the quiet and just listen.
I force myself to swallow the lump of murderous rage festering. My
anger will do no good.
‘Your anger is getting the best of you and making you unstable. You
know nothing good comes from acting irrationally. Take your feelings out of
it.’ Jameson’s voice rings loud in my head. With a silent, deep breath, a
slow rush of repose floods my veins.
Read into what he’s not saying.
“Stand down—it’s not your time,” I tell O’Leary as I take a step
forward. A gun cocks. Soren holds his hand up before standing. “Look.
Honestly, Leo, I don’t want any trouble.”
My brow arches, lip twitching. “This doesn’t look like a peaceful
fucking conversation.”
“No. But I needed to get your attention.”
“A simple phone call wouldn’t have sufficed?” He wants my attention,
which means he needs something from me because of course, he does.
Play into it.
I chance a glance at Blaine. Blood flows down his jaw and onto his
neck, soaking into the once crisp, white collar of his button down. His eyes
darken. He’s playing the game, too.
Isn’t that all this ever is? Ending one game only to find yourself
wrapped in another.
“You act as if you would ever give me the time of day. A big boss like
you, talking to little ole me? That’s why I had to get your attention, by
luring you here.” Soren’s walking aimlessly around the room, seemingly
unperturbed about the AK in my hands, like he thinks I won’t shoot him.
False confidence gets people killed. No one’s untouchable.
“And you thought sticking guns in our faces would get you a piece of
my time?”
Soren’s young; that much is obvious in his childlike features—softer,
rounded cheeks. But his eyes are sharp, vivid with malicious intent. I’d bet
he’s unpredictable, in most aspects, but childish and wildly impulsive in
others. The two truly go hand in hand.
With impulsivity and desperation comes mistakes.
 “I’ve been quietly working,” he says casually. “Until I heard that the
Leo Harms, Portland’s biggest—and only, really—distributor of guns, is
going out of business. Cutting ties. Dissolving what once was.” He’s
walking circles around me, a blatant show of dominance.
Except if he really was the alpha fucking male, he wouldn’t have to try
so hard. It’s pathetic really.
But he’s a wild card, and men with no morals are nearly impossible to
gauge because there are no lines they wouldn’t cross, no boundaries they
won’t abolish to get what they want.
It’s up to me, in this moment, to determine just how reckless he really
is.
“Now, you see.” He taps his index finger to his chin as he rounds the
chair he placed in the center of the room. My eyes flick to the window to
my left, the brush of a shadow looming. “I personally couldn’t care less
about that. Because in the end, that means more business for me. Except for
one thing.”
My back is ramrod straight, mind churning. My brass knuckles sit like a
weight in my pocket, along with the Glock in my waistband. He hasn’t
disarmed us, which says something. He doesn’t plan on killing us because
he wants something from me. Something he can’t get if I’m fucking dead.
He’s already pissed me off, but he knows if he makes it worse, I’ll
fucking kill him myself, everyone else be damned.
Shit.
He wants a line straight to fucking Ivan Volkov.
I laugh, my head thrown back. All of this because he wants to take my
place in mine and Ivan’s business arrangement.
That must have pissed Soren off because he’s shooting daggers at me,
scarred lip curled nastily.
“You’re about as transparent as a wet white t-shirt,” I muse. “You think
you can ambush me and force my hand?”
“Well, yeah?” He spreads his arms, as if saying, look what I can do,
even when you think you come prepared. I turn around to look at the mess
he’s insinuating. Blaine’s still bleeding, but his jaw is set. His eyes narrow
imperceivably, but I notice.
Sebastian’s loud ass is still shouting from the back, slews of angry
insults. He’s talking, which means he’s alive, and most likely not feeling too
threatened.
 This is child’s play. Messy. His men are twitchy, eyes bugged. Antsy.
“I want you to set me up with your supplier. You shouldn’t even care
since this won’t be your business much longer.”
Throw him off balance.
“That,” I drawl, “is exactly the reason why that’s not going to happen.
This isn’t how you play your hand in this world, kid.” My slight hits exactly
as it was supposed to. Soren’s chest puffs out angrily, hands balling into
fists. He steps up to me, a whole head shorter, about half the width I am.
“I’m not a fucking kid.”
Careen into his wants.
“Tell your men to put their guns away. Maybe I’d be more amicable if I
didn’t feel so…threatened.”
He’s staring up at me, eyes flickering back and forth, lips pursed in
thought. My face gives nothing away; it never does.
“Lower them,” he says, lifting his hand. I can’t see if they listen, but
Blaine’s quiet exhale makes me think they did.
“I want a meeting with him.”
“I want to see my men,” I counteract. Soren rolls his eyes, huffing out a
breath.
“All right. Let them go.”
He’s oozing desperation.
“Get your fucking hands off me, bitch,” Seb growls. Someone hits a
wall, followed by a dull groan. My face twitches with a smile. Good ole
Seb.
When the four of them come into view, putting themselves next to
Blaine, it feels like a weight lifted off my chest. We’re all still armed, which
makes me think Soren knew he’d never be able to get those guns out of
their hands. A lack of power, of control.
My eyes touch on every single one of them, hoping they can read what
I’m trying to say. I tap my finger two times against my outer thigh.
Seb’s nose twitches, Roy’s lips curl up faintly. Blaine blinks slowly. It’s
all the confirmation I need.
“A child, such as yourself, doesn’t belong in a world you cannot even
begin to comprehend. It’s not your time—” But that’s not for him, it’s for
O’Leary. And just like I knew they would, they come rushing inside, silent,
guns poised and aimed at Soren’s crew with them none the wiser.
 As O’Leary rounds the corner, emerging from the darkness, he pulls the
trigger, and a bullet flies into one of their skulls. The guy crumples to the
ground, gun clattering along the floor. Before the rest have time to react, I
pull the Glock from my waistband and press it to Soren’s temple.
No need to get messy with my AK. I want to keep this up close and
personal.
I don’t bother looking back. I know they’ve got the rest of them under
control. This one—this is for me. I wrap my arm around his torso, pulling
his body against mine, his back to my front.
Sweat is slick along his forehead as I pin his head to my chest, forcing
him to watch what my men—my fucking family he threatened—are about
to do.
“You’re a fucking fool for thinking you could try to manipulate me,” I
sneer into Soren’s ear. “And now, you get to watch your pathetic little crew
die.” I force him closer, so he can feel the blood splatter along his skin as
each bullet enters their bodies.
Their flesh is torn as the bullets rain heavily into them. It’s loud, the
sound echoing heavily off the empty walls. Blood splatters. It’s wet and
sticky against my face, my neck, but poor, pathetic little Soren catches most
of it.
Soren’s still against me apart from his chest heaving wildly. I can see
his pulse point in his throat throbbing, speckles of blood stained against his
flesh.
It must be painful, truly. The fear, the disbelief of watching your crew
be annihilated in front of your eyes.
“Every time you close your eyes,” I tell him once my men have fully
satiated themselves, my lips brushing menacingly against the shell of his
ear, “I want you to relive this moment. To reflect back on how absolutely
helpless you are in this world. It’s a cruel, dark place, and you have no
fucking roll in it.” His skin prickles, the hairs along the back of his neck
raising.
I wrench my arms away and shove him into the pile of bloody,
mutilated bodies. A pathic, wretched gasp flies from his lips as he collapses
in their decay. It brings a sick, satisfied smile to my face.
The fear of what could have happened is nearly long gone, replenished
by a surge of pride. For my men and the lengths they’re willing to go to for
me, for their brothers.
 “Want me to take care of him, Grim?” Seb asks. He’s rocking back and
forth on his heels, bloodied fists clenched and ready. I shake my head, never
taking my eyes off Soren.
He looks pathetic. Snot drips from his nose, smearing across his upper
lip, the bottom trembling feebly. My hand is already dipping into my
pocket, fingers gripping the abused metal. My fingers delve into the holes
like second nature as the metal fits securely around my knuckles.
I crouch down in front of Soren. His wide, fear-filled eyes drop to my
hand before flying back to my face. I hate how weak he looks, now that he’s
been knocked off the pedestal he put himself on. Really goes to show most
people aren’t made for this.
I wasn’t, not really, but I know how to survive, how to play the fucking
game because there’s no other choice.
Him, though? He’s a weak, little man.
I raise my right hand to his cheek, brushing the sharp metal across his
wet cheekbone. He hisses, tears pooling on the surface of his eyes, but his
jaw is set angrily, that nasty, scarred lip curled defiantly.
Increasing the pressure, ensuring the brass bites into his skin, I hiss low
enough only he can hear me.
“I’m going to let you live—if only so you are forced to remember every
pathetic second of your existence. If I were you, I’d high-tail it out of
Portland and never fucking come back. This—" I whisper, wiping a tear
away, “this is mercy. Mercy you don’t deserve for what you tried to do.
Remember that. And don’t forget to clean up the mess.”
I cock my fist back and land a heavy blow across his jaw. It cracks
loudly as his body flails pathetically. My knees crack as I stand up to turn
my back on him and make a beeline to the front door.
I just want to get out of here. I’m fucking tired. Of everything.
Everyone falls into step behind me, steps nearly silent as we trudge over
the over-grown grass and disperse back into the trees to where our cars are
parked a half-mile away.
Blaine’s arm brushes against mine. I flex my fingers, the brass
constricting the movement. I forgot I even had them on. I shove them back
into my pocket and focus my attention to Blaine.
“You all right?” I nod towards the cut on his forehead. It doesn’t look to
be too bad. Everyone knows head wounds bleed a lot, but…
“Yeah. That dude hit like a bitch.”
 “Think you’ll need stitches? Want me to give the doc a call?”
“No. It’s fine.” A branch snaps under his foot.
I swallow, my throat dry and aching. As a matter of fact, my entire body
is. Except my mind is buzzing. Loudly.
When we finally reach the SUVs, it’s like everyone collectively
breathes again. I make Seb drive one, Roy the other. We pile in, slumping
against the seats in exhaustion.
“Where to, Grim?” Seb asks, pulling out of the partially-hidden, gravel
enclave.
“Quit fucking calling me that,” I chastise him, shooting a glare over my
shoulder. “Take everyone home.”
“You got it…” he trails off like he wants to say something sarcastic but
decides against it.
Good fucking decision because I’m not in the mood for his banter.
Normally, sure. But right now, I can’t stop replaying what could have been
a fucking disaster.
I’d never heard of Soren Cooper before—though that in itself isn’t
surprising since I try to keep my head out of shit as much as Blaine allows
me, which is far more than I should. Even I can admit that.
But the way he played his cards tonight was far too ambitious for
someone so…new.
Maybe he thought playing big man would get him what he wanted, but
surely he had to know dealing handguns is a far different game than the one
I play.
Making a deal with a mob boss isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. And as
much as I fucking despise Ivan Volkov, I’m not about to make an enemy out
of him.

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 LEO

T he drive back to the compound goes by fast enough , especially in

an endless daze of cigarette smoke filling my lungs. I’m sure I reek of it by
now, but no one says a word.
Seb didn’t even turn the radio on. He must have felt the way each of us
needed the blaring silence to decompress.
Having a gun pointed at my head twisted something up inside of me.
For as long as I can remember, I have never feared dying. It’s something
that comes hand in hand with my life, a fact I accepted long ago. Because
back then, dying seemed like a reprieve from the gray-washed world I was
trapped in.
But that was before I saw that light really does exist—and it’s in the
form of a five foot ten man with far too many piercings and a wicked
tongue.
Fuck, I miss him. I never thought I’d miss someone the way I miss
Harry and Quinn, but I do. And I don’t know what I can even do about it.
It’s not right, the desire I have for Jaxon. The way I want to…let him in.
To make room for him in a heart already filled by two souls.
And I know it’s not fair to him. Not even close. But it’s all I have.
He doesn’t want it, the voice in my head sneers. Because he knows
there’s only room for them. Sadly, the voice isn’t wrong. It’s actually far too
fucking right.
The gates open for us, and we pull in, parking in the garage, Roy and
the others alongside us. The slamming of car doors echoes against the
concrete as everyone makes their way inside, dispersing to their rooms.
 We’ll talk tomorrow. Tonight, we fucking sleep.
Except I can’t. Hours have passed. It’s almost four A.M. now, and the
house is glaringly silent. Not even Blaine is awake, and he usually is. I used
to wonder when or if he even slept, but I stopped thinking about that long
ago, too wrapped up in my own desires to disappear every chance I could
get.
Now, though, as I lie in my bed, precisely where Jaxon held me, nose
pressed to the pillow, aching for his unique lavender and cinnamon smell,
fingers brushing over the ink he put into my skin, I can’t help but to think
about how many mistakes I’ve made. All the wrong roads I’ve taken
because of my utter loneliness, my hatred for a life I never wanted.
I still don’t, but my perspective has changed. To one of understanding.
Of Blaine’s point of view. From the thoughts of my family. The way they
were there for me in more ways than I understood.
And Jaxon…such an enigma. A prize in this cruel world. A soul too
pure, too good. Too fucking bright.
He’s impossibly mine—if only he could see that. But I don’t think he
wants me. Or maybe, it’s just that he can’t accept the truths I have to offer.
It’s been months since I’ve seen him—apart from his unexpected
drunken video chat that ended so painfully. All because I opened my stupid
fucking mouth and ruined it. Like I always do.
It’s been torture, but focusing on working my way out has gotten me
through. Because of him. The way he changed something inside of me,
pushed me through the ashes of my own agony.
He saved me, the way he saves everyone he touches.
I don’t think it makes me different than anyone else to him, but with the
way he looked at me, touching me, like I was someone to him.
I hope I was.
I hope I still am…
Shoving the filter of my cigarette between my teeth, I lurch out of bed
and out of my room. The hallway is dark and abandoned this late into the
night. I hope everyone is getting the rest they need. They deserve it.
The blood against my skin has dried uncomfortably, but a shower was
the last thing on my mind, and frankly, I don’t think I could have forced
myself to take one, even if I wanted to. And I don’t.
This is more important. Blood of the dead on my skin be damned.
 The garage door is loud as it slides open, creaking once it settles at the
top. I shove the Escalade into reverse, tires squealing on the pavement. As I
near the gate, I shove my finger on the button, watching the metal door
swing open for me and ensuring it closes automatically at my departure.
The city is quiet enough at this time of night—or morning, I guess it is.
There’s no traffic, just endless streetlights and dark shadows in between.
My hands tremble pathetically against the smooth steering wheel, and I
crank the volume to Nickelback’s “Savin’ Me” to help quell my nerves.
When I pull up in front of Vice, I can feel my heart in my throat, like
there’s a fist wrapped around the muscle, squeezing every ounce of blood
from it.
I know I’m not just pushing boundaries; I’m fucking obliterating them
as I walk up to the glass door and pick the lock with ease, letting myself in.
It’s not the first time I’ve done it, but it’s the first time I feel slightly guilty
about it.
Jaxon doesn’t want me; he made that very clear when he walked away.
Because I’m too much. Because the reality of my secret life that I tried so
hard to keep away from him but couldn’t was more than he wanted.
I think this might be one of the most selfish things I have ever done. But
I need him. Right now. More than I need oxygen. More than I need to live.
Because if I have to spend another second alone, living in pitch black
agony after knowing something as beautiful as him exists…
The large, open expanse of the shop is easy to navigate in the dark,
especially now after the time I have spent here. I find the back area that
opens up to the staircase. Each step up adds uncomfortable weight in my
gut.
He could shout at me, spew hateful words. Although, I could handle
that. Not too much if he kicked me out. Or worse, if he looked at me with
sad, disappointed eyes. Like he hoped for better but knew I wasn’t good
enough to give that to him.
Fuck. I press my palm against my sternum, trying to rub the ache away.
Feeling pitiful, I wrap my fingers around the knob and ease the door
open, shoulders hitching at the creak. Light flickers from the small TV in
the corner, illuminating the small room just enough I can make out Jaxon
and Amos sprawled across the sofa bed. Only this time, it’s extended into
an actual bed with a far too-thin mattress. They’re on their sides, facing
away from each other, but even I can sense their familiarity. It hurts
knowing I’ll never have that with him.
I creep across the room, shifting my feet away from every creaky
floorboard until I’m crouched in front of Jaxon. His hair is so much longer
now—long enough to be tied back into a hair tie. His roots have grown out,
too—black, a stark contrast to the almost white-blonde ends.
But it’s the dark, bruised circles under his eyes that garner most of my
attention. The sight alone has my fingers brushing idly over them, my touch
feather-light. He looks exhausted, even in sleep. His lips twisted, eyebrows
pinched, eyes crinkled in the corners.
Maybe he’s not better off without me.
It’s such a self-absorbed thought, but seeing him like this…it must be
true. I ache for it to be. For him to see how badly we need each other. How
it doesn’t matter in what capacity, just so long we have this.
I replace my index finger with my thumb, tracing his sharp cheekbone,
down to his jaw to where I can feel his heartbeat just underneath the thin
layer of flesh. His carotid is right there. The mere thought of death being so
close—just one accident, and it could all end—is enough to steal the breath
from my lungs.
I think that’s been my greatest fear all this time. Losing him. The way I
lost Harry and Quinn. So tragically. So fucking unexpectedly.
So quietly.
Jaxon makes the quiet…less. More comforting than anything I’ve
known to be possible.
The prospect of losing him, too, is impossible.
I think my hold on his neck must have tightened a little too much
because Jaxon’s eyelids flicker briefly, eyelashes fluttering across his gaunt
eye sockets before cracking open. Sky-blue irises latch onto me
immediately. His pupils are large in the dark, expanding as he takes me in.
A small noise comes from somewhere at the back of his throat. He
blinks. Blinks again.
Yeah, sweetheart. I’m here.
I’m so sorry.
“Leo?” he croaks, voice rough with sleep. I can smell trace hints of
vodka on his breath. It makes me wince, chest lancing with regret.
I can’t think. I don’t.
 I close the inches of space between us and give him my mouth. I don’t
know if I’ll ever be able to give him my heart—the whole thing like he
deserves—but I can give him this.
My body.
My fucking control.
Everything I have left.
He moans into my mouth. It sounds like it was ripped from the deepest
part of his chest, wretched and ruined. My blood surges downward, filling
my head with static. I trace my tongue along his bottom lip. It’s chapped
and rough. I like it.
Jaxon’s hands delve into my hair, tangling in the sweaty strands as he
tugs me closer. His teeth dig into my lip, clanking against my own. It’s
jarring and so fucking good. I groan, the sound vibrating in my chest.
Amos stirs next to Jaxon, the bed creaking with the movement. I freeze,
but Jaxon doesn’t—because of course not. He rips his lips from mine, eyes
roaming over my frame. I’m left panting, knees digging into the shitty, hard
floor, hands shaking where they lie against my thighs. My lips are swollen
and hot; they feel so abused they have their own heartbeat.
I want more.
Jaxon’s own are parted, eyes wide with shock, pupils dilated in desire.
It’s a look I’ve seen often with him. Flashes of the first time we kissed rush
through my mind. The way he rocked against me in my lap, so fragile, yet
so larger than life in my arms.
I’d never seen someone so magnificent before. Someone so wholly and
unapologetically themselves.
But something’s different about him now. More hollow, less vibrant.
Because of me.
It makes my heart plummet into my gut, and I wish the acid in my
stomach would eat away at the muscle so I wouldn’t have to feel even more
guilt for the ruination I’ve caused another person.
No matter how hard I try, how much I wish I was different, I can’t
fucking seem to help myself from being a selfish fucking bastard.
Never taking my eyes off him, I watch as Jaxon eases his way off the
bed. He plants his bare feet on the floor right beside me. His toes are nice—
long and skinny, decorated with small, ornate tattoos. He also has a few
along his feet before they disappear under a well-worn pair of red, plaid
pajama pants.
 My eyes travel up his long legs. His upper half is bare, torso filled with
tattoos on full display. They’re the kind that look like they shouldn’t go
together, but they do, and it’s absolutely fascinating. They fit his personality
perfectly.
His arm reaches out toward me, fingertips brushing just underneath my
chin. They press into the soft flesh below and force my throat to arch. The
room is dark, his face shrouded in shadows, but the light reflects off his
spit-soaked lips. His thumb presses into my bottom lip, hard enough to
make me bite my tongue. My stomach flips.
With his other hand, he brings his index finger to his lips, extended in a
shh motion. He drops away from my face and brushes past me. My neck
cricks as I whip my head around to follow his path, finding him already on
the stairs, heading down.
I push myself off the floor, avoiding the creaky spots, as I take one last
glance at Amos. He’s still passed out, mouth open with a loud snore. I close
the door behind me with a soft click and take each step down reverently, not
wanting to risk waking him.
The second both of my feet touch the floor, Jaxon’s on me. Hands
planted against my pecs, he shoves me backward. I stumble in surprise, my
feet twisting. My arms flail, and I fall back on a chair. It’s smooth and soft
under my palms. I flex my fingers. Leather.
A light flicks on as Jaxon forces his way between my slightly spread
legs. I’m off balance, my ass barely pressed against the edge of the seat,
most of my weight supported by my arms. He shoves them further apart,
and his thinly clothed leg feels hot through my sweats.
I comply with his silent demand, shifting slightly, pushing my ass
farther back on the chair, so I’m sitting instead of leaning. It puts me level
with Jaxon’s face. My eyes drop to his mouth, my tongue flicking out
hungrily, but my stomach’s twisted in knots.
This is wrong.
I can’t want this—him. It’s not right.
I scrunch my eyes shut, fighting off the wayward thoughts. Fuck. I don’t
want to feel this. Not here, not now. Not when I finally have him in my
arms again after so long away. After I thought I could never have this again.
This…peace.
Lips press against mine—gentle. Reassuring. My breath hitches.
 “Shh,” he whispers, hot and wet into my awaiting mouth. We’re
panting, breathing into each other. “It’s just us. You and me.”
The words float over me like a cloud, warm and thick and wonderful. I
nod shakily, my hands trembling. There’s so much I want to say. A noise
comes from the back of my throat, but Jaxon silences it with a flick of his
tongue, and just like that, it’s gone.
Everything is—except for this. Just him.

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 JAXON

I feel the tension drain out of his body at my words , and it ’ s like a
shot of pleasure straight to my groin. I sink my tongue back into his mouth,
licking every inch, tracing along his teeth.
He tastes like cigarettes and willful desperation. It’s heady.
I grip his biceps, raking my nails down over the silky, athletic material.
It clings to him like a second skin. His hands find my hips, large fingers
curling around the bone and digging in deep enough to bruise. It hurts so
fucking good.
Having him here right now…it’s like the last couple months never
happened. Or…they did. Because I can still feel it—the tightness in my
chest, the reminder of the loneliness I felt—but it doesn’t matter.
He makes the agony worth it a hundred times over.
I’d do anything for him, bear any and all of his pain just to have this.
I brush my lips across his cheek, reveling in the rough scratch of his
beard. It’s longer now—more unkempt. It makes him look wild and unruly.
And really fucking hot. I drop down to his throat, my tongue licking its way
down greedily.
Salt clings to my tongue, the strong smell of sweat and something
metallic burning my nostrils. I pull back, my eyes roaming over his neck.
Small speckles of dark red cover his skin in disarray.
Why are you always coming to me covered in someone else’s blood,
baby?
The thought it’s another person’s blood on my tongue should be
disgusting. It should be too much. But it’s fucking not, and it only serves as
yet another reminder of how deeply he’s changed me. Irrevocably.
His hands are hot against my bare skin. He drags his thumbs back and
forth, pressing them into the hollow divots in my waist. I gasp, my mouth
falling open on an exhale. I lean forward, my hands clutching the back of
his head for purchase as I shove his head into my bare chest.
Leo grunts, burrowing into me, and my eyes roll back at the tingle it
shoots down my spine. I bury my nose into his hair as he nuzzles me, mouth
hot and needy. His tongue flicks out tentatively, the faintest of flickers
against my skin.
“Shit, yeah,” I groan, tightening my fingers in his hair. My words must
spur him on because he turns his head, and then, his fucking mouth is
covering my nipple. It pebbles instantly at the tight heat, a white bolt of
pleasure shooting straight to my groin when he fucking sucks.
Leo worships the bud until it’s slick and dripping with saliva when he
pulls away to do the same to the other. I scratch my nails across his scalp.
My hips jerk, pressing my dick into his. His sweatpants do nothing to hide
his hard, hot length. I grind against him mindlessly, aching for more.
When he pulls away, I release his hair, allowing him to look up at me.
He blinks at me, pupils dilated, leaving only a sliver of the beautiful, honey
color visible. I grip his jaw to push his head back. His throat arches, Adam’s
apple bulging from the strain.
Flicking the quickest smirk, I lower my head to sink my teeth into the
cartilage. He shouts, hips bucking up. I chuckle as I pull back, a lazy smile
on my lips. Leo’s hands are shaking, thumbs still pressed deeply into the
same spot, almost like he’s afraid to touch me.
I detach myself from him but not without great effort. He makes a sound
of protest in the back of his throat, but when I drop to my knees in front of
him, his lazy gaze widens. After pulling his shoes off, I dig my fingers into
his waistband and tug. He lifts his hips easily, allowing me to pull them
down, boxers and all.
When they flutter to the floor, I find myself face to face with Leo’s
cock, hard and fucking…
Shit.
My eyes widen, my mouth watering uncontrollably as my eyes latch
onto the thick, silver bar running through the head, two silver balls on either
side. He’s so hard, his dick is curved upward, straining against the black
material of his shirt. “Take it off,” I tell him. He grips the hem and rips it
over his head, dropping it somewhere to the side.
I have Leo fully naked in front of me, and goddamn, it’s a fucking sight
for sore eyes. He’s glorious and just as big as I imagined, long and decently
thick.
And it’s in this moment that it hits me.
He’s never been with a man before or anyone since his…
I blink the thought away. I can’t think about that right now. Not when I
have him in front of me like this, needy and wanting. Of me. Of what I do
to him—or what I can. I’m not sure which one yet.
With a confidence I’m not sure I feel, I wrap my fingers around his
girth, right at the base. A sharp hiss falls from his lips, and I glance up, but
he’s not looking at me. He’s staring at my hand on him. My fingers fit
perfectly around him like this is exactly what they were created for.
To hold him. To bring a big guy like him to his knees.
I stroke upward, twisting my fist as I do, stopping when I reach his
shiny, flushed head. My knuckles brush against the barbell, putting slight
pressure against it. Leo’s entire frame vibrates with a shudder. My own
cock is hard in my pants, bobbing without the barrier of briefs.
Shifting until my mouth is hovering just above him, I glance up at him
through my lashes. It’s dark in here, but the light from my lamp illuminates
his face perfectly. “You want this, big guy?” I ask, needing him to give me
something.
“I…shit, sweetheart.” That pet name floods my brain, making me feel
fuzzy and warm. It’s so cheesy but so unlike someone like him—big, tough,
angry. It gives me a sense of power over him.
Severing our connection, I lower my mouth to wrap my lips around his
head. Leo’s hips arch off the chair again, forcing him deeper into my mouth.
The metal in his cock is unyielding as he slides farther in. His salty, musky
flavor mixes with the taste of metal. I press my tongue flat against him,
sheathing my teeth as I bob my head, swallowing instinctually as he sinks
into my throat.
It's a tight fit, and my eyes water against the intrusion. Leo’s hands press
against my head, clutching for purchase in my long hair as I make his big
body shiver and shake and fall apart below me.
When I pull up, giving myself a reprieve so I can breathe, I tongue the
piercing, playing with the bar with my own in the center of my tongue. It
makes Leo twitch, his fingers flexing. His legs jerk, toes pressed hard
against the floor to keep his balance.
As I slide back down with relish, he releases the deepest groan. “Oh…
God, baby, that’s so good.” His voice is cracking, and it goes straight to my
head. I press the heel of my hand against my bobbing erection. It twitches
against my touch.
I’m lost to it, to him, as I try to show him how much I love him with my
mouth. To make him feel everything good about this world. How good it
can be with me.
He can’t accept my love, but he can take my pleasure. My desire. And I
will give him every part of it.
With my own wretched groan, I pull off his length with regret. It slaps
against his tattooed abs, glistening with spit and twitching. Standing on
shaky legs, I latch our mouths together. Leo’s hands find my waist, but
surprising me, they don’t stay there. He hesitantly traces the waistband of
my pants, running the tips of his fingers back and forth.
“Touch me,” I tell him, hands wrapped around his throat. I feel his
swallow just before his hands sink inside, fingers splayed wide over my ass
cheeks. He kneads my flesh, digging into the cleft of my ass and pushing
back up to my tailbone.
I rock back against the touch, dragging one hand down his chest,
scratching my nails down his chest and abdomen, leaving a bright red,
angry path to his cock. The trail of hair leading to his groin is wet and
sticky. I play with it contentedly as he massages me.
Bypassing his dick, I shove my hand lower and grab his balls. They’re
heavy and soft in my hand as I roll them around, tugging at the thin skin.
Curling my fingers around them, I press against his taint.
His hands on my ass falter, nails biting into my skin. I smile against his
mouth when even his tongue stills against mine. I lick it, loving the rough
texture.
“Does it feel good, baby?” I ask as I push harder, rubbing two fingers
back and forth. His pulse is hammering against my hand on his throat. He
tries to shake his head but groans in acceptance, mumbling incoherent
words into my mouth.
“Want me to go a little further?” My fingers are slick with the saliva that
dripped down from his cock, making easy passage through his crack. My
index finger circles his hole. It’s dry and tight and warm.
 The sounds ripping from his throat are enough to make me feel high for
the rest of my fucking life.
I don’t press in. Instead, I just play with him, tracing the creased pucker
as I wrap my other hand around his dick, stroking him slowly. He falls back
against the chair like he can’t keep himself upright.
I back up to stare down at him. He doesn’t even realize how perfect he
is for me.
When he notices I’m no longer touching him, he wrenches his eyes
open, blinking up at me dazedly. Shit. I lean down to kiss him again. He
accepts me eagerly, tongue wild and desperate. Shoving away, I touch his
shoulder.
“Legs up.” I tap the end of the chair. Leo swings his legs over, lying
across the chair. I walk around to my drawers. Pulling open the top one, I
pull out a jar of Vaseline and pop the lid. I delve my fingers in, coating two
with more than enough of the thick petroleum.
With my free hand, I caress his bare thigh, up and over the Grim Reaper
I tattooed into his beautiful flesh. When I glance up, I find him already
looking at me with an expression that on anyone else, I would say looks a
lot like love, but with Leo?
My heart thumps painfully.
Can’t you see how much I want you?
But this is good enough. It has to be. To have him like this when no one
else has. I’ll selfishly take it.
I use my grip to spread his legs, pushing against the back of his thigh
until his right one is bent, knee touching his chest. His ass is exposed to me,
the dark shadows of his crease, the light dusting of hair over his most
intimate places.
With a lazy smile, I bring my greased fingers to his crease. Starting at
his taint, I slick every inch of him up until I reach his tight hole. I ignore the
slight tremor in my hand as I work him in circles, making sure there isn’t an
ounce of resistance as I press in…
Leo tightens up immediately, halting my descent into him. His eyes are
scrunched tight, making his harsh features look softer. More innocent. I
press a kiss to his knee, leaning against him so he can feel me.
“Relax for me, baby.” I retract, rubbing again, feeling the muscle bunch
and twitch beneath the pads of my fingers. More kisses. It grows softer.
 “Mmm,” I hum pleasantly, working the tip in. “That’s it, big guy. You
can do it.”
He mewls under my praise, like he’s been deprived of it his whole life.
Which, I guess, he could have been.
You and I are more alike than you think, baby. I wish you could see that.
I sink in an inch. A little further… I’m to my second knuckle now. I’m
rapt as I stare down at my finger disappearing inside of him. He’s so
fucking tight and so hot. It’s bliss.
“Shit, yeah. I wish you could see what you look like right now. Such a
big guy spread so shamelessly.” My finger slides until my knuckles bump
against his crease. I pull out just to immediately push back in, my mind
soaring high at his gasp of air.
I twist my hand, prodding around the muscle to find…
“Fuck!” Leo bucks wildly as I press against his prostate. He almost
knocks me off balance, and I can’t help my own breathy chuckle.
“That, baby, is your prostate. Wonderful little thing, isn’t it?” I ask,
teasing him in more ways than one. Leo’s wild against the chair. The
leather’s creaking, his body shaking uncontrollably. His dick is twitching,
flexing against his abs. The tip glistens with a bead of precum.
“You like this, huh? Let’s see if you can take another for me.” Two
fingers slide inside, the Vaseline making the entrance easy. Leo’s so worked
up, he doesn’t resist—just groans at the added pressure.
“Shh.” I caress his thigh, pushing it harder against his chest. His other
leg is flopped over the side of the chair, toes arched and flexing against the
floor. “You’re doing so well; I can’t believe it.” I spread my fingers,
stretching him from the inside. He whimpers a small, broken sound.
“Yeah, I know, baby. It’s a lot. You feel full, don’t you?” The praise
falling from my lips comes so easily, I don’t think about it. Fucking
everything about this feels so right—like this is exactly where we’re meant
to be.
He and I.
“Jaxon,” he breathes. I flick my gaze to him. His eyes are wild, wide
and unseeing. Sweat glistens across his forehead, hair in disarray. He looks
perfectly debauched.
Without taking my eyes off him, I press a third finger to him. He
clenches around me. “Too much,” he groans, shaking his head, panting. My
teeth score along his knee, biting into the sharp bone.
 “It’s not. Do you need help?” I ask, and he nods, sinking his teeth into
his bottom lip. With a grin, I lean in and wrap my lips around his leaking
cock. His upper half shoots up, dislodging his leg pressed against his chest.
His large hands envelop my face as I work him over slowly with my mouth,
and with the distraction, the third finger slides into him.
“Jaxon. Baby. Jaxon. Jaxon.” He says my name like a fucking prayer,
over and over. My heart has never felt so full—and neither has my cock.
My balls feel tight and heavy, like the slightest pressure will send me right
over the edge.
I play with his prostate, just enough to make him shudder before going
back to stretching him, fucking into him lazily. I want to sink into his heat
more than I want to breathe, but I need to make this last because I don’t
know if I’ll ever have this again.
I want to ensure Leo never fucking forgets how good we are.
His dick swells in my mouth, lodged in my throat. I reluctantly pull off,
resting my face against his thigh as I pant, my own vision a bit hazy at the
corners.
“Please,” he begs, voice absolutely wrecked. With his chin to his chest,
he stares down at me between his thick thighs. I drag my fingers out of him,
and he hisses at the loss, clenching around nothing. Grabbing at his
shoulders, I yank him toward me. He comes willingly, turning his body so
he’s sitting against the edge of the chair, feet against the floor.
I pull him again so he’s standing. Our height difference is more obvious
this way, and it makes me feel on top of the fucking world, that this man is
letting me do this.
Reaching up, I press a kiss to his lips. His hands find my waist. I never
want them anywhere else again. It’s where they belong.
But…
“Turn around for me.” I push against his ribs, and he turns, giving me
his bare back, those large angel wings spread wide, rippling with his
muscles. Placing my hand against his spine, I apply pressure. He takes a
shaky breath, and his spine curves as he bends over, planting his chest flat
against the leather chair.
It’s not at the right height, too short for his long legs, so his feet have to
stay planted flat on the floor, but it’s more than good enough. My eyes drop
to his ass on full display for me.
 Bending down, I push against his ankles, spreading them apart. He
shifts, readjusting. The leather groans under the pressure of his hands
clutching desperately.
As I plant kisses along the backs of his thighs, I discard my pants. My
hand grips my cock eagerly at the base, tightening to stave off my rapidly
impending orgasm.
“You look so fucking good bent over for me, baby.” My lips feather
over each thigh, working my way up each ass cheek.
“Jaxon, please.”
“What do you want?” I want to hear him say it. To finally admit to
himself this is what he wants.
“You.” It sounds like it was ripped from his throat, high and pleading.
“How do you want me, big guy?” I spread his cheeks, my eyes drilling
into his glistening hole. It’s soft and twitching. “You want me here?” I press
my thumb inside, smiling when he whines.
“I-I don’t know. I just—I need—I need.” He can’t even form a coherent
thought, he’s so far gone. And he hasn’t even been brought to the brink yet.
“Shh. I know. It’s too much, yeah? And not quite enough.” I lean over
to grab the Vaseline to smear a thick glob all over my dick. It’s sticky, so I
wipe my hand across the dimple above his ass. His cheek clenches, the
muscle rippling.
Spreading him open again, I lean forward, my thighs sliding against his.
The sensation of our combined leg hair rubbing together makes me groan.
Every nerve ending is like a live wire, on the brink of combustion.
As I press the head of my dick against his wet hole, my vision blurs
around the edges. He clenches tightly, and I feel it, right against me. The
slight ripple.
“Hold your breath for me, baby.”
He’s trembling, his body wracking uncontrollably. My palm slides up
his spine, rubbing along the ridges, back and forth. Up and down. He’s hot
to the touch, skin damp with sweat and traces of oily petroleum. He relaxes
under my touch, shoulders drooping. With my dick in hand, I angle and
thrust forward gently but with incessant pressure, never easing up on my
petting as my head breaches the ring of hot muscle.
Leo cries out, loud and unrestrained. I still, holding myself just inside of
him. Sweat of my own beads across my forehead, my entire body flushed
and fucking burning. My legs quake from the restraint, teeth sunk so deeply
into my lip, I taste copper.
It reminds me of the blood on Leo’s neck, now almost completely gone
from the sweat licking across his flesh.
“You gotta relax for me, big guy,” I try to talk him through it, though
I’m not sure how when my own brain feels like wiry static. “I know it’s so
much—too much,” I croon, curling my fingers around his waist to grab
ahold of his softening cock trapped helplessly against the chair.
I dig my nail just under the ball of his piercing, making him hiss as I
thrust gently, working myself an inch deeper. “Fuck, baby. I can feel you
stretching for me.” He whines.
Fucking hell, he whines.
My vision whites out. My head falls back with a shout as I sink to the
hilt, balls to his. His rim is impossibly snug around my base, choking the
life out of me.
It’s a blissful kind of fire. One that smolders, licking its way from the
inside out as it destroys everything in its path.
“Jax, sh-shit.” Leo’s voice snaps me back. Using my grip on his body, I
flex my abs and arch my back as I retreat, only to push right back in,
thrusting upward as I do. Leo sinks into a fucking puddle, legs sliding out
from underneath him.
We drop down a few inches, so I have to bend my knees slightly to
accommodate, but shit, it’s even better. I’m hovering, fucking towering
above him, and he’s bent to my will. His fingers are clutching helplessly to
the edge of the chair, head almost hanging off the side.
His face is turned upward, flushed cheek pressed to the leather. His
plump lips are parted to accommodate his heavy breathing, eyes half-
lidded. I rock into him slowly, reveling in the slick heat, the way he just lets
me into his body.
A tear drops from the inner corner of his eye, dripping down the bridge
of his nose. It’s quickly followed by a helpless gasp when my head bumps
against his prostate.
He’s such a beautiful mess.
Digging my nails into his cheeks, I spread him so I can watch my length
disappear inside. It makes a wet, squelching sound, and Leo’s already
flushed face absolutely burns when he hears it. I grin, feeling my face ache
from how wide I’m smiling.
 “Does it embarrass you? How wet you are for me?” I accentuate my
point with another thrust, this time hard and fucking deep. My hips smack
loudly against his bare skin.
“Yes,” he moans, turning his face into the chair. I slap his ass.
“Don’t be; it’s fucking hot.”
“Fuck, Jaxon, it’s too much.” He grinds against the chair. I don’t think
he realizes he’s even doing it.
So desperate.
I wish I could keep him exactly like this. Endlessly.
“Yeah,” I muse. My balls tingle, heavy and throbbing. Between the
ripple of his muscles around me and the feel of his big body beneath me, I
start to lose control.
There’s only so much restraint I have.
The sound of me fucking into Leo reverberates throughout the shop
along with his endless stream of grunts and whines. It’s all music to my
ears, spurring me on as I slam into him, pushing deeper with every grind of
his hips against the table.
He falls so deep, he starts pushing himself backward every time I
retreat.
What a fucking delight he is.
“I want you to come for me. Can you do that, just from me fucking
you?”
I don’t think he can—just because this is his first time with a man, let
alone being fucked in the ass. And sometimes, people just can’t, but his
shaky nod gives me hope.
“Yeah. I bet you can. Give that to me, and I’ll fill you up, keep you
full.” I press my thumb against his rim. It’s red and puffy, well fucking
used, and all mine.
His hips stutter, their movement turning jerky and sporadic. My heart
jackknifes. And when I feel him flutter around me in intense waves, I lose
myself.
Everything around me turns different shades of gray static as my cock
pulses, surging with fucking ecstasy. An animalistic roar rips from Leo’s
throat as I fill him with my cum at the same time he expends all he had
filled inside those big balls of his.
I collapse over his back, pressing my hot face against his burning flesh.
I’m panting heavily, my breath blowing back into my face. Leo’s lax
beneath me, boneless and twitching.
I press my lips to his skin, lapping at the salt covering him. It’s good. So
good.
Closing my eyes, I breathe him in.
Please. Never let this end.

OceanofPDF.com
 21

OceanofPDF.com
 LEO

H e ’ s still inside me , his dick twitching as it softens . E verything

around me feels soft. Like velvet and silk.
Jaxon’s breaths are warm as they rush across my back. My skin
prickles, working up my spine and settling at the nape of my neck before
flushing outwards.
Fuck.
I feel like I’ve fucking died, and this is heaven. Or at least a place where
nothing exists but this. This…blanket of comfort wrapped in him.
My mind’s a blank slate for the first time in my long life.
I don’t want it to ever turn back on if I can feel like this forever. Like
everything’s okay because he’ll make it so.
“You okay, big guy?” Jaxon asks, sounding breathless himself. I hum
contentedly.
He chuckles, light and airy. It makes my heart skip—a sharp sensation.
One I’m not used to, but am coming to terms with, is normal with him.
His hands press into my back as he pushes himself up. The added
weight grounds me as I fly high. But then, he pulls out, and the sound of his
dick slipping from my wet, used hole shoots fire to my fucking face.
I shouldn’t have liked it so much.
He laughs again, but it’s not mocking. It feels like it’s out of…love. But
no. That’s not it.
I squeeze my eyes shut when his thumb presses against my asshole,
slipping inside briefly before it disappears. The loss of his touch makes
every nerve jump to attention, overstimulated so deeply it stings.
 “Come on, big guy. Up you get.” He sounds reluctant, but I follow his
command mindlessly because it feels right, and I’m tired of making
decisions.
When I stand, the darkened room around me spins. Jaxon clutches my
hips, keeping me steady as my vision blanks out. When I come to, he’s
looking up at me, a dopey smile spread across his face so deeply, I see the
shadows of his dimples. I press a finger into one of them, loving the small
divot.
“You’re so beautiful, Leo.” My eyes sting, and my chest fills with…
something. It hurts, but it’s a good hurt, I think.
I part my lips to tell him how wrong he is, but he covers my mouth with
his, almost like he senses my denial and refuses to hear it. His tongue is soft
and pleading, the hardness of the barbell in the center unyielding.
This is what home feels like.
My teeth latch onto the hoop in his lip as I suck it into my mouth. I open
my eyes. His lashes are fanned across the highest part of his cheekbones,
casting faint shadows. His pierced nose is small, the rounded end of it
squished slightly against my face.
People like me don’t get to have people like him.
When he pulls back, my eyes flicker down his body. He’s thin, but I can
make out the faintest traces of muscles just beneath his soft, tattooed skin.
His hip bones jut out from the rest of his body, pointing in a direct line to
his groin. His dick is soft but still long. He’s not as thick as me, but it sure
as shit didn’t feel like that when he was pushing it inside of me.
The thought makes my face heat uncomfortably. Jaxon’s warm chuckle
brings my attention back to his face, those fucking dimples on display in the
low light. My head still feels far too light—airy and unusual, my balance
off-centered.
Jaxon bends down and hands me my boxers. I give him a small, grateful
smile and pull them on, trying my fucking hardest to ignore the wetness
seeping from between my cheeks. I can feel it clinging to the dark fabric as
I slide them on, and some part of me likes that they’ll be stained in white
because of him.
When I’m done, Jaxon’s already clothed in his pajama pants again. He’s
leaning against the counter, fingers curled around the lip of it, the veins and
tendons in his forearms bulging. His head is tilted down, but his eyes are
still on me, fanned by his long, dark lashes.
 His bleach-blonde locks fall along the sides of his face, framing it
perfectly. With a sigh, he brushes them back. “You doin’ okay?” he asks. It
seems genuine. Because of course, it is. It’s Jaxon. And he fucking cares,
even though I don’t deserve it.
“Yeah,” I rasp, forced to clear my throat. As the high of my orgasm
begins to fade, I shift on my feet, still feeling too naked but not wanting to
cover myself up, regardless. Jaxon jerks his head to the left as he flicks off
the lamp, basking us in shadows.
“Come on.” I follow him across the floor, leaving my clothes where
they lie haphazardly, blatant evidence of our mindless passion.
Jaxon takes us to a large, leather couch shoved up against one of the
walls near the front windows. The streetlamps outside illuminate the small
area—a place for guests to relax while they wait. Some magazines are
spread on the coffee table in front of the couch, two other chairs
surrounding it on either side.
Jaxon plops down, the leather squeaking. He spreads his arm across the
back, nodding downward for me to sit next to him. My legs still feel like
fucking jelly, so I collapse back easily, my head leaned back, throat
exposed.
I feel his warm finger trace along my Adam’s apple, circling the flower
tattooed there. I breathe out, relishing the mere fact he’s touching me. That
we’re here right now.
I’m not sure how much time passes, his hands having covered almost
every inch of exposed skin before he regretfully pulls away, leaving me
feeling cold and abandoned.
It’s an effort to open my eyes. My lids feel heavy, weighed down with
pleasure, with peace. “Hold on,” Jaxon mumbles before he’s gone. I watch
him as he walks to the front desk in the center of the room, disappearing
from sight as he bends down. When he pops back up, he has something in
his hand.
Placing a cigarette between his teeth, he flicks a lighter. My eyes dart
away, listening to the sizzle of the flame igniting the dried tobacco. When
the smell of the cigarette grows stronger, I open my eyes, finding his arm
outstretched, the burning end pointing toward him as he offers me the
filtered side.
I take it and bring it to my mouth, inhaling the toxic chemicals into my
lungs. I’ve never had a cigarette after sex before, but it feels fucking great,
the rush hitting my brain and increasing the high of endorphins, even as I
feel them slowly begin to dissipate.
“Cigarettes after sex are where it’s at,” Jaxon murmurs next to me, arm
slung along the back of the couch again, fingertips playing idly with the
hair at my nape. I lean back into the touch.
"Mmm,” he hums contentedly. It warms my chest.
When my cigarette burns down to the filter, Jaxon takes it from me and
extinguishes it before he stretches out, legs spreading to allow me between
them. Gripping my shoulder, he hauls me against him like I don’t weigh
twice as much as he does. I collapse against his chest easily, my head
tucking beneath his chin as I roll onto my stomach, feet hanging over the
armrest. When he coils his legs around my thighs, my body goes lax. I
shove my arms beneath his, sliding along his ribs to wrap them around his
back.
His chest rumbles lightly, the sound reverberating into my skull. His
own hands flutter up and down my back, switching between the lightest
skips of his fingers to intense pressure as he digs into the muscle.
I can’t bite back my groan when he delves deeper, fingers wandering
underneath the band of my briefs.
“We should talk,” he says, lips pressed against my head. Chills break
out along my skin, prickling uncomfortably. He pinches my ass, making me
hiss.
“I’m sorry,” I tell him. It doesn’t even begin to cover what I owe him
but—
“Why did you really come here, Leo?” He sounds contemplative. “You
shouldn’t be here.” What he doesn’t say is after months of my absence, I
don’t have the right to barge in and take what I need, leaving him without
what he deserves.
But I don’t want to leave him—that’s what I wish he’d understand. I
just…can’t give him everything he wants.
It stings to hear him say it even though I know it’s true. “I know. I
just…” Fuck. How do I even explain this to him? That I’m selfish. How I
couldn’t stand not seeing him for a second longer. That I’m so fucking
broken inside, but he’s the only thing that feels right.
“Why, after all this time? It’s been months.” He doesn’t sound upset,
just…honest. Maybe a bit resigned like he expected this.
“And I never stopped thinking about you for one second,” I plead.
 “That’s not fucking fair.”
I drop my eyes. Fuck, I know it’s not. “I know.” What else can I say?
Nothing would make a difference. “I need you,” I rasp, throat raw. It’s so
quiet around us. But with Jaxon, the quiet never hurts.
Fuck. Please have me, Jaxon.
My lungs scream against the breath I’m holding hostage, but the burn
keeps me focused, reminds me what I’m waiting for.
It’s not until Jaxon’s knuckles bump against my cheek that I release it,
lifting my head from the warmth of his chest to meet his eyes. He’s staring
at me warily, eyes narrowed in trepidation, but they’re still so warm and
soft, like he wants nothing more than to believe me.
I can’t blame him. I’ve earned the distrust tenfold, but I just hope that
giving him this piece of myself proves how badly I want this, that I’m
willing to do whatever it takes to try.
He doesn’t even know what I’ve spent the last couple of months doing
because of him. That his presence in my life changed fucking everything.
“You’re the only one who can make it go away.” It’s the most truthful
thing I have ever said in my life. The remorse, the fucking agony, the chaos
of living two separate lives…all of it disappears with that blinding smile, so
full of life.
“Make what go away, big guy?” he asks, thumb rubbing across my
closed lips. The headlights from a passing car beam through the glass,
reflecting brightly across the black and orange walls before disappearing,
leaving us in the muted darkness once more.
There’s something about the dark that feels more freeing, like your
demons are lurking just around the corner, but it’s okay because so is
everyone else’s.
“Everything.”
He’s quiet for a while, contemplating my words, I think. They’re not
good enough. Nothing I give him will be. But fuck. If I don’t try…
“We’re gonna ruin each other,” he says thoughtfully, chin brushing his
chest as he talks. He traces my brow. “But maybe we already have.” His
breath fans across my lips, words somber. They feel like a vice wrapped
around my heart as it constricts, feeling bruised and beaten to a pulp.
“Probably.” It cuts to admit. I can’t stand having this conversation with
me lying on top of him, one of his hands caressing my tarnished flesh. He
lets me up until I’m on my knees between his spread thighs, the crease of
my ass shamefully wet. I swallow. The cushion dips under my weight. I
place my hands on his legs, needing something to ground me, but before I
can open my mouth, Jaxon beats me to it.
“Are you gonna tell me whose blood that was?” he asks, lips pursed.
“No one that matters,” I croak. I’m always coming to him at my worst,
forcing him to make me feel better because he’s the only one who can. “I’ll
explain; I promise.” Maybe it’s time for him to finally know now that that
part of my life is rushing toward the rearview mirror. Almost out of sight,
which means he’s almost out of danger.
“You’re not hurt?” he demands. I shake my head.
“Only in here.” I touch my chest. It sounds so fucking cheesy because it
is. But it’s also the truth, and he deserves that.
His eyes drop to my hand placed across my chest before flickering back
up to my eyes. I can see the way he’s warring with himself. The indecision
etched across his beautiful face.
“You deserve more than I can give you, Jaxon. I know that. I can’t tell
you how badly that fucking hurts me.” I lift my hand to slam it against my
chest, my knuckles brushing his bare skin as I do. He sucks in a breath. I
hold mine.
“But I can give you this.” I gesture at my body, ending with my fingers
pointed at my head.
You can have my body and my soul, but my heart already belongs to
someone else… It can’t not.
“I just need you—selfishly. Just like I said all those months ago.” I
glance up through my dark lashes. He’s staring at me, blue eyes soft as they
flicker back and forth. His fingers curl into his palms near my thighs. “It’s
not good enough. I’ll never be good enough. And I don’t want to hurt you.
It’s the last fucking thing I want, but…I’ll give you everything I can. If
you’ll let me.” I can feel my heartbeat in my fucking throat.
Fuck, my chest hurts so bad.
It’s the fear that he’ll turn me away, choose a life without me after I’ve
fought so hard to make one with him a possibility.
“Leo,” Jaxon groans. Finally, finally, he touches me again. He surges
forward, chest inches from mine. His fingers are sharp yet gentle as they
tangle into my hair, gripping tightly. He pulls my head back, exposing my
throat.
 With me kneeling between his spread legs, I tower above him, but the
dimensions have no power over his hold on me.
“I’ve spent months missing you,” he admits, the truth piercing my heart.
“Endless days spent in a blur because you changed me, and I hate it. I hate
that I gave you so much control over me.”
Doesn’t he see it’s the other way around?
“Do you really want this?” he asks as he presses his thumb against my
lips. I part them, allowing him entry, my head nodding unsteadily. “Because
we’re already such a fucking mess, and we’ve barely begun.”
He strokes the pad of his finger over my tongue—gently, affectionately.
I swallow the saliva pooling at the back of my throat, loving the burst of
him in my mouth.
“But I think you like being messy, huh? You sure look good kneeling
for me, big guy.” He curls his other fingers under my chin, keeping my head
exactly where he wants it, his thumb teasing my bottom lip. My mind goes
blank.
Oh.
Fuck…
Why… How does this feel so right? So bone-deep it fucking aches.
When Jaxon talks like that, everything else fades, and my mind goes to
a place filled with blissful haze. A place with no regrets, no guilt. No
charred ashes of my past.
It’s him and me, my mind a blank slate.
As I fall into it with both feet, I can’t help but think this is exactly how
it should be.

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 JAXON

W hen I opened my eyes , the sensation of L eo all around , I thought

it was nothing but a sadistic dream. My mind playing the worst kind of
trick. But he’s here. I don’t even care that he broke in because he came back
to me. It’s like the last couple of months never happened. The loss of him
gone in a rush.
Because, sadly, all that matters to me right now is this. And he seems
different. Softer, if that’s even possible. More open. Willing.
He called me baby.
Leo appears lost to the world as he idly sucks on my thumb, eyes
glazed, locked fervently on my mine.
My heart is rattling against my ribs. Everything he said sounds
impossible, yet…
I yank my hand away and clutch his shoulders, pulling him toward me.
He gasps as our mouths reconnect. Our teeth clash together, jarring and
forceful. I knot my fingers in his hair, and Leo bends to my will, mouth
stretched open wide as I lick into him.
He tastes like cigarettes and me.
My other hand wraps around the back of his neck, keeping him exactly
where I want him as I mold my body to his, our chests pressed together. His
pecs are hard against my pebbled nipples. I shudder at the added sensation,
which quickly morphs into a body-wracking moan when Leo places his
hands on my hips. They’re so large, they wrap around me easily, fingertips
digging into my back as he holds me tightly.
 It feels too good, and knowing he’s the one choosing it makes it all the
better. I want him to want me. To want this.
I wrench my mouth away, chest heaving. He gasps and bows, eyes
dazed as he tries to draw my mouth back to his, but I lean back. My eyes
catch on the remnants of blood splattered on his skin. It’s a relief knowing
it’s not his, but I didn’t think it was.
It makes me picture a world without him in it, and that scares the fuck
out of me. Because this is who I am now. Someone who doesn’t care about
the blood but about the person covered in it.
“Please,” he begs, eyes wide, pupils blown. I hate that his begging
erases the shit he put me through. Dragging me along even though he knew
from the very beginning he could never love me.
Not like I love him. With every fucking fiber of my being.
But I guess I’m also to blame. I was drawn to him, to his agony, like a
moth to a flame, willingly flying into the blaze.
I’ve never been able to resist—not truly. Even while I was gone, trying
to mask my pain by disappearing, leaving Amos to deal with our business
on his own, it was still there. I assumed the more miles I put between me
and Leo, the less I would feel for him.
When Amos asked me to come back, I did because I thought it worked.
But having Leo in my arms right now, fucking begging so shamelessly…
I was a goddamn fool for believing I could run away from someone so
intimately connected with my soul.
Fuck missing him. Fuck everything but this.
I think I can love someone who will never choose me. It’s my choice to
make, and I know what I’m getting into. Leo’s made it crystal clear it’ll
never be more than a physical connection for him. I accept that.
I have to. Because I didn’t realize how fucking bleak everything looked
when he was no longer right in front of me.
“Jaxon,” Leo breathes. I fix my attention on him. He’s worrying his lip
now that my thumb has fallen from his mouth. I smear his saliva along his
thigh, brushing over the black lines.
There’s still so much unsaid between us. His endless secrets and lies
balancing precariously overhead. It’s unnerving, the acceptance of it.
Can I live in a lie? I think helplessly as I clutch at him. And when he
collapses on top of me, the weight of him forcing the breath from my lungs,
I think maybe I can.
A flood of warmth douses my groin , and I groan dazedly , my back
arching against the rush of intensity. A retching sound slams into my ears as
something tightens considerably around me, making me shudder.
I blink warily, my arms searching aimlessly. They connect with hard
tissue, digging in. My vision finally clears, and I find myself staring
overhead at the low-hanging beams. The room’s basked in pale, morning
light.
Slurping rings in my ears. I drop my head, finding Leo’s shoulders
hunched over me, his head angled downward and… shit, yeah… Leo sucks
on the head of my cock, his tongue darting over the slit in small, hesitant
flicks.
His hands are pressed painfully into my thighs as he uses his grip on me
to keep himself balanced. That mixed with his inexperienced suckling
makes my head spin rapturously.
“What’re you doing?” I croak, my voice thick with sleep and
unexpected arousal. I curl my fingers around his skull and press my nails
into his scalp. He glances up through his lashes, and I have the perfect view
of his plump lips stretched around my dick.
He grunts, and the sound vibrates through my length, sinking straight
into my balls. They throb, heavy and abandoned under the waistband of my
briefs I grabbed last night as Leo slides his mouth down again. I angle his
head so he slips down further, but the second my head bumps the back of
his throat, he gags, throat compressing.
It feels fucking insane.
His cheeks feel hot beneath my palms. I tug on his hair, forcing him to
release my dick with a slick pop. He’s panting, like he hasn’t caught his
breath since he started, which was when I was sleeping…
Shit, that’s hot. Thinking about him shyly freeing my dick so he can lick
at me without an audience. All because that’s what he wanted.
It’s still too dark to see properly, but his cheeks look a shade deeper than
usual. His beard is unruly from sleep, eyes wide, lips glistening.
 “You wanted to suck my cock, baby?” I ask warmly, massaging his
head. He leans into the touch, still stretched out between my legs. I think we
fell asleep like this.
“Woke up with your face on my dick, so you just had to taste it?” His
Adam’s apple bobs with a swallow. He looks so fucking embarrassed, it
warms my chest. I pull him toward me, so he clambers up, his clothed
erection sliding right across mine. We moan in unison at the friction, our
mouths coming together, uncaring about morning breath.
He tastes like dick and stale cigarettes, and it’s fucking delicious. I
swipe my tongue along his teeth, over the soft flesh of his cheeks before
pulling out. “Did you taste yourself on me?” I ask, just so I can see the
blood rush to his face up close.
And I am not disappointed.
I’ve never been with someone so inexperienced before, and the thought
that he’s only been with one other person sits like a fucking anchor in my
gut, a forever reminder she’s always there, even in death.
I’m trying not to be bitter about it, but it’s seemingly impossible.
I never thought I’d have to compete with a ghost, only to know I’ll
inevitably lose.
Leo presses a hesitant kiss to my throat, just beneath my jawline. It
draws a smile from me, thoughts of his wife evaporating.
“Answer me,” I prod, lips twitching. Leo pulls back, giving me his best
deadpan expression, which he’s fairly good at—I’ll give him that—but he
can’t mask the light in his amber irises.
“Come on.”
“I…don’t know.” He glances down at his finger playing with my nipple.
I lift my hips, circling them so our dicks rub together. His breath stutters
over my flesh as he exhales shakily.
“Yeah, ‘cause you’ve never tasted dick before.” I smirk, and he glares—
or tries to—but when I flex my hips, his eyes flutter closed, his lips parting.
My eyes go half-lidded as I rub our lengths together, reveling in the solid,
pulsing heat of him.
I lift my right leg to dig my toes into the waistband of his boxers. He
hisses at the coldness of my feet, making me laugh as I pull them down. It’s
hard with his weight pressed into the couch, but he lifts himself just enough
for them to slide down.
 Now, nothing’s between us as we rut together. It’s clumsy and messy,
our mouths slipping across every inch of skin we can reach. Leo mouths at
my bicep, his teeth sinking in. Mine laps at his collarbone, loving the hard
ridge of bone.
I swipe my tongue along my palm and shove my hand between us to
slicken our cocks. Leo hisses at the contact, his back arching as he fucks
into it. My lips quirk as I fist our lengths together, but I can’t wrap my
fingers around the both of us, so I slip my hand above Leo’s dick, knuckles
pressed against his abdomen as I push his cock down.
My fingers slide against my own with every thrust of my hips. Leo’s
mindless, absolutely no rhythm to his movements, just reckless, wild
abandon as he chases the high.
The base of my spine tingles, the embers of my orgasm smoldering. His
arms give out, and he collapses on top of me, mouth against my neck.
Moisture beads on my neck from his breath as he pants, body rocking as he
grinds his hips.
My hand’s trapped between us. The pressure of his weight is too much.
Fire licks along my groin, sending sparks throughout my limbs as I pulse
out jets of cum. My spine tries to bow under the assault, but Leo keeps me
pinned down, and I’m forced to be consumed by it.
Leo grunts, muttering incoherently in long, drawn out syllables as he
covers us in his release, legs twitching. We coat each other’s skin stickily. I
can feel it smearing between us, some of it dripping down along our hips.
I’m dazed and out of breath as I stare blankly up at the ceiling. Leo
curls himself around me, seemingly unperturbed about the mess between
us, but I don’t mind. I wrap my arms around him, settling my fingers along
his spine to trace the vertebrae.
My eyes fall closed as I bask in this moment. It’s utterly peaceful.
If only we could stay here, in our own little world, where it’s no one but
us.
“Well, doesn’t this look fucking cozy,” Amos sneers.
Well.
Shit.
How exactly do I explain this when he’s spent months worrying about
me because of the very man I’m currently tangled up with?
I meet Amos’s angry gaze with a pleading one of my own. Please don’t
fucking make him leave, I try to tell him with my eyes. We’ve known each
other for so long, I fucking know that he knows what I’m thinking.
But he doesn’t care.
“You better fucking explain.”

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 LEO

I’ m all too aware of the cum clinging to my skin as I pull myself

out of Jaxon’s arms. Goosebumps instantly settle along my skin at the loss
of his warmth, and I hate his best friend a little bit more because of it.
“Don’t fucking talk to him like that,” I bite out after I’ve yanked my
underwear back up, giving myself a shred of dignity back—not that I have
much in this moment.
“You!” Amos shoves his finger in my direction. He’s so mad, he’s
shaking. I’d laugh at how pathetic it is if Jaxon didn’t look so worried. He’s
got his lip sucked into his mouth, eyes wide and pleading at his friend.
Fuck…
I lean forward to pull his underwear back over his softened dick. My
heart jolts when his fingers slide over the back of my hand, helping me. I
glance up. He’s smiling at me warmly, if not a little hesitantly.
“Jaxon Ashtor, I swear to fucking God, you can’t be this stupid!”
“Hey!” I snap, righting myself. My feet slam against the floor. It’s cold
against my soles, sending a jolt up my spine as I put myself right in front of
Amos. His eyes flicker down to the cum drying on my stomach, a twisted
sneer to his lips, before meeting my eyes.
“Fuck. You.”
“Fuck me?” I bark a laugh, taking a step closer. My hands fist at my
sides. My blood now boils with anger instead of the high of coming with
Jaxon, and that just pisses me off further.
“Yeah, fuck you, you fucking—”
 “Enough!” Jaxon yells from somewhere behind me. His evident anger
snaps me out of mine, and I take a step back, running my fingers through
my hair. I meet his gaze, and I’m met with a sharp glare. I lower my eyes,
feeling ashamed.
Jesus, I don’t have any right yelling at his best friend, yet here I fucking
am.
Because he was talking to Jax the way he was, I remind myself. But no
matter how true it is, it doesn’t change the facts that it isn’t my place.
“You’re gonna fuckin’ yell at me, Jax?” Amos says as he throws his
arms into the air. “Un-fucking-believable.” His footsteps are loud, bouncing
off the walls as he storms past us and out the front door after he flips the
lock.
“Hey,” Jaxon says. I look up. He’s smiling weakly. It doesn’t meet his
eyes, and I can’t help but feel like I fucked all this up before it could ever
really begin.
I don’t know what this could even become—if anything at all—but the
possibility was there.
But now? With the shadows of past mistakes glaring in the sunlight, I
fear I’m not enough—or maybe I’m just too much.
I take a step forward, and Jaxon holds his hand out, effectively stopping
me in my tracks. I frown, loathing the fucking distance. If I could just get
my hands on him again, I’ll make him forget his reservations.
My own blatant manipulation jars me, sending me reeling backward.
“I have to go talk to him,” he tells me, arms crossed over his bare chest,
blonde hair hanging messily in his eyes.
“Yeah, you should.” I try to smile, but it feels too off-putting, so I drop
it. We’re both silent as we walk across the shop to our clothes we discarded
the night before. It’s shameful to put them on again, like we’re both trying
to forget last night never happened.
But I don’t want to. And Jaxon can’t. Not if I can help it.
He needs every reminder of how good we are, so he forgets all the
inescapable shit we can’t change.
He’s dressed before I am and turns his back on me to go talk to his best
friend, leaving me standing, feeling utterly alone.
He’s always walking away from me.
I wish I could lie to myself and say I deserve something better, but it’s
just a taste of my own medicine.
 Maybe I have to accept the fact that Jaxon always will. And it’s my own
doing.
Watching him walk away adds weight against my sternum. My fingers
tense, so I dig into my pocket and pull out my cigarettes, placing one
between my teeth as I watch Jaxon and Amos’s silent argument.
Jaxon looks tense, his posture stiff whereas Amos’s is far more chaotic
and angry. I pace back and forth, never taking my eyes off them. Jaxon’s
fucking shivering, skin pebbled from the cold. He shouldn’t be out there
practically fucking naked for the whole world to see. I should just—
My phone vibrating cuts off my train of thought. I pull it out of my
pocket, finding Blaine’s name flashing across the screen. The hairs at my
nape raise as I slide my thumb over, answering the call.
“Yeah?” I ask, the word muffled through the cigarette pinched between
my lips.
“Are you still with him?” he asks.
“Guess I’m predictable,” I grumble. I pace across the floor, my eyes
tracking Jaxon. I wish he’d fucking come back inside already. Partly
because I want to know what he’s saying about me.
“When it comes to him.”
I scoff. “Everyone okay?” I pull my phone away to glance at the clock.
It’s only just past seven A.M., still far too early for everyone to be awake.
“Far as I know, yes. Only Roy and I are up right now, but when
everyone else wakes, I want to have a meeting. Discuss the bullshit from
last night.”
“Yeah, that’s probably a good idea. There’s only one problem.” And he’s
standing right outside, just out of reach.
“And what would that be?”
“I don’t want to leave Jaxon.” But I can’t bring him with me.
Can I?
“So, bring him,” Blaine suggests like it’s even possible.
I laugh, but it’s dry. “I can’t do that, and you know it.” Why does this
shit have to be so fucking hard?
“Why not? We’ll meet at the pub. He can talk with Andy while we
discuss in the back.”
“You’d do that for me?”
“Haven’t I proven by now everything I would do for you?” His words
throw me for a moment.
 “Yeah, I guess you have,” I mumble, only slightly paying attention.
Amos seems to have calmed some, now wrapped in Jaxon’s arms. The sight
makes my stomach twist uncomfortably, seeing them together so intimately.
I know it’s not anything more than friendship, but what if it was at some
point?
“We’ll meet you there in say, two hours?”
“Should work. I’ll talk to him.” After hanging up, I drop my phone on
the counter with a sigh.
They both walk in after a few more minutes. Amos doesn’t seem
anywhere near as intense, so I suppose that’s better than the alternative. He
walks right past me, nose pushed into the fucking air. I bristle at the
insolence, my lip curling in disdain.
And to think I’m more than capable of controlling my outward
emotions, but anything in relation to Jaxon apparently doesn’t fucking
apply.
Footsteps hammer down on the stairs, followed by a loud bang, and
then, it’s just us again, like it should always be.
“Are you okay?” I ask him. He blinks, like he’s surprised by my
question, by the fact I even asked.
“Yeah, I guess so.” He runs his fingers through his hair. The air around
us is poignant, so thick you can reach out and touch it.
“I didn’t mean to…”
“Yeah, I know, big guy. But you did anyway.”
Is it always going to hurt like this? Knowing I’ll never be good enough.
Jaxon’s stomach rumbles. It makes me smile, the reminder that we’re
just humans, with basic needs to care for, despite all the chaos we live
through. Something…mundane to bring you back to reality.
“Come with me today,” I tell him. His pierced brow arches.
“Where?”
“To the pub. And then, just…” Run away with me. Somewhere no one
can touch us. Just for a little while.
“Just...?” he prompts, lips pursed. I rake my gaze over his body. His
skin is still pebbled from the cold, so I wrap him in my arms, rubbing my
warmth back into him. I wish I could say he’s the one who melts into me,
but it’s the other way around.
The second his arms slide along my ribs, I deflate. I press my face into
his throat, breathing in his heady, lavender-cinnamon scent. It never fails to
warm my blood. The weight of my body pushes him backward. His feet
shuffle as he bumps into the counter. The stability gives me free rein to
crush him, to fall forever into him.
“Run away with me,” I whisper into his neck. “I wanna be selfish with
you. Keep you all to myself.”
Jaxon chuckles as he traces my spine. I hate the shirt on my back,
keeping our flesh from truly touching, but I can still feel his heat down to
my bones.
“We can’t run away forever, big guy.” It sounds like a rejection, and I
can’t ignore the way it stings.
“Just for a little while, then.” Please, Jaxon, baby. I constrict my arms,
pressing my palms flat against his lower back. I mouth at his neck, flicking
my tongue out, tasting faint traces of salty sweat.
I shouldn’t call him baby.
“How long is a little while?” he asks, sounding resigned. My heart
jumps.
“Couple days. Please,” I add, hating how fucking needy I sound, but I
want Jaxon to hear it, to hear how much I do fucking need him.
“All right,” he sighs. He presses his lips to the back of my head. “I need
to go talk to Amos.” He unwinds his arms, and I squeeze tighter at the
threat of it.
“I’ll come with you.”
“No. You’ll stay down here and wait for me. Amos isn’t your biggest
fan right now.” He pushes me back, and I pout; I can’t fucking help it.
“Who fucking cares? He has no say in what you do.” God, when did I
get so fucking petulant?
“I care, Leo. He’s allowed to have a fucking opinion on someone whose
hurt me more than once.” I wince at the suggestion in his tone. I fucking
earned that. Yet another reminder of all the lies piled between us.
But you hurt me, too…
I’m not lost to the irony of it. I’ve kept secrets from Vincent since the
very moment I met him. It’s been much of the same with Jaxon, yet I only
feel guilty about it with him.
Maybe it’s because I want to be honest with him. Tell him every
disgusting, dark secret I have. And while I love Vincent like a son, it’s not
the same. Never has been.
“Wait for me,” Jaxon demands, and I nod.
 “Always.”
He stares at me oddly after that, his eyes continuously flickering over
me as I drive us toward the pub. We’ll be early, but it’ll give me a chance to
be alone with him for a few moments longer.
My phone buzzes in my pocket as I pull down 82 nd street. With a quick
glance down, I roll my eyes at the name flashing. “What, Vincent?”
“I fucking found her. And I need your help. I’m on my way to the pub
now.”
Shit. Just what I fucking need right now.
I chance a glance at Jaxon. His head’s braced on his hand as he stares
out the window, seemingly not paying attention, but I know better.
“All right. I’ll meet you there.” I hang up and toss my phone down on
my lap. My fingers tap against the wheel to the beat of Nickelback’s
“Animals”.
“Everything okay?” Jaxon asks dryly. He’s not even looking at me, but I
can feel the tension in his body, the way he’s physically pulling away from
me.
I can’t fucking stand it.
Stay with me, please.
I reach over and grasp his upper thigh. He’s thin, so my long fingers
splay widely across him, but I love it.
Anyone would look at us and think I’m the one who devours him, but
they have no fucking clue of the immensity Jaxon holds just beneath the
surface.
“Yeah, sweetheart. Everything’s good.” Another goddamn lie, but what
other choice do I have? I can’t fucking risk this yet, not until I know for a
fucking fact he’s not leaving.
I catch sight of Andy smoking in front as I pull up. The Pub’s parking
lot around back is mostly vacant, aside from Andy’s and a couple cars I
keep here for…convenience. But instead of pulling into it, I park along the
road.
“I’ve got to handle something.”
Jaxon glances over, expression utterly fucking blank. My stomach
plummets. I feel like I’m already fucking losing him again, and I just got
him back.
“Yeah. I’m sure you do. Don’t worry, I’ll stay out here and talk to
Andy.” He sounds desolate. I lean across the console and press my lips to
his in a chaste kiss.
“I won’t be long.”
“Don’t worry about me. I’m not going anywhere.” I didn’t know I
needed to hear the words, but now that I have, it feels like a weight off my
chest—for the time being. Because it’ll come back. It always does.
Jaxon steps out and walks right up to Andy. They bump fucking fists,
and I roll my eyes, but I can’t suppress the twitch to my lips. He’s so
uniquely himself.
I hope I never snuff out his light.
Leaning over, I dig through the glovebox and pull out the keys to the
Ford Explorer around back. With them in hand, I make my way into the bar,
trailing my fingers along Jaxon’s waist as I pass. He shoots me a wink, and
I breathe a little easier.
“This should be good enough.” I toss the keys at Vincent. He turns just
in time to catch them before they nail him in the face. Some part of me
wishes they had because I’m so sick of his shit when it comes to this girl.
I don’t even mention the fact he killed her goddamn parents a couple
months ago and didn’t bother to fucking tell me. It’s times like that where
I’m glad I have Blaine to keep me in the know because Vincent’s been
teetering right on the fucking deep end since he got shot and his girl
disappeared.
But I suppose now that he knows where she is, that won’t last much
longer. I’ve tried to stay out of it because frankly, I just don’t have the
fucking time nor the mental capacity to deal with it, but that doesn’t mean I
don’t worry about him or what else he’ll do.
After some quick words, he follows me out back through the kitchen
where the car is parked. There’s a bite to the air, but that’s not why I’m
antsy. I just want Vin to get the fuck out of here so I can have Jaxon back in
my sights again.
“This the car?” Vincent asks. He’s bouncing on his heels, like he’s
crawling out of his skin with anticipation. His eyes are wild, bright and
dangerous. I should be worried about that.
Unfortunately, I don’t have the ability to care right now.
“You still mad at me?”
I want to groan, but I don’t. “What the fuck do you think, Vincent? Of
course, I am. You could’ve fucked up so much shit. Not only your life, but
mine, too. Fuck you.” What I don’t say is he’s goddamn lucky that fire he
started covered his tracks.
I close my eyes for a second, gathering my resolve. This is exactly why
I didn’t want to deal with him today. But I couldn’t turn Vincent away, the
fucking bastard.
He stares at me, eyes wide and black. “Look. I’m…I’m fucking sorry,
okay?” He’s glaring sharply at me, but his body is bouncing, jittery with
anticipation.
It’s making my skin crawl.
“I forgive you. Now get the fuck out of here and go find your girl, you
piece of shit.” I smile, because as much as he pisses me off, I truly do want
him to be happy, in whatever form that is.
His shoulders drop with a deep breath, and then, he’s gone.
I take one of my own before making my way back inside. Voices filter
through the empty kitchen, becoming louder the closer I get to the bar.
Jaxon’s seated on one of the stools, a drink in his hand. I eye it as I grow
closer, fingers tense at my sides. I light a cigarette, needing the nicotine to
calm my fried fucking nervous system.
Between the wreckage Jaxon put my body through last night and the
anticipation of having him all to myself shortly…
“It’s just cranberry juice.”
“Mhm,” I grumble, sliding alongside him to pick up the glass and smell
it. Yep. Just juice.
“Like I said.” But he doesn’t sound mad. If anything, he sounds amused.
I press against his side, placing my leg right against him. He leans into the
touch as he talks to Andy about some fucking video game I know nothing
about.
“You play video games?” I ask. I didn’t see any consoles in his tiny ass
fucking apartment—if you can even call it that. Besides, it really just draws
attention to how much fucking older I am, and if I don’t want to think about
the years between us, I’m sure he doesn’t either.
“Not at home. Amos and I play when we go to Jeris’s.”
I grunt, not liking the sound of that. Jaxon laughs beautifully and places
his hand on my arm, petting me. It’s nothing but a fucking placation, but I
love it, nonetheless.
“Stop bugging out about unimportant shit, big guy.”
“Feel like I don’t even know you.” Which isn’t fucking fair to him.
 “Guess you’ll have to figure me out, huh?” He’s teasing me. Whatever
trepidation he was feeling in the car appears long gone, replaced by his
usual witty banter that I love so much. It makes me feel lighter.
“I plan on it,” I growl, leaning in to nip at his lip. Shit, it’s insane what
he does to me. I’m biting his lip in front of Andy without a care in the
world. And it feels goddamn good.
“Ohhh,” he drawls. “How do you suppose you’re gonna do that?”
He’s flirting with me. Teasing me. Wants to me say the words out loud,
even though he knows they’ll fucking embarrass me.
But before I get the chance to answer, Jaxon leans in, his cranberry-
scented breath floating over my skin. “Is your ass still sore, big guy?” I shift
on my feet. It is, but I don’t want to fucking tell him that. Much to my
disdain, my face gives me away, heating at his words, despite my best
efforts to mask the blood rushing to the surface.
Jaxon’s throaty chuckle warms me, and my dick kicks with a heavy
throb.
“You’re such a fuckin—” The front door opens, and I turn, still pressed
close to Jaxon as I watch all my men walk inside.
I wish I could say it’s Jaxon who tenses, but it’s me, and it radiates into
him from our close proximity. His hand clutches the material of my
sweatpants, keeping me close. “More shit you have to handle?” he asks. He
doesn’t sound mad, just resigned to the secrets.
“Yeah. I’m sorry.” It doesn’t make a difference, and we both know it.
It’s painful to detach myself from him. He swats my ass as I turn away, and
when I jerk back, he’s just grinning, staring down at his fucking cranberry
juice.
Rolling my eyes, I head toward the kitchen, and everyone follows me
back. Once the door swings shut behind them, Blaine starts.
“Last night was fucking unacceptable.”
Was it only last night? Seems like a fucking lifetime ago already.
“How did it even happen?” I lean against the counter, crossing my arms
over my chest. No one says a word about how I’m still dressed in the same
clothes. They know.
“Boss, I fucking swear the intel I had was good. I trust Posh,” Seb says.
I nod. “I know you do. I do as well. He’s never given us a bad word
before. I think it was just fed to him like that.” Everyone nods their
agreeance.
 “Do you think Soren’s just gonna back off since we killed his crew?”
Kline butts in this time with a deep crease between his brows. It goes quiet
for a few as we all think it over, but Roy answers before I get the chance.
“It’s hard to tell. Everything about last night leans toward it being
planned, but the execution was far too messy for it to ever play in their
favor.”
“I agree. But Soren’s also impulsive, and now he’s fucking pissed,” I
add.
“And we all know how that usually turns out,” Jerry muses tightly.
We’re all bunched together in the tight confines of the kitchen, grills and
counters at our backs, keeping us pressed together, but it helps keep the
conversation volume to a minimum, which I’m grateful for. I don’t want
Jaxon accidently catching a single snippet of this.
“So, what?” Seb asks, brows arched. He looks exhausted with the dark
circles around his eyes, but his irises are shining bright.
“Just watch our fucking backs and keep our ears peeled for anything out
of the ordinary.”
Sebastian scoffs. “No offense, Grim, but pretty much everything is out
of the ordinary now.” A few of the others murmur their agreeance.
“Yes, I’m aware. Don’t be a fucking smartass.”
Seb salutes, followed by a ridiculous bow. “You got it, boss man.” I roll
my eyes at his departure. The others follow him out, leaving just me and
Blaine. He was mostly silent throughout, and I want to pick his brain.
“What do you think?”
“I think we’re not out of the clear yet. You left him alive…” He draws
the word out, waiting for me to explain, but I don’t. He breathes out
irritably. “We still have to handle the shipment with Ivan.”
I sigh and roll my neck back to stare up at the ceiling after lighting
another cigarette. “Yeah.”
“Just a bit longer, kid.” His hand clutches my shoulder. I drop my head
to look at him.
“I’m leaving for a few days.”
“With Jaxon, I presume?” I nod. Blaine’s eyes flicker between mine.
“Don’t disappear. We’re fucking close, but we still need you.”
“I won’t. I’ll call you. I just need some time with him.” He must read
something in my eyes that I didn’t say because he smiles weakly, flexing his
fingers.
 “I know.” Then, he’s gone, too. I don’t bother finishing my cigarette
before rushing back to Jaxon, except as I step out from the doorway, he’s
not where I left him.
“Jaxon!” I shout. The voice echoes off the walls, despite my men filling
the space. All of their heads turn to look at me at my shout, eyes wide.
“He’s in the bathroom,” Andy tells me. The second the words leave his
mouth, I take off. The door slams against the wall from the force I use to
shove it open. Jaxon jumps, his shoulders hiking to his ears as he washes
his hands.
Water splashes across the floor, soaking the tops of his shoes. “Shit,
Leo. You fucking scared me.” My heart’s pounding erratically, slamming
incessantly against my sternum and stealing the breath from my lungs. I
can’t even form words.
I slam my mouth to his, taking his breath for my own. It fills me
completely, and my head swims, disorienting me. Jaxon’s lips move against
mine just as eagerly.
“What’re you doing?” he mumbles, gasping when my teeth scour over
his neck, giving us both room to catch our breath because it’s too fucking
much.
He tastes spicy on my tongue, the scent of cinnamon stronger than ever.
“Thought you left.”
“I told you I wasn’t going anywhere.” He clutches my shoulders, arms
raised high. I follow the temptation, tracing the tattoos running down his
forearms, ending with soft kisses along each finger.
He sighs, melting back against the wall. The light above flickers in a
staccato rhythm with my heart. “I know.”
“Don’t you believe me?” His words give me pause. I did, but…
“It’s not that easy for me.” Another small truth.
“I know,” he says carefully, brushing his fingers over my face and
catching in my beard. I need to shave it, but I love it when he runs his
fingers through it and tugs.
Our lips brush again. The world rights itself. My hips grind into Jaxon’s
as I press him into the wall. My cock thickens in my sweats at the feel of
him against me.
None of this makes sense to me—the desire to have another person like
this, let alone a man. I’d never considered myself gay or bi, but then again,
the mere thought of touching another human this intimately never crossed
my mind until I met Jaxon.
He’s changed me in every single way a person can be changed—and for
the better. Colors are brighter, sounds louder. Touches softer, gentler.
The world I always knew as an endless array of grays has been washed
in striking color since the moment I saw his sky-blue eyes, vivid and
glistening with possibilities.
But if there’s one thing I’ve learned in my long, dreary life, it’s that
tragedy can strike as quick as a match. And nothing this good could be
fucking bad, even with the pricks of guilt jabbing at the back of my skull
with every kiss I share with him.
It’s Quinn, Harrison. Their presence is a constant in my mind, except for
when it’s not.
And that’s when it hits me.
They’re fading away. A little more every day. Not the memories of them
—those have already long disappeared—but the space they have in my
heart. That’s what’s fading.
I can’t stop it. And it fucking kills me.
They don’t deserve to be lost, but how am I expected to keep holding on
to the past when I have Jaxon right in front of me, living, breathing? Alive.
I scrunch my eyes shut, forcing the thoughts away. I focus on the steady
rhythm of his chest brushing mine with every rapid breath, the way his
hands clutch helplessly against my shoulders, pulling me impossibly close.
Our hips gyrate, and I groan deeply in my chest as his length slides
against mine through our clothes. I pull back, raking my fingers down his
abdomen. He meets my eyes, his lids lower than normal in his obvious
arousal. It sends a shiver down my spine, seeing what I do to him, much of
the same as he does to me.
“Just us, big guy.”
Hearing those words dissolves the last shred of trepidation in the back
of my mind. Just us. Him.
His fingers dig into my waistband to pull it down, freeing my dick
easily. He hurriedly does the same to his. I’m rapt as I watch him press
them together, his fingers wrapped around us both. The silver in the head of
my dick shines from the light above.
We look obscene. And doing this in the bathroom with my fucking
family just on the other side of the door makes it feel dirty. My dick
twitches, and Jaxon smirks lazily in my peripheral. My ears roar with the
rush of blood.
Our legs are pressed together from knee all the way up to our cocks.
Jaxon dips his head down, blocking my line of sight. When something
warm, wet, and slick slides across my dick, followed by the salacious shlick
of Jaxon’s fingers coating us in his spit, my face burns.
“Fuuuuck,” I groan, my head falling back, rolling between my shoulders
as he works us over with both hands now, twice the coverage and doubled
pressure. I look down through my lashes. Spit still clings to Jaxon’s bottom
lip, illicit and vulgar.
When he catches me staring at his mouth, he runs his tongue along his
teeth with a soft clink of his tongue ring. He works us over slowly, so
fucking slow, I’m forced to feel every fucking sporadic jerk, every
tantalizing hitch of his breath, the way he fucks into me, his head sliding
messily against mine.
I hear the noises falling from my lips, loud and uncontrolled. My face is
fucking burning, but I can’t stop. And Jaxon fucking loves it. His pace
steadily increases, the raunchy sounds of us fucking our dicks together so
fucking loud, I know everyone can hear.
And I don’t fucking care. Let them hear how fucking good he makes me
feel, how out of control.
I reach back, clutching the edge of the sink for leverage as I thrust,
fucking into his hands, too. “Shit, baby, shiiit.” My balls draw up, pulsing.
My release coats us both, and Jaxon uses it to work us harder. I twitch, my
legs shaking. The sink groans as I put my full body weight into it, fearing
my legs are going to give out on me.
“That’s it, big guy. Fuck. Yessss,” Jaxon groans loudly, followed by the
warm splash of his cum. I blink down wearily, watching as it spurts from
the head of his dick, smearing across my groin messily. Jaxon rubs his
thumb against the barbell through my head, making me whimper and twitch
from overstimulation.
He releases us, and the loss of his touch makes me flinch, unwelcome
cold flooding through me. He grabs a paper towel and wipes it across my
skin, cleaning our combined release before pulling my pants back up for
me. It all feels intimate, surprisingly more so than having him come all over
me.
 Once he’s done cleaning up, he exhales loudly, slumping against the
wall, but he can’t hide the dopey smile on his face—not that he’s trying—
dimples on full display.
He’s so wonderful.
I poke my finger into the divot. He grasps my wrist, keeping me in
place. Both of us are still trying to catch our breath.
“You good?”
“Mmm,” I grunt. He rolls his eyes.
“You don’t even have to try.” He’s trying to sound annoyed, but it just
comes out as amused.
“Try with what?” I ask, brows furrowing. Jaxon just laughs, not
explaining himself as he turns to wash his hands. I watch our dried cum
swirl down the drain with the water. I wish it could stain his skin forever.
The thought makes me rear back, the utter possessiveness shocking. Or
maybe, it’s not. Maybe I just want everyone to know who I belong to.
Do I belong to Jaxon? Does he want me this way, especially after the
way he reacted to finding out about Quinn and Harry…
“Hey, you still with me?” Jaxon places a cold finger under my chin. I
meet his gaze, instantly lost in their oasis.
“Always with you.”
“Good.” He drops his hand. I hate it. I grab it and twist my fingers
through his. He stares down at our clasped fingers for a moment too long
before straightening and walking out. The door closing loudly behind us
signals our entrance.
“Whoop!”
“Get ittttt!”
“Nasty fuckers!”
Everyone’s shouting obscenities, whooping and hollering. My face is
flushed, making my skin crawl uncomfortably. I want to immediately turn
back around and trap Jaxon in the bathroom forever with me. I basically
just fucking outed myself to my entire family—and far too fucking loudly
at that.
Jaxon squeezes my hand. Avoiding everyone else’s eyes, I meet his.
He’s smiling—of fucking course, he is—but it’s not a tease. You and me, he
mouths, centering me.
I squeeze back and steel my spine. I meet Blaine’s eyes first. He’s not
smiling, but his eyes are warm. Seb’s being the loudest of all, rocking back
and forth on his stool, fist in the air.
“Finally got laid, you nasty fucker!” Ah, so it was him who said that.
“Fuck off,” I grumble, sliding alongside Jaxon as he takes his seat
again. Andy’s smirking to himself behind the bar as he cleans a glass that
looks fucking sparkling. When he feels me glaring, he looks up, lips
twitching.
“Don’t,” I growl, but there’s no heat behind it.
“Wasn’t gonna say anything, boss.”
I arch a brow, leaving it at that. Turning around, I say, “Anyone have
anything to say, fucking say it now because this is your only chance.” It
comes out nastier than I meant it to.
It’s so fucking quiet, you could hear a pin drop. It makes my ears ring
blaringly. I lean into Jaxon on impulse, and his warmth immediately rights
the chaos brewing.
“We’re happy for you, boss man,” Seb steps up, slamming his hand
down on my back. I bear the sting with an inward grimace. Everyone else
murmurs their agreeance. Another weight lifts. I’ve never felt so free in my
life, even when I tried to get out with Quinn. Because back then, I knew it
wasn’t real.
Now? It’s fucking real.
The room fills with chatter again, everyone back to their conversations.
The air’s hazy with smoke, making me crave one. I pull out my pack and
place one between my lips, but before I can light it, Jaxon steals it from my
mouth and puts it in his. He turns away just before I hear the spark of a
lighter. Then he’s facing me again, holding the lit cigarette out, filtered end
toward me.
I stare down at the cigarette helplessly. My eyes sting, and my nose
fucking burns the longer I look. “Hey,” he says. I blink. “It’s okay.” His lips
shift with a small, sad smile.
Is it okay?
How did he know?
“Don’t think too hard about it, baby. It’s okay.”
“Goddamnit, Jaxon.” I didn’t mean to say that out loud, but fuck. How
is he so goddamn perfect, and I’m just this pathetic, selfish, mess of a man?
I take the cigarette from him and press a hard, chaste kiss to his lips. I hope
more than anything he can sense my gratitude for him. His lips twitch
against mine.
 “You’re welcome, big guy.” He turns toward Seb, and they start talking
about something, but I couldn’t be fucked to pay attention to the words.
Jaxon consumes every sense I have, filling me wholly until I’m filled to the
brim with only him.

OceanofPDF.com
 24

OceanofPDF.com
 JAXON

W e ’ ve been on the road for hours now . I don ’ t think L eo has any
specific destination in mind, which is fine by me. I’m content being alone
with him. But it does remind me of all the hours I spent driving around
aimlessly, trying and failing to forget him.
I look over at him out of the corner of my eye. He’s tapping his finger
along his bottom lip to the beat of “This Afternoon” by Nickelback, leaning
against the window. It’s cracked, the wind whipping his dark hair around,
messing it up perfectly.
His beard is longer now, scruffy along his cheekbones and down his
throat. The tattoos there are partially covered, which is a shame, but I also
like the roughened edge. It makes him appear more unruly.
I really couldn’t fucking forget this beast of a man, even if I got hit over
the head and got amnesia.
Leo’s someone you just can’t forget. He’s too large, consuming, life-
altering.
I tried to explain that to Amos when I was packing my bag, but he
wouldn’t hear it. Because he doesn’t understand.
“W hat the fuck do you mean you ’ re going away with him ? A re you out
of your goddamn mind?!”
I wince. “Would you keep your voice down?” I fold another shirt to
shove in my bag. Amos scoffs indignantly.
“Why? Don’t want that piece of shit to fucking hear?”
“Jesus, Amos! It’s not like that!” He rears back at my shout. I grit my
teeth, hating the way his expression makes my heart squeeze uncomfortably.
“Then what’s it like, Jax? Because I sure as shit don’t understand.”
“I…” Don’t even know how to explain it myself. It’s not something I can
put into words easily.
Before I can think of what to say, Amos continues, “You’ve changed so
much, man. I barely recognize you. And it’s because of him, everything he’s
put you through. He’s fucking hurt you. Again and again. And you’re yelling
at me for being concerned.”
I close up my bag, the zipper loud. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled. I
know you’re just worried. And I love you for that—you know I do. But this
is my decision to make. I don’t need your permission,” I add in a whisper.
I watch warily as Amos shifts on his feet, eyes narrowed and dark. He’s
pissed. Rightfully so, but still.
“We’ve been through far too much shit for me to just let this go.”
Shit.
“Amos…”
“No, Jax. The dude’s bad news.”
“You don’t even know him.”
“Do you?” The words sting in a way I didn’t expect, the truth behind
them striking. Because he’s right. In a way, I don’t. But I fucking know his
heart—or at least, I’d like to think I do. And while there’s no room in there
for me, there’s something of him left for me.
“I know enough.” My voice shakes, giving away my hesitation.
Amos laughs. It’s dry. “Sure you do, buddy.”
“All right. If you’re going to be like this, then I’m just going to go.”
“No!” He lunges, grabbing my arm. He hauls me against him and
wraps his arms around me. I hug him back, burying my face in his neck. He
smells woodsy. “I just wanna understand, Jax.”
“I can’t explain it. It doesn’t make sense; I know it doesn’t. And I didn’t
forget the way he hurt me, but I also hurt him. I left him. And he came back.
That’s all.”
 My neck grows wet. Amos sniffles. “Do you love him?” he whispers. I
inhale shakily.
“Yeah.” I clear my throat. “Yeah, Amos, I think I do.” And I wish it
didn’t hurt so much.
“Is that enough? To deal with everything he puts you through?” His
arms tighten. It sounds like his question has more meaning than just an
inquiry about me and Leo, but the answer remains the same. Brushing my
hand up and down his back, I think about how to answer him. Best to stick
with the truth.
“It makes it all worth it.”
He nods against me, smearing his tears around before he pulls away,
sniffling. He yanks the collar of his shirt up and wipes his face dry. His icy
blue eyes stare deeply into mine.
“Be careful. I refuse to lose you.”
Fuck.
I press a kiss to his forehead. “Never, okay?” He nods against my lips. I
pull away and swing my bag over my shoulder. Giving him one last glance,
I close the door behind me to go find the man I’m giving the power to ruin
me.

“J axon .”
“Hmm?” I mumble, his voice lulling me out of my head.
“I asked if you were hungry.”
“Oh.” I smile. How cute. “No.”
He grunts. My dick stirs to attention. “Where are we going?” I ask,
taking in the scenery. Trees followed by endless green. It’s so fucking
beautiful here. It’s nice to be able to take in the nature around me without
feeling like I’m running away from everything.
Because this time, I’m running toward it all, consequences be damned.
“Where do you want to go?”
“Wherever you are is fine with me,” I tell him honestly. He sneaks a
glance before turning back to the road. His fingers tighten on the wheel.
The car jerks to the right as he pulls onto an exit. Arching a brow, I look
over.
“Eager?”
“Fuck off,” he grumbles, but he’s biting back a smile.
So lovely.
The hotel we pull up to looks nice. Nicer than anything I could afford.
I’m not broke. In fact, Amos and I live comfortably enough, and I’m
satisfied with that, but I still watch how much I spend. Old habits die hard.
But it looks like Leo doesn’t have to, and it makes me wonder—not for the
first time—what he does.
Leo drags me in with him as he checks in, never taking his hand out of
mine, even when the lady at the front asks for a card. He struggles digging
into his pocket, so I take the liberty to pull his wallet out for him, fingers
grazing his thigh deliberately. His cheeks flush as he takes it from me.
After we get the keycard, we go back out so I can grab my stuff. “Didn’t
you pack a bag?” I ask him, and he shakes his head.
“Didn’t think about it.”
“Guess we’ll have to take you shopping.” He hits the up button for the
elevator.
“Or I could just wear your clothes,” he grumbles, shifting on his feet as
we ride up to the fifth floor. I splutter.
“I don’t think they’ll fit you.” I make a show of looking him up and
down. He catches me looking, and his face flames again. It’s so cute.
“You’re way too big, baby.”
The doors ding, opening. “I’m not that big,” he counteracts, and I can’t
bite back the burst of laughter.
“Uh huh. Tell that to someone who hasn’t seen you.” Leo rushes us
down the hall. It’s long and empty, so we make it to our room easily. He
slides the key through the lock and shoves the door open. I gasp as he
pushes me back, crowding me against the wall. His teeth latch onto my
neck, sucking hard.
“Shit,” I stutter, heat blooming where he sucks.
“You’re mean to me,” he bites out. I grip his hair and yank hard, ripping
his teeth from me. They scrape along my skin, leaving it stinging.
“No. I’m teasing you.” I shove my hand down to grab his junk, his dick
hardening against my palm. “And you like it.” I lick his cheek, relishing in
the heat against my tongue.
 “I don’t know why.” He sounds embarrassed about it.
“It’s okay to like what you like, you know. Humiliation is a sexy kink—
if you’re into it.”
“I don’t know what I’m into.”
Shit. His inexperience is like an aphrodisiac.
“You make me feel like I’m corrupting you,” I murmur, sliding my
tongue down his neck, pulling at the collar of his shirt so I can lap at his
collarbone.
“If anyone’s being corruptive, it’s me.”
“Why’s that, baby?” I ask, half paying attention, more focused on the
salty taste of his skin.
“I’m bad for you.” It makes me pull away. I open my mouth to disagree
before snapping it shut. He has a point.
“Yeah,” I agree. He winces. I smooth the wrinkle in his forehead with
my thumb. His hair tickles my skin. “But sometimes, bad can be so good.” I
wrap my arms around his neck and pull him against me, loving the way his
body is so fucking big.
His hands find my waist the way they always do. He uses his grip to
haul me up. I wrap my legs around his torso, bouncing when he jerks me up
to move his grip to my ass. He digs his fingers in deep, kneading my
cheeks.
“Shit, yeah.” I shudder. “You’re so fucking big, baby.” Leo’s hold
tightens as he carries us across the room. I bounce with each step, reveling
in the sensation of his muscles bunching and rolling. He pushes me against
a wall, using it to support some of my weight as he devours my neck.
I feel more than hear his deep intake of breath. “Are you smelling me?”
I ask with a laugh. Leo grunts, the sound low as it vibrates through his
chest.
“You fucking are, aren’t you?” I pet his hair.
“Shut the fuck up, Jax.” His nose skirts along my neck, moving from
side to side. I let my head rest against the wall, closing my eyes as I savor
this feeling. Of Leo taking what he wants.
I feel light in his arms. It’s intoxicating.
I knead his biceps, digging my nails in through the thin material of his
shirt. He shivers, arms shaking.
“Put me down.”
 “No,” he mumbles, licking across my Adam’s apple. His tongue is hot
and greedy, teeth scouring with a sting.
“Yes. Now.” With a huff, he loosens his grip, letting me slide down his
body. My clothes feel too constricting. I whip my shirt over my head,
dropping it to the floor at our feet. My lips quirk when I catch Leo’s eyes
roaming over my exposed torso.
“Like what you see, big guy?”
“Fuck off.” Shit, his blush is stunning. It twists me up inside.
“Fuck off…hmm.” I grip the hem of his shirt and pull it up, exposing
his tattooed abdomen. I rake my fingers over his defined abs, leaving bright,
red trails in their wake. He rips his shirt the rest of the way off, hissing
when I pinch a nipple between my thumb and index finger.
I move to the other, tweaking it until it’s peaked. Then, I dip my head to
flick my tongue over each of them, giving them the barest attention. I shove
Leo away. He stumbles back at the unexpected push, tripping over his feet
before he rights himself.
He’s glaring at me, but his pupils are dilated, lips parted, glistening with
spit. It’s almost enough to make me change my mind, but not quite.
Because there’s something else I want to see covered in spit more.
“Come shower with me.” I don’t wait for his response as I make my
way to the bathroom, dropping my pants on the way. I can feel his heavy
presence behind me as I turn the water on, waiting until steam billows
before stepping inside.
When I glance back, Leo’s leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed
over his broad chest, his sweatpants looking uncomfortably tight stretched
over his rock-hard dick. I jerk my head, beckoning him in.
He seems hesitant, but he does it anyway. His cock bobs when it’s free
from its confines, the silver barbel glittering in the light. Fuck. My mouth
waters at the sight of it. I move over as he steps in, and suddenly, the
shower feels so much fucking smaller.
His hands come to my waist, water rushing over my skin and splattering
across his, giving him goosebumps. “Let me wash you.” He swallows, so I
shuffle, pushing him under the spray. He hisses when the hot water hits him,
eyes fluttering closed. I take the opportunity to drop to my knees.
The tub is hard beneath me, but when my lips wrap around his head,
tongue curling underneath and pressing against the pierced notch below, it
all falls away—everything but this.
 “F-fuuuck,” Leo groans, the sound long and drawn-out. His head falls
back, out of the water. It sluices down his stomach, running right into my
mouth. I grip the back of his thighs to pull him out of the torrent so I can
breathe. I play with him, small flicks of my tongue. I press it against his slit,
wrap it around the thick barbell, tugging with my teeth.
Leo’s harsh pants fill the air. The steam curls around us, hot and damp. I
reach up and cup his balls, rolling them around, pressing two fingers against
his taint and massaging. His dick twitches in my mouth, and I hum around
him. His legs jerk, sending him down my throat. I swallow instinctively
around him, and his hands drop into my damp hair, tangling in it. He tugs
like he needs something to ground him.
He has no fucking clue what’s coming.
I pull off, breathing heavily. My chest aches, but it feels so fucking
good. As I look up at him through my lashes, such a big guy trembling and
submitting to me… Yeah. Nothing else matters. Not the lies. The secrets.
The inescapable heartbreak.
I press a kiss to the ink I put into him, my forever mark on his body.
“Turn around.” I grip behind his knees. He rotates, pressing his hands
against the wall. Water sluices down his back, making the large wings
glisten. It rolls over the dimples above his ass, falling right down his crack.
When I pull his cheeks apart, he tenses, ass clenching. I watch his hole
contract, so I rub my thumb over it, petting him. His body rolls with a
shiver. It takes him a few moments to relax under my touch, and when he
does, I take full advantage.
Leaning forward, I shove my way into his ass, burying my nose and
inhaling deeply. He smells like musk, sweat, and me. I want this scent on
him forever, me inside him forever. I flatten my tongue over his pucker. My
eyes roll back as it bunches against my touch.
“Fuck!” Leo shouts, bucking away. I hiss and dig my fingers in.
“Stay still,” I admonish him.
“W-what are you doing?” He sounds so fucking nervous. It’s adorable.
“Never had anyone eat you before, baby?” I ask with a flick of my
tongue. He shivers, his body rolling with tension.
I glance up, still buried in his ass, to watch him shake his head. His
hair’s wet, dripping down his neck, eyes squeezed shut.
I’ve never loved a sight more.
 “Mmm. Lucky me. Let me show you what you’ve been missing.” I
close my mouth over him and fucking devour him. His hole loosens under
my assault, so I press in. He’s so fucking hot inside. Still so tight, it makes
my head spin.
I soak every inch of him, switching between fucking into him and
lapping around his rim. He’s slippery, the water adding to it. I curl my arm
around his waist to grab his dick. It bobs when I wrap my fingers around
him. I pull it downward, stroking gently.
Leo’s whole body trembles uncontrollably. His scent is overpowering,
potent and so fucking delicious. I pull back to murmur, “You gonna come
for me, big guy?” He’s moaning and whimpering, his head now pressed
against the wall of the shower, hands on either side. His fingers curl,
slipping down as he clutches at nothing.
“Come on—give it to me.” I increase the pressure on his cock, and he
thrusts into my fist, rocking back onto my mouth. “God, baby. That’s it.
Fuck, you’re doing so good. Just feel it.”
He’s so perfect like this. Mindless. Needy for it.
My dick aches so fucking bad. My tongue slips back inside his loosened
hole easily. I fuck into him with it, pressing as deeply as I can. When he
contracts around my tongue, his muscles fluttering, his cock pulses at the
same time, and his cum soaks my fist. I work him through it, pulling my
tongue out to lap over his rim, my hand slowing until he jerks away,
overstimulated.
With one last long lick, I pull away, panting myself. I bring my hand to
my mouth and lap up the rest of his cum the water hasn’t washed away.
When I stand, my knees protest, sending sharp jolts down to my toes, but
fuck, it was worth it. I grab Leo’s shoulder to turn him around.
He deliberately avoids my gaze, his face flushed and damp, eyelashes
clumped together. I brush my fingers through his beard. “Kiss me.” His
eyes flick to mine before his mouth descends without question. Our tongues
twine together, teeth clanking.
His hands flutter over my body, roaming hesitantly. “You can touch
me,” I tell him, knowing he needs a bit of guidance. He swallows and grabs
my throbbing length hesitantly. His hand is so fucking big, his fingers curl
around my girth easily. I’m not small, but he makes me feel small. It’s not
something I’d ever thought I’d love, but knowing I can send him to his
knees is the greatest power trip.
 “You taste good, don’t you, baby?” I can’t resist teasing him, but it’s
more than that. I want him to want this, to accept that it’s okay to feel good.
Our chests slip and slide together. He jerks my dick slowly, like he’s not
sure what to do. “Touch me like you touch yourself.” That seems to jolt
something inside of him. He strangles my dick, squeezing so tightly, I
wince, puffing out a breath. I part my lips to protest, but when he strokes
down, twisting his wrist as he does, I nearly pass out.
White flashes across my vision. “S-shit, big guy,” I stutter, chuckling
shakily. “Yeah, like that.” His confidence increases with every stroke, and
with the musky, salty taste of him on my tongue, his strong body holding
me tight, it doesn’t take me long to reach my peak.
“Oh, fuuuck,” I groan, tossing my head back as my release barrels
through me. The water crashes down over my throat and chest, washing
away my cum as Leo slows, releasing me to run his fingers over my
stomach.
He wraps his arm around my waist, keeping me pinned against him as
we both float back down. It takes a while, and the water loses some of its
heat. When I come back to the now, Leo’s staring at me, eyes wide with
wonder.
Why can’t that be love?
Shaking my head, I pull myself away. “Let’s get washed up. I’m
starving.”
Leo’s staring so intently, I feel it across every inch of my skin. It makes
my gut coil. “You’re a menace,” he grounds out, pinching my hip but not
releasing me. I fucking laugh, so hard it rocks my body. Leo joins in, his
own heavier, coming more from his chest instead of his belly like mine.
My face hurts from smiling. I wish it could always be like this for us,
but I know it won’t last. It can’t.
But this is the only way I can have it, so I’ll take every inch he gives
me.
We’re silent as we wash each other. It’s fucking intimate, and Leo’s
more personal and attentive when he’s turns me around to scrub his hands
down my back, my legs, and when he comes back up, he tentatively strokes
between my cheeks, washing me there, as well.
I arch back, flicking a grin over my shoulder when his hands still. “I do
like to be fucked, by the way.” He rolls his eyes at my quip, but his lips
twitch as he strokes over my hole, cleaning every inch of me with such a
deep thoroughness, my own face warms.
We rinse off and step out. I hand him a fluffy, white towel and wrap my
own around my waist. The bed is soft and my body melts into it when I flop
back.
“Well, I’m starving now,” I whine, my stomach rumbling.
“I did fucking ask you if you were,” Leo grumbles, coming around the
other side of the bed and leaning back against the headboard. I roll over,
pushing myself against his side. He curls his arm under my head, pushing
me up against his chest. I stroke my fingers over his pecs, running my
fingers through the smattering of dark, coiled hair there. It’s soft and damp.
“Yeah, but that was before.” I waggle my brows, and he grunts.
“I can order something.”
“Yeah, do that!” I shoot up. “I want Chinese food. Sweet and sour
chicken with fried rice. Oh, and egg rolls. Aaand wantons. And—” I cut
myself when I catch Leo’s arched brow. “What?” I ask.
“Anything else, little prince?” Oh. Shit. My stomach flutters. I run my
tongue along the front of my teeth, pursing my lips. To be even more
fucking extra, I tap my finger against them, too.
Leo doesn’t look impressed.
“Yeah. And beef and broccoli.” He’s deadpan. It makes my grin widen.
His eyes catch my dimples, and his expression shifts.
“Anything for you,” he answers and grabs his phone to put in an order. I
watch him as he talks on the phone, face back to giving nothing away. His
voice is low and straight to the point. It makes me realize he really is so
different with me—and only me.
It makes me feel giddy, and I fucking hate it because I know it doesn’t
matter—not in the end.
But for now, it’s enough.

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 LEO

I can ’ t sleep because I can ’ t fucking stop staring at J axon sleeping

so effortlessly against me. Well, I’m the one coiled around him, my head
pressed into his armpit, his arm wrapped around my shoulders.
I know he’ll ache when he wakes, but right now, I don’t care. The hair
in his armpit tickles my face, but it’s soft, and he smells good. Clean with
hints of cinnamon. I don’t understand it, but it’s like his skin just naturally
smells that way. I inhale deeply, swarming myself in him in every way I
can.
Jaxon mumbles. His arm tightens, pressing me tighter against him. I let
my eyes close, pressing my nose into him.
It feels nice to be held, like I’m the only person in the world to him.
It doesn’t make sense. The way I feel about him. Since the beginning,
it’s been a mess in my mind, of me trying to figure it out. It’s been months,
and I still haven’t been able to come up with an answer.
All I do know is I like this. I like him.
He’s good, and in my world, good is a rarity, something none of us think
really exists. So when I stumbled upon it myself, it sent me reeling.
On a more selfish note, I can’t deny the way I crave what he gives me—
a reprieve from my own mind.
It doesn’t even register to me until this moment how quiet it is. The
thought jars me, and I flinch. Jaxon must feel it because he rolls, pulling me
halfway on top of him. He curls his leg around mine, trapping them
between his.
 We’re both naked, so I can feel his soft dick against me, but it doesn’t
bother me the way I thought it would. I know he tries to make sure I don’t
feel ashamed of this, but it’s not even that.
No, I never thought I’d get fucked by a man, let alone someone like
Jaxon. It’s more than that. I never thought I’d fuck another person again.
The desire never struck. Sure, I jerked off, just to release the tension of my
body’s normal functions.
But then…Jaxon.
Just him.
He changed so much, so fast. The way I thought about things. The way I
feel. I’m doing this for him. For myself, too, but he’s the one that gave me
the push I needed.
Losing Quinn and Harrison eradicated a part of me I never thought I’d
get back. The ability to care about the trivial things. Like the way
someone’s smile can light up a room. How an innocent touch can send my
heart rate skyrocketing. Not just someone. Jaxon.
And it fucking kills me knowing I can’t give him what he truly needs.
And that’s someone to love him.
I don’t think I can. To let someone in like that…it would mean pushing
Quinn out, and she’s already faded so much. I can’t recall the sound of her
voice, the way her eyes would light up when she laughed.
Fuck, I can’t even remember the color of her eyes most days.
And I know, I fucking know, if I try to love Jaxon, she’d be gone
forever. Like she was never really there. And if she’s not there, that means
Harrison isn’t either. Because he was a part of her.
My eyes burn when I remember telling Jaxon about them. The way he
pulled away, withdrawing almost instantly. Like he couldn’t bear the mere
thought of them.
It fills me with something nasty. A bitterness I hate.
I want to scream at the top of my lungs, Don’t you think I fucking know
how fucked it is? That I am the reason my family is dead? I’ve had to live
with the reality of that every goddamn damn day for the last twenty years!
But that’s not fair to him. He doesn’t know, and his reaction was more
than reasonable, as much as I hate to admit it. While I wish I could blame
his knowledge of them on his reaction, I know it’s how they died that
pushed him away.
It can’t be easy hearing the man you’re spending time with is a killer.
 He doesn’t even know the half of it.
And I don’t know if I can tell him.
I’m almost out. I’m so goddamn close. And I think then, once it’s done
for good, I’ll finally be able to tell him. Because he’ll be out of danger, and
I won’t have to fear for his life anymore.
I’ve put him at risk enough as it is—more than I ever wanted to—but
my stupid ass couldn’t stay the fuck away, despite my own reservations.
Telling him means I risk it all again. He’s so light and beautiful, I fear
he won’t be able to understand. The reality of my life, the way I’ve been
forced to live—it’s a fact most people can’t handle, and Jaxon is the purest
soul I’ve ever encountered.
“You can’t leave,” I whisper into the dark, hating the way my voice
shakes. I brush my fingers over his skin. I used to touch Quinn this way
when she was sleeping, feeling surreal she was even with me, despite the
risk. A risk she wasn’t even fully aware of because I couldn’t tell her.
And I’m making all the same mistakes again.
Repeating fucking history.
My chest aches with remorse. All of it is so fucking cruel.
“Why can’t I be happy, Jax?” I ask his sleeping form. “Why does it have
to be so fucking hard? I can’t love you. Loving you means erasing her. And
I can’t do that, you see. She died because of me. Harrison, too.” I inhale
shakily, squeezing my eyes shut at the stinging.
“Their deaths are stained into my hands. I can’t add yours, too. It would
fucking kill me. But you don’t even know why. And I can’t tell you. Not
yet, anyway.” I take a deep breath, though the extra burst of oxygen doesn’t
ease my worries.
“I’ll kill you if you stay, and you’ll kill me if you leave. Jaxon, I…I
don’t know what to do. I feel so fucking lost in it all.”
I hate how easy it is to admit all this when he’s unconscious, when I
know he can’t hear a single fucking word I’m saying. It makes me weak.
Pathetic, really.
“Just…give me time, okay? Maybe I just need some time. To…love
you.” Fuck, the words hurt coming out. My stomach concaves, like it hits
me physically. They wrap around my brain, guilt and need and agony
circling around and around like a fucking ouroboros.
I brush my wet eyes over his ribs. With my lips pressed against them, I
whisper mindlessly as I allow myself to fall into the depths of sleep, “Time,
just some time.”

J axon

He thinks I’ m sleeping .
I was. But the sound of his voice, so deep and wretched, pulled me from
my slumber. And I fucking hate it.
I hate every word he spilled to my seemingly unconscious body. The
way they lanced straight through my chest, right into my goddamn heart.
It’s cruel, really. The way he wants me to wait for him to be able to
accept the love he thinks he doesn’t deserve.
He has no fucking clue the way I already feel about him. It’s like he’s
deliberately blind to it.
But he was right about one thing. Knowing he’s the reason his wife and
son are dead twisted me up in a way I didn’t expect. I handled it badly, so
fucking badly. And I’m ashamed of myself, even more so now, knowing
how it made him feel.
I…I didn’t think. I just reacted—and that’s not who I am.
He feels enough guilt about it, even still—that much is obvious. I can
fucking feel it radiating from him every time he speaks about them. I just
wish I could get him to understand that loving someone else doesn’t erase
what he had with her. She’ll still be his first love. Not even I can take that
way—not that I’d want to.
Leo is who he is because of her and his son. They shaped him, their
deaths even more so, and he wouldn’t be the impossible man he is without
them. But he’s so lost inside his own head, still so consumed with remorse,
he can’t see anything properly.
Maybe I just need some time. To love you. The way he said those words,
like they were ripped from the deepest part of his soul.
He hates that he could. Love me, that is. The prospect is eating away at
him.
 Does that make me even worse for not caring as much as I should? I
want him to love me. I fucking need it, so I know I’m not alone in this all-
consuming impact.
Leo’s snoring lightly, the sound vibrating my chest. His breath is warm,
a nice contrast to the cool temperature of the room. I stare up at the dark
ceiling for a long time, my mind swirling with all the impossible
implications of our connection.
He thinks whatever he does is going to kill me. And fuck if I know; it
very well might. That thought alone is enough to send my brain screeching
to a halt.
Do I love him enough to risk my life?
Fuck. I squeeze him. He’s strong and hard against me. Even in his sleep,
he holds me impossibly tight, like he’s afraid to let go, even for a moment.
Yeah, I breathe out, I think I do. And where does that even leave me?
“I love you, big guy,” I whisper into the darkness. I know he’s sleeping,
so it doesn’t matter. But it does, in a way. “Just needed to tell you.” I press a
kiss to the top of his head, breathing in the scent of the hotel shampoo. It
smells like eucalyptus. I like it.
My chest feels numb as I watch the sun’s rays slowly inch their way
upward, eating the shadows in their wake.
It’s then, as the light peeks through the gap in the curtains and shines
over Leo’s hair, reflecting a vibrant shade of red, that it dawns on me.
I’ll let you ruin me just for a sliver of your love.

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 LEO

T he days have passed far too quickly . T wo turned into three , then
four. And now five.
I wasn’t supposed to be gone this long. And a phone call from Blaine
earlier was like a punch in the gut. I have to be back by tomorrow morning
at the latest, but all I can think about is that I have one day left with him.
I’ve never been touched so much in my life, sexually and innocently
and mindlessly. We haven’t left the room one time, having food delivered
whenever we grow hungry. Clothes haven’t exactly been a thing, either.
Jaxon washed my only ones in the bathtub and hung them over the
curtain rod to dry, but I haven’t needed them. Whenever I have to answer
the door, I just throw on one of the hotel’s robes. It’s small, fitting over me
tightly, but it does the job.
And that’s how Jaxon finds me when he walks out of the bathroom, hair
wet from his shower. It’s long, grazing his neck, dark roots overgrown, too.
But his blonde ends are still strikingly white.
He runs his fingers through it when he finds me staring, his dimple
popping out. I want to stick my finger in it, so I do. He catches my hand and
bites the tip of my finger, the ball of his tongue ring skimming my flesh.
And he’s not fucking nice about it either.
I yank my hand back with a hiss, eyes narrowed. His nose scrunches,
the rings in it shifting, and it makes me want to bite it. So, I do. Jaxon yelps,
pushing me away. I growl, descending on him.
“Come here, baby.” He backs up toward the bed, crouched over. The
towel around his waist is barely hanging on, so I lunge, ripping it off him.
He gasps, the sound light and airy and fucking beautiful. It rushes through
me, making my head swim with…felicity.
I snap the towel, the tail end catching his bare skin. “Hey!” he yelps,
bouncing away. He jumps up on the bed, stark fucking naked with his hands
on his hips, cock soft between his spread thighs. His thigh blooms red from
the flick of the towel. “Don’t be an asshole,” he gripes.
“Come here.”
“No.” Oh, he’s fucking teasing me. He knows I fucking hate it. Except,
well, I don’t.
“Yes,” I grunt, growing frustrated. I want him to come to me for once.
I’m always chasing him. But I think he knows how much I love it.
I’d follow you anywhere, sweetheart.
“If you want something,” he waggles his brows, “then come get it.”
He’s bouncing from foot to foot, making the bed creak. That bed has
probably seen more sex these last few days than ever before. My ass still
feels embarrassingly sore, and Jaxon loves to fucking tease me about it,
making my face flame red every chance he gets.
“Is your ass too sore to chase me, big guy?”
I growl, eyes narrowing. “You little fucking shit.” I lunge, my long legs
taking me to the bed in one long stride. I jump up. It dips precariously under
my weight, sending Jaxon tumbling. He falls, a breathless laugh on his lips,
eyes crinkled with joy. I catch him, wrapping him in my arms and hauling
him against me.
“That’s cheating!” I dig my fingers into his armpits just to hear him
squeal. He squirms away from the assault, laughing uncontrollably.
I feel so light, like I could just float away.
I ease up, and Jaxon falls limp in my lap, breathing heavily. I nuzzle his
neck, inhaling cinnamon and lavender. I want to taste it, so I fucking do. I
lick a path up his neck to his ear. He shivers, leaning into the touch.
“God, you’re fucking delicious,” I growl, nipping his earlobe. I trap it
between my teeth and tug. My hands are shaking.
“Yeah?”
“Mhmm.” I lap at every exposed inch of skin. Jaxon twists in my arms
until he’s straddling my lap. I’m sitting on my heels, so he easily wraps his
legs around my waist, his ass nestling perfectly against my cock. He grinds
down against me. Sparks lick down my spine.
 How is it possible to still feel so…fucking horny? That’s what this is—
this insatiable itch just beneath my skin, in a place I can’t reach without
some part of him touching me.
Jaxon gyrates his hips, sending my dick sliding through the cleft of his
bare ass. My robe has fallen open, leaving me exposed. He takes advantage
and leans back long enough to let a stream of spit fall from his lips, coating
my length before situating himself back on top of me. I slide easily through
his crack, so fucking slick, only a shred of resistance. My head catches on
his rim with every roll of his hips, making my veins hum.
I take in the way his stomach ripples, the muscles bunching as he works
himself over me, his head thrown back. I place my hand against his stomach
before leaning and biting at his throat, pulling the skin taut. Jaxon hisses,
slamming his hands down on my shoulders. His nails sink into my skin,
shredding it. It stings so fucking good.
The pain is like fire as it licks its way down my spine and unfurls in my
groin. This feels different than the other times we’ve fucked, most similar to
the very first. Needy, passionate. Like this is the first and last time.
Keeping my hand pressed to his stomach, I grip his ass tightly, loving
the way it molds against my hands, soft and so fucking firm. Jaxon leans
back, reaching clumsily for the lube he brought. He pops the cap easily and
soaks his fingers. They disappear behind him, and when his arm brushes
mine, my breath stutters in my lungs.
“Can you keep my ass open for me, baby?” he asks, his arm sliding up
and down. I swallow the heat building in my throat. “Here, like this.” He
grabs my other hand, moving it from his stomach to his other cheek. He
moves my fingers where he wants them, three spread side on either side,
fingertips digging into the cleft of his ass as I hold him shamelessly spread
open.
He moans, arching. “Yeah. Just like that.”
Thump.
My heart’s in my fucking throat, making it impossible to breathe, but
when I feel Jaxon’s lubed up fingers brushing across mine to find his hole,
suddenly breathing doesn’t even fucking matter.
His palm slides across my hand as he sinks a finger inside himself
easily. He shutters, rocking back slightly as he shoves another in. I can
practically fucking feel his fingers, like they’re buried inside of me right
now. My ass clenches around nothing, and I fucking hate it. Feeling empty.
 My face is pressed against his collarbone. My beard leaves marks,
blemishing his perfect, pale skin. I’m mindless as I mouth at him, any place
within reach. His dick is hard, bobbing in the air as he fucks himself on his
fingers, working himself open.
I’m burning the fuck up.
I don’t know where to focus, there’s so much of him. Everywhere. All
over me. In me.
He thrusts back harder, and my hand slips, sending my fingertips
skirting over his rim, Jaxon’s knuckles buried to the hilt. He moans
unabashedly. “Shit, yeah.” He pulls his hand out and grabs mine. The lube’s
sticky as it clings to my skin. Sticky with him.
Jaxon twists his body in a way that looks uncomfortable to suck my
fingers into his mouth. When they’re dripping, he brings my hand to his rim
and presses my fingers against his hole. They slip inside the relaxed muscle
easily.
Heat. Impossibly tight heat.
“Fuck,” I breathe as his inner walls clamp down on my hand, making
me suck in a breath. I find his eyes in surprise. He’s grinning lazily, pupils
dilated, eyes at half-mast. My knuckles slam against him when he slides
down. We both gasp. Blood is rushing in my ears.
I can’t fucking breathe.
Jaxon senses something’s different because he climbs off me, leaving
my hand soaked and too fucking cold. He’s gentle as he pushes me back
against the headboard. My head makes a dull thud when it connects with
the wood. My arms raise automatically, beckoning for Jaxon to fill them
because I know he’s the only one that can.
It’s impossible, yet also impossibly true.
He’s standing beside the bed, beautifully nude. His body is lean,
muscles subtle, his tattoos not so much. The metal in his face glints in the
light. The piercings accentuate his features in a way that seems like too
much but in a good way. Like they’re a part of him, adding to his striking
beauty.
Never breaking eye contact, he bends at the waist and pushes his mouth
around my cock. “Shit!” I howl, my hips jerking upwards. He gags as my
length slides down his throat, and the constriction makes my fucking vision
white out. His head bobs as he works me over. My mind goes fuzzy, my
body tingling and warm.
 Then, he pops off, leaving me twitching and gasping at the cool air
flowing over me. He tugs at the robe hanging off my shoulders. I tug the tie
at the front and yank it off, leaving it pooled around my waist against the
mattress.
Jaxon swings his legs over my waist again, pressing his mouth to mine.
He shoves his tongue in. It’s invasive. I love it. His fingers wrap around my
dick, holding it in place as he slides it up and down his cleft.
When my head nudges against his rim, I freeze, breathing heavily.
“What’re you doing?” It seems illogical. And the irony is not lost on me. I
know the moment someone were to take a look at us together in any
capacity, they would think I’d be the one fucking Jaxon. Because I’m
bigger. More alpha. And he’s smaller.
But since the moment he touched me, no thought other than him having
me never crossed my mind. And it feels right being taken by him, being
filled. Consumed.
“I told you I like being fucked, too, baby. Why?” he asks, fingers
skating down my jaw. “You don’t wanna fill me up?” His breath is hot. My
skin pimples.
I swallow, my protest lost somewhere in my throat. I don’t know how I
feel about it. I like not being in control with Jaxon. The way he takes over is
what I need, a reprieve from it all.
And I don’t know how this will be. Does a role reversal really make a
difference in how it feels?
I want to ask him but can’t bring myself to form the words.
As his eyes flicker over my face, he must see something I give away—
because I can’t fucking help it with him. I don’t want to. He chuckles,
sounding fucking amused. My lips flatten into a thin line, brows furrowing.
He brushes the wrinkle away, pressing a kiss to it.
“Oh, baby. Do you really think I’m not gonna be the one fucking you?”
I pull back, needing his eyes. His brow is arched, amusement splayed across
his flushed face. His rim is slick against me, wedged so fucking tightly.
“Don’t think about a thing. Just hold your breath for me, big guy.” I suck
one in just as he sinks down, stealing a hiss from my lips.
My eyes roll back, all the air deflating from my lungs. All I feel is him.
“Shit. Oh, fuck, baby,” Jaxon pants as I fill him up. The barbel through
my head feels compressed in a way it never has before. I twitch
uncontrollably, my balls drawing up tight. I sink my teeth into my bottom
lip, staving off my rapidly encroaching orgasm.
Jaxon’s shaking like a leaf as he works his way down my length, one
inch at a time. “Fuck, Leo. I can feel that goddamn piercing—ugh,” he
groans. I didn’t even know of Jaxon’s existence when I got it years ago just
to feel something, but now, I know I got it just for him.
Always for him.
When his ass rests flat against my thighs, he leans back, resting his
palms just above my knees. His cock is jutting out, the head red and
glistening with a dribble of precum as it oozes from his slit. His tongue
slides across his lips as he thrusts.
“Touch me.” I follow the command, wrapping my hand around his
length. “Uh-huh. Tighter.” It’s easy to do what he says. Mindless in a way I
crave. I just want to make him feel good.
The muscles in his thighs bunch as he fucks himself on my dick, not
even concerned by the fact I’m pathetically motionless beneath him. He
shoots up, grabbing my shoulders. My dick shifts inside him, and we both
groan simultaneously.
I feel impossibly deep, it steals my breath. I stroke his dick with one
hand, relishing in the raunchy shlick sounds mingling with my pathetic
panting. With my other, I grip his hip, loving the way my hand molds
perfectly against the bone.
Jaxon leans into my touch. His skin is slick with perspiration. We slide
together effortlessly. He picks up speed, his legs shaking from the effort.
My cockhead hammers something inside of him, making him wail and
squeeze me so fucking tight, I can’t.
My eyes sting with the unexpected tears threatening to spill over from
the overwhelming intensity. “Fuck! I’m—shit. Oh—” My balls pulse,
shooting my load right into Jaxon. His mouth slams into mine, cutting off
my moan as I flood his body with my cum. Everything goes hazy. All I see,
all I feel, is him. So tight, so wet, so perfect.
Jaxon keeps fucking himself on my dick, taking what he needs, and it’s
good. Being used by him. The squelching sounds of my cum being fucked
into his hole floods my ears, making my face flame uncontrollably. My
tears create a wet trail down my cheek, flowing unbidden.
When Jaxon stills with one last roll of his hips, he drops his hand to
mine, making me grip him tighter at the base. The second I feel his veins
pulse, he slides my fist up until my fingers are pressed just beneath his
head. His release soaks both our hands, smearing between our stomachs.
His lips purse against mine, so I repeat the action. It’s a chaste kiss, but
it warms my chest anyway. He slides his mouth over my cheek, licking my
tears away before he presses his face into my neck. His breath is burning
hot against my overheated skin. Sweat clings to the both of us.
“Shit,” Jaxon murmurs.
“Mmm,” I grunt. My dick is soft, still nestled inside of him. I haven’t
even taken my hand off his softening dick yet. I don’t want to.
Far too soon, Jaxon peels himself off me. I slip from him, shuddering at
the cool air. Jaxon flops next to me on the bed, holding his arms out. I crawl
into his embrace, uncaring about the sticky cum drying on both of us.
I feel marked. Like I’m his. At least for a little while, while I can be.
Because with sex, I am Jaxon’s. My body is his to use, control, consume.
Fuck, he even has my goddamn mind.
When I’m nestled against him, he wraps his arms around me, pinning
me in place.
“How’re you feelin’, big guy?”
“Good.” Doesn’t even begin to cover it.
“Tell me. Describe it to me. I want to know.” There’s melancholy in his
tone. It pricks something in my brain, sending a jolt of trepidation through
me.
I lick my lips, wracking my brain to try and explain it to him. “I feel…
yours.” Yeah, that’s it. My face burns with shame, and I’m glad he can’t see
it, but by the way he stiffens—just for a moment—he knows.
“Mine, huh?” He’s trying to sound cavalier, but I know him better by
now. He scratches my scalp, down my nape, to my spine. He’s petting me,
and fuck me for fucking mewling. I can’t blink away the inevitable sting in
my eyes.
Before him, I can’t remember the last time I cried. The things he makes
me feel are too fucking much.
Normally, I would feel pathetic. Weak. But with Jaxon? Never. He
wouldn’t let me.
“It’s okay. It’s just us.” It sounds resigned. Fuck, why does this feel like
an end?
“This isn’t the end,” I bite out, hating the way my voice wobbles at the
end. This can’t be it, not after so many days together, just us.
 This had to prove to him how good we are.
“Nah, babe. It’s not. But in a way, it kind of is, huh?” He chuckles. It’s
dark. Much too dark.
“What do you mean?” Make it make sense, Jax. Please.
“It can’t always just be us. There’s a world out there, outside of this
room.” But I hear what he doesn’t say. What he refuses to acknowledge.
That it can’t always just be us…because there are two people always
with me. Shoved right in the middle.
“Do…” I clear my throat. I trace one of the tattoos on his chest—a
butterfly. “Do you hate them?” It’s such a stupid fucking question. How can
he hate two dead people he never met, especially when one of them was my
son? But I have to ask.
“Fuck, Leo. No. Of course, I don’t.” He digs his fingers under my chin,
forcing my face up so he can stare into my eyes. The blue in his irises is so
bright, it steals my breath. “How could I when they were yours?” he
whispers. My whole fucking body aches.
“I…I don’t know how to—”
“Shh.” He places his fingers to my lips, silencing me with a sad, small
smile. “You don’t have to say it. I know.”
Do you? I want to ask. Do you know how I’m warring with myself? To
love you means letting them go.
And I don’t know if I’m ready for that. For what it means.
That all of this—the last twenty years of my life I spent fighting to keep
their memory alive—was for nothing.
Except…it wasn’t. It brought me to you, Jaxon.
The words sit on the tip of my tongue, ready to spill over. What I say
instead is, “Do you?”
“Yeah. Well, maybe.” He looks uncertain. The piercing running through
his brow shifts with his frown.
Tell him, Leo. Just fucking say it, you goddamn coward.
Sucking in a breath big enough to make my head spin, I slam my eyes
shut so I can’t see his face as I tell him everything I wanted to.
When I’m done, my chest is heaving, panic clawing at the back of my
eyes. I shove the heels of my palms into my eye sockets, pressing as deep as
I can.
“Hey, stop. No, none of that.” He pulls my hands away, and I let him
because it feels right.
 “You think trying to love me means you forget them? That my presence
in your life erases their existence?” he asks like he’s trying to understand,
like he cares.
It doesn’t make sense.
I huff out a breath, feeling pathetic. His arms around me are too much. I
reluctantly pull away and yank the edge of the blanket over my lap to cover
myself, needing some sense of dignity while I try to make sense of the
chaos in my mind.
“Yeah, maybe.” It’s so much more than that. It doesn’t even make sense
to me, so how could it to him?
I’ve been confused since I met him. Since he flipped my world on its
fucking axis.
“You know that’s not how it works, right?”
“Logically, yes.”
The bed creaks when he moves. He feels too far away now, but it’s my
own doing. What’s wrong with me?
“I’m not trying to replace them. I don’t want to.”
“Why did you run away when I told you about them?” I ask, meeting
his eyes. He looks forlorn. My question makes him flinch. “You wanted the
truth. I gave you some of it, and you ran away.”
He yanks at his hair, the hoop in his lip trapped between his teeth. “I
know. I fucked up.”
I don’t say anything, just waiting for him to explain. Because I need to
know why. Why after I gave him what he asked for, he left me.
“It was a lot. And I wasn’t expecting it. But it wasn’t the knowledge of
their existence. It was how—” He cuts himself off, eyes darting to me. My
head lifts.
Ah. “So, it’s how they died. The fact that it was my fault.”
“Yeah.” He doesn’t bother lying. Good. “Can you explain that? Because
I don’t want my own scenarios to keep running rampant. I want to hear it
from you.”
“Can you handle it?” I sound pathetically bitter, and I fucking hate it.
But if he can’t, I’m not fucking risking him running away again. Not after
I’ve had him.
“If you’re honest, then yes. I promise,” he adds like he knows I need it.

OceanofPDF.com
 27

OceanofPDF.com
 JAXON

“H ere . L et ’ s get cleaned up , order some food , and then we ’ ll talk ,

okay?” I can fucking feel his anxiety. It’s making my own heart race, my
stomach twisting in knots. He needs some time to work through it.
I can give him that.
He nods, flicking me a weak smile. I grab his hand, lacing my fingers
through his to drag him toward the shower.
It’s quick, more methodical than passionate, but I still relish in soaping
him up, the way he leans into my touch. I rush through cleaning myself.
When I step out, Leo’s on the phone. I sit quietly on the bed next to him,
waiting for him to finish. “Hope you like pizza.”
“Depends.”
“On what?” he asks, sounding genuinely confused. It’s adorable.
“On what kind,” I deadpan.
“Sausage and pepperoni. And breadsticks.”
“Oh, well. At least there’s breadsticks.” He stares at me for too long
before breathing out, rolling his eyes.
“You’re such a shit.”
“Yeah, I know.” I nudge his shoulder, feeling elated I made him smile.
We lounge on the bed, watching some soap opera on the TV, waiting for the
pizza to be delivered.
“What’s your favorite color?” I ask, biting on the edge of my nail.
“Uh, probably blue,” he answers hesitantly. His eyes meet mine.
“Why?”
 “Just wondering. I want to know you.” I don’t mean to sound hesitant
when I say it, but my vulnerability shines through regardless.
“Ask me anything.” He squeezes my leg, fingers wrapped tightly
around my thigh.
I flick him a smirk. “What kind of cigarettes do you smoke?” The
question makes him laugh, but he answers anyway.
“Marlboro reds.”
The best smell when it clings to his skin.
“Favorite food?”
“Pasta.”
“Oh!” I sit up, turning to face him. “What kind?” That makes him think.
“Probably tortellini with spinach in a cream sauce.” Holy shit, my
mouth’s watering.
“Can you make that?” I ask, dramatically licking my lips. He glances at
me dryly, lips lined flat. His eyes flick up and down my body before stilling
on my face.
“Yeah, sweetheart.” He hauls me against him. “I’ll make it for you.”
My blood warms contentedly as we cuddle, talking idly about anything
and everything that comes to mind. Mostly the little things, but the little
things matter, too. It’s soothing, gentle and relaxing in a way I always want
to feel, and the way he’s giving me every answer without hesitation…he’s
giving me more than I ever could have imagined and asking me just as
much in return.
When a knock sounds at the door, I jump up to answer. Leo’s arm
swings out across my chest, stopping me.
I fall back, breathless. He looks me up and down. I can feel his eyes
dragging over my mostly-naked body. “You are not answering the door like
that.”
I look down, then at him. I arch my pierced brow. “You’re in a towel,
too.”
“It’s different,” he grumbles. Without another word, he goes to the door.
The scent of meat and garlic fills the room when he brings the food in. He
drops it right on the bed and plops down, flipping the lid.
It feels so mundane, it makes my chest ache terribly. He shoves a piece
into his mouth, huffing at the temperature. “What?” he mumbles with a
mouth full of dough. I laugh so hard, my face hurts.
 “Nothin’, big guy.” I dig in and get my own piece. It’s comfortably
quiet while we eat, piece after piece. I’m fucking stuffed by the time I stop.
When Leo holds up another breadstick, I clutch my stomach and bring my
other hand to my forehead, flopping back dramatically.
“I can’t. No more!” I whine. It makes him laugh, the sound deep and
rumbly. It’s exactly what I wanted to hear.
The shnick of the cardboard box being shut makes me drag my eyes
open, which takes great effort when they’re bigger than my stomach. Leo’s
leaning on his elbow, staring down at me.
“The business I run…isn’t exactly legal.”
I purse my lips. I guess we’re done with the get to know you questions.
“Okay…” I drawl, wondering where he’s going with this.
“And that’s why they were killed.”
Are you…fucking shitting me?
“Leo.”
He grunts, refusing to acknowledge my tone.
“That’s not your fault.” What the fuck?
“Yes, Jaxon, it is. I thought I could pass off my responsibilities onto my
uncle, Jameson, and run away. And he made a risky call. Someone
retaliated by coming for me.” His face is set in stone, almost like he’s
fighting back the way it makes him feel.
Shit, baby. You’re still so broken…
“I was out running,” he bites out. “Running away from the family I
fucking wanted. Because I was bored!” His shout makes me jerk in
surprise. He shoots off the bed to pace the floor, unable to sit still. I watch
hesitantly, my eyes following him. Back and forth.
“The fire was meant for me. Well, maybe for us all. But most definitely
me—to get back at Jameson because he pissed some people off. We never
did figure out how they found me, but now that I think about it, it probably
wasn’t all that hard.
“I didn’t cut off contact with Jameson. Sure, we didn’t talk all the time,
but I still wanted to be in his life, when what I should have done was
fucking disappear.” His chest is heaving so fast, I’m sure he feels
lightheaded from all the air rushing through him. His arms are corded,
muscles strained tight, fingers buried in his palms.
The fire… Another piece clicks into place. It might seem so
insignificant, but even the small flame in a lighter is enough to affect him—
to the point he can’t even have his fucking eyes open.
God, did he watch them burn?
I step up to him cautiously. I brush my fingers down his arm, slowly
unfurling his fist to twine our fingers together. My touch seems to shake
him out of his fog, and he looks down at me. His honey-colored irises are
almost completely devoured by his pupils.
He told me so much more than I ever thought it would. Sure, it’s not
everything. But it’s a start…right?
“Leo.” I place my other hand over his bare chest. His heart is
hammering erratically beneath my palm. I feel it. “Breathe for me, baby.
Slowly.” I mimic what I want him to do, forcing myself to ignore the way
my brain is pulsing with this newfound information.
“In. That’s it. Good. Out.” His breath whooshes out, fanning over my
face. “Come on, again. In. Good. Hold it.” He’s squeezing my hand on his
chest, fingers clasped around my wrist. The bones creak and grind together.
“Out.” His chest falls.
“Good, baby. That’s good. Keep that up.” His eyes have a glassy sheen.
“Thank you for telling me.” I place a kiss next to my hand. “That means so
much to me.”
It takes him a while to come down. I may not know what to do about us,
but when it comes to taking care of him like this…it’s the most natural
thing in the world.
I coax him back to the bed and wrap my limbs around him, cocooning
him until he can barely breathe. My chest lances at the sight of his tears,
shiny on the surface of his eyes but refusing to fall.
I can get him to cry so easily, simply by overwhelming him, but this…
this is different.
He’s fighting a war within himself. To either allow himself the
happiness he deserves—although he doesn’t believe he does—or to keep
fighting for something that really doesn’t matter.
Because in the end, what is his dead wife going to think about him
moving on? She’s dead. It’s such a cruel way of thinking. Leo doesn’t want
to hear it, but it’s true.
She is gone. He’s not. He’s allowed to be happy, to move on and live his
life for himself and not someone who can’t accept it.
I may have grown up in church. I was forced into it, really. But I never
did believe in God and all his weak Heaven bullshit.
 I think when we die, we simply cease to exist. Our bodies rot in the
ground, exactly how they’re supposed to, and our souls merge into
something weightless and peaceful.
Just…gone.
No pain. No worries. Nothing.

“D o you think that might be why you ’ re still holding on so tight ?”

I ask Leo later on that night. We’re still wrapped together. Have been for
hours. My body aches from the strain of holding him, keeping him together
when he was so close to falling apart.
“What?” he grumbles.
“Because you don’t know what happens after. Because you fear they’re
still in anguish.” I massage his scalp. His hair is feather soft as it tangles
with my fingers. The room is dark, apart from the small lamp turned on in
the corner, giving just enough light to make out shapes. But Leo’s close
enough, I can see far too clearly the way his face contorts, his body twisting
away from me.
“No. Do not push me away.” My words give him pause. He stops trying
to pull away and instead, closes his eyes to rest his head back on my chest.
He’s heavy. It’s almost too much, but it’s the most comfortable weight I
have ever felt in my life. Like he belongs right here—forever.
“Just tell me what you’re thinking. We’ve talked about a lot today.”
“I’m scared,” he admits quickly. It surprises me.
“Scared? Of what?” Leo grabs my wrist and pins it against his throat. I
can feel his pulse beating steadily. Well, maybe not so steady.
“Losing you.” Shit.
“Baby…” It’s my own fault. For running away. For being scared my-
fucking-self.
“No. Just—I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to feel.
What’s right. What’s wrong. How to survive it all.”
He sounds so anguished, tortured by his own thoughts with no hope of
escaping. His fingers paw at my chest, down my abdomen.
 “That’s because you’re feeling with your brain,” I tell him, leaning in to
take a whiff of his hair—the same eucalyptus scent combined with the scent
of tobacco. He hasn’t smoked nearly as much since we got here, but he’ll
still crack the window above the air conditioner to smoke so he doesn’t
have to leave the room.
I reprimanded him and told him he can’t do that, but he gave me a look
so deadpan, I instantly burst into a fit of laughter, and that ended that
conversation.
And really, who am I to give a fuck about Leo breaking a couple of
rules?
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” He pulls back to look at me.
“How the fuck else are you supposed to feel?” He sounds so confused. It
aches terribly.
My face falls. “Awe, baby.” It would sound placating to anyone else, but
Leo knows me better than that. He really hurts my fucking heart. “It kills
me that you don’t even know how wrong you are.” He stares blankly at me,
lips parted as he waits for my explanation.
“You know those gut feelings you get?” He arches a thick, dark brow.
Shit, okay. How to make him understand…
“You said your business isn’t legal.”
“The pub is,” he interjects, “but the other…no.”
“Okay, right. So, I’m assuming you’ve done things in the past that have
been…dangerous?” He snorts. And it should be completely ugly and not at
all attractive. But…
“Anyway,” I bite. His lips quirk. “You know what I’m trying to say. In
those situations, you’ve felt shit before, right? Like, bad vibes, good vibes,
in your gut.”
Now I’m speaking his fucking language because he perks up, eyes
widening in understanding. “Yes, of course.”
“Right. So you follow your gut feeling, yes? If it doesn’t feel right, you
don’t do it. If it does, you do.”
“That’s really simplified, but yes. I get what you’re saying.”
“Well, that’s exactly what I mean when I say you’re feeling with your
brain.” Now, I’ve gone and confused him again. Jesus fuck.
“I—”
“Look,” I cut him off. “You are so fucking hot, but sometimes, you’re
not all there in the head.” I tap his forehead. It makes him frown
indignantly. “You’re overcomplicating it.”
“Well when you fucking insult me, it makes it hard for me to think.”
He’s pouting. Like a huge, sad puppy. God, how adorable.
“Sorry, babe. All I’m trying to say is, you’re putting thoughts into things
that don’t really matter. Therefore, you’re morphing what does. Which is
what your gut is telling you.”
He thinks about it, lying back on the other side of the bed. The distance
between us, no matter how small, makes me yearn deeply for one last
touch.
Leo’s quiet for so long, my eyes begin to droop closed, the mental
turmoil of today weighing heavily on my mind and wearing my body down.
Leo’s emotions are always so intense, they drain me.
“My gut says you.” He says it so quietly, I almost miss it.
“Hmm?” I mumble, forcing my eyes open. His back is to the headboard,
eyes staring into the wall directly ahead. My own eyes look back. Plain,
white walls. So interesting.
“My gut. It’s always said you. You feel good. Right,” he corrects
himself.
“Okay…” I drawl, hoping he gives me a bit more. I’m not disappointed.
“My brain says you, too, though.” Oh. Well. “It’s my heart that’s the
fucking problem.”
I knew this was coming. It’ll always be right fucking there. And I hate
how bitter I feel about it.
“Yeah, Leo, I know. We don’t have to get into it.” He reaches for me,
but I turn my back to face the wall. It’s enough that he said almost every
part of him chooses me. It is. It has to be.
Because life without him would be unbearable. The gaping hole that
was once filled with him would kill me.
“I didn’t—fuck, I—” He stumbles over his words. I feel the bed dip,
creaking with the shift of his weight. He tentatively snakes his arm around
my waist. I let him, pushing his palm to my stomach because that’s what I
want, too.
“I’m confused.” It’s ripped from his throat. Wretched and raspy. I inhale
shakily and turn to press my lips to his. He kisses me back eagerly like he
fucking needed it. Needs me.
“I know, I’m sorry. I’m not trying to push you,” I tell him when I finally
rip my mouth away so I can breathe.
 “You’re not, Jax. This is on me. I know I shouldn’t still be this twisted
up about something that happened two fucking decades ago.”
“First of all, stop that.” I push my finger to his lips, silencing him.
“You’re allowed to feel however you do. Time has no relevance; you know
this. The way I feel about you? In comparison, no time at all has passed, but
that doesn’t change what you mean to me.” I don’t say the words.
I can’t.
It would be far too fucking selfish, especially in this moment. But fuck,
do I want to. More than anything. But going off the expression on Leo’s
face, he’s fucking terrified I’ll say it and ruin everything. It makes me laugh
dryly.
Nah, baby. I’m not giving you a reason this time.
“Anyway,” I clear my throat, “you get the point I’m making. It’s good
to be confused, I think. It means you’re testing what you always thought
was the way. But things change, yeah? And change isn’t always bad.”
His chest vibrates with a rumble. It flows right into me. “No, it isn’t.”
“I’m not going anywhere, okay?”
“As long as I give you a reason to stay.” He says the words like they’re
nothing. Like I didn’t force him to tell me a piece of the truth and then spit
it back in his face.
“Leo…”
“No. It’s fine.”
“It’s not. I’m sorry.” The words tumble out of me. I’m such an asshole.
Leo’s been trying. He really has. He gave me what I asked for and then was
pushed away because of it. He gave me the space I forced between us—
mostly.
He opened up, told me truths. The mountain of lies between us is still
stacked pretty high, but he’s chiseled away at some of it. And I’m the one
keeping up walls because of my own fear.
Of being abandoned. Not being enough.
Of not being loved.
“Sounds like we both still have a lot of our own shit to work through,
huh?” I ask, trying to lighten the mood. Leo takes the bait and nuzzles my
shoulder.
“We can do it together.”
“What does that mean, though?” Before he can panic, I add, “I’m not
asking for your hand in marriage or even a promise. I just want to know
what that looks like for you.”
I feel more than hear his deep breath. “Just us, right?” He’s asking for
reassurance.
I huff and twist, planting my face in his big chest. “Yeah, big guy. Just
us.”

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 28

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 LEO

T he trip back to P ortland goes by way too fucking fast . J axon

seems lost in thought, but it’s not unpleasant. I guess we both are after
everything we talked about and what we’ve spent a week doing.
I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop, like some part of my brain
should be screaming at me: he’s a guy. He’s too young. You’re the one who
should be in control. You shouldn’t fucking submit.
But…it really doesn’t fucking matter. Jaxon’s never once made me feel
ashamed for the things I want, things I never even knew were possible. He’s
awakened something in me, something I thought died off long ago.
I fucking feel alive, and there’s no way in hell I’m going to question
that.
Well, not entirely. I’m questioning far too many things right now, but
Jaxon and the way I am with him isn’t one of them.
“You’re pretty quiet over there, big guy. Wanna tell me what you’re
thinking?” Jaxon turns down the volume of the song playing. I think he said
it was a band called Sleep Token. They’re really fucking good; their music
is so elevated, it feels surreal. Wistful and angsty.
“I’ve got to handle some shit after I drop you off.” I keep my eyes glued
to the road.
“Shit like…with your business?” I can hear the finger quotes around the
word. It makes me snort.
“Something like that.”
“Okay.”
“That’s it?” I ask. Is this a test or something?
 “Don’t sound so surprised. What else am I supposed to say?”
“I don’t fucking know.” I grab my pack of cigarettes, but Jaxon snatches
it from my hands. He lights one for me and hands it over, a small, knowing
smile on his face.
I wish he didn’t know. But he does, and it doesn’t feel…terrible. My
chest feels a bit lighter. Less heavy and achy.
The toxic nicotine fills my lungs as I take a drag, letting the smoke curl
from between my parted lips. I drag my thumb along my bottom one, my
elbow resting against the door.
“Are you in danger?” The question surprises me.
“N—” I start to say before cutting myself off because that’s not exactly
true, is it? “Everything I do comes with a bit of danger, kid.”
He scoffs at the nickname. “I’m not a kid.”
“You’re so young.” I tap some of the ash off through the cracked
window.
“Old enough to fuck you, baby.” I shoot him a glare.
“Don’t be a shit.”
“Why? You like it well enough.” My lips part in protest before I snap
them closed. I suppose he has a point. Jaxon’s teasing is enjoyable. It makes
me feel younger. Lighter.
“You’re a danger to my health,” I mutter. It makes him laugh. It’s such a
lovely sound, filling my mind with blissful chimes.
“Because you’re old.” He turns in his seat, pressing his heels into the
leather so he can face me full on, back to the window. The landscape is
bright and green, making the blonde of his hair and the blue in his eyes
more vibrant.
Lively.
“Now you’re insulting me.”
“You say it like it doesn’t turn you on.” Fuck, this conversation got
away from me. I shove my palm against my dick. It’s fucking hard—and of
course, he knows it is. His snicker filters into my ears. I try to ignore the
way my cheeks feel a little warmer.
Signs for Portland start popping up as we come into the outskirts of the
city. Jaxon’s light dulls a little. I know the feeling. The reality that it really
isn’t just us feels all too real again.
“Does this mean I’m in danger?” he asks unexpectedly. Something thick
and uncomfortable lodges in my throat at the thought of him ever being hurt
because of me.
“It’s okay. You can be honest. I’d prefer it anyway.”
“I’m trying to make that…not true.” Goddamnit.
“What does that mean?” I take the exit, being extra mindful of the cars
on either side.
“It means I’m working my way out.” I flick a glance over at him. He
looks so fucking confused. “I know it doesn’t make any sense. But it will
soon. You just have to give me more time.”
“Time.”
“Please,” I beg shamelessly. He nods, albeit a bit reluctantly.
“All right, big guy.”
Dropping him off bruises me in a way I expected, but the intensity of it
is so much more. The shop’s lights are on, the orange skull logo on the front
illuminated by the open sign above.
“I didn’t think you were open yet.”
“We’re not—technically. But sometimes Amos likes to open early when
he’s feeling restless. I better go see what’s going on.” But he doesn’t make a
move to get out. My air-dried clothes feel too stiff, too tight.
My gaze darts between him and Vice behind him. “You’re not…”
“No.”
I release the breath I was holding. “I don’t know how long this will take.
I’ll call you?”
“Okay.”
“And you’ll answer?” He takes pity on me and leans over to kiss my
mouth. I open wide, letting him in as deep as he wants. Jaxon takes
advantage, leaving me panting, with him lingering on my tongue.
“Yeah, baby. I’ll answer. Be careful. Please,” he adds, eyes pinched.
I can’t help it. I steal another kiss. “I will. Got someone to come home
to now.”
“Come home to, huh?”
“If you’ll let me.”
He grins, pierced button nose wrinkling. “We’ll see.” The door opens,
and I lunge over the center console to swat his ass as he jumps out. He yelps
and drags his bag out, slinging it over his shoulder.
“See ya around, big guy.” And then, he’s gone, and I feel a little more
empty.
“Y o !” S ebastian yells the second I step in the fucking door . “B oss
man got fucking laid!” He draws the word out into one endless fucking
syllable. My smile falls immediately, eyes rolling into my skull. My head is
already pounding with annoyance.
“Jesus,” I growl when he starts fucking skipping around me. “Give me
some goddamn space.” I shove him away so I can actually walk into my
own fucking house.
He frowns, mouth turning downward in a way that looks unnatural. It
makes my face twist. “I thought people having sex are supposed to be
happy.”
“Is that why you’re always bouncing off the fucking walls?” I counter.
“Nah. Well,” he pauses, like he’s actually considering it. Jesus fucking
Christ.
“Where the hell is Blaine?”
“In your office. Come on, I’ll take ya.” Seb starts down the hall.
“I can fucking walk myself to my own goddamn office.”
“Yeah, I know,” he drawls. “But I missed ya.”
“Good God.” This is torture. Actual fucking torture. I pull my phone out
of my pocket to send a text to Jaxon.

Please save me. I’ve made a grave mistake.

He texts back almost instantly, a string of laughing emoticons.

JAXON:
That bad, huh?

ME:
You have no idea. Seb is on my ass.
JAXON:
I hope not literally. I thought that was my job.
 I groan audibly. It garners Seb’s attention, but I ignore his piqued
curiosity.
ME:
Not you, too.
JAXON:
Always. Tell Seb I said hi.

I lock my phone and shove it in my pocket. Seb’s leaning against the

door to my office, hands shoved in the front pockets of his jeans. He’s
staring at me oddly. It pisses me off.
“Jaxon says hi,” I grumble, hating that I’m even telling him, but Jaxon
asked me to.
“Ohhh. Hmm.” He waggles his brows.
I’m fucking exasperated. “Just fuck off, would you?” I shove him away
and walk in, slamming the door behind me. Blaine and Roy look up
simultaneously.
“What?” I bark, throwing my hands up. “Do you have something to say,
too?”
“Hello to you too,” Blaine says, unperturbed by my outburst. I’ve been
home for all of five fucking minutes.
“Whatever. I’m home now, so we can get this done.”
“Good. Meeting is set for tonight. The last fucking hurdle.” He sounds
as relieved as I feel.
“Doesn’t even feel real,” I say aloud, taking a seat next to Roy because
Blaine’s in my chair. I don’t even care.
“I know. It won’t for a very long time. It’s been a messy few months,
but we’ve fucking pulled it off, surprisingly enough. And if tonight goes off
without a hitch…”
“Then, we’re done,” Roy says. I nod, chin placed in my hand.
“How is this even possible?” I ask again. It feels fucking unimaginable,
even right fucking there.
“Big risks can have big rewards,” Roy answers. “And we’ve risked a
fuck load.”
“What if it doesn’t work? What if I never get out?”
Blaine walks around the desk to place his hand on my shoulder. He
grips me tightly. It feels nice, but Jaxon’s hand on me feels better.
I wish he were here right now. But he’s not.
 “It’s happening. I’ll make sure of it.”
“I can’t stop thinking about everything that can go wrong.” My mind’s
spinning now that Jaxon’s not around. The chaos grows quieter with him—
in a way that doesn’t hurt.
Another fucking piece that doesn’t make sense, but it does. Just because
it’s him.
“You know that direction of thinking never pays off. Best to focus on
what to do when it all goes as it should.”
“What about that fucking kid?” I ask. They both know who I’m
referring to instantly.
“Haven’t heard a goddamn thing.” My eyebrows bunch together.
“I figured he would have thrown a tantrum by now, with his erratic,
insolent personality.”
“I don’t know, boss,” Roy cuts in. “I think he’s a bit smarter than he lets
on.” I nod my consensus.
“He definitely is. But he’s too impatient, and he feels like the world
fucking owes him something.”
“Those kinds of people can be dangerous.”
“I’ll tell Seb to get into contact with his guy. We’ll keep an eye out for
him, but I honestly don’t think we have anything to worry about.”
I nod. “Sounds good. I’m going to go shower and see if Seb wants to go
for a few rounds.”
“Didn’t you have enough ‘rounds’ while you were gone?” I balk at
Blaine, blinking rapidly. He’s got me fucking stunned; I’ll give him that.
“Fuck off,” I gripe. “Just tell him to meet me in the basement when he’s
done.”

“I van ’ s always gotta be fucking late .” I’ m on edge . T he brass

knuckles sit heavily in my pocket. For once, they’re a very uncomfortable
weight.
Major leans over to whisper in my ear, “He’s not late. We’re all early.”
 “Thanks for the fucking reminder.” The warehouse is empty, filled with
the scent of the ocean carried in by the night’s breeze. That coupled with the
stale smell of misuse makes my nose burn. The floor is dirty, stained with
oil, dirt, and grime from years of use. I scuff the toe of my boot against it,
watching a puff of dust billow upward.
Stahl’s crew is posted around the vacant concrete walls, a few of them
leaning against the studded support beams. We don’t know them intimately,
but they’re good people. Reliable and trustworthy. Otherwise, we wouldn’t
be here.
Everyone’s relaxed. The vibe feels good—more so, my gut. But my
body is twitching, restless and jittery, for no other reason than I’m anxious,
but not about this.
I want Jaxon. I want to be with him, wrapped in his arms, feeling
fucking content that it’s all done with.
“He’s here,” O’Leary says into my ear. I touch my finger to the earpiece
with a nod. I don’t have to tell my men; they all heard the same as me.
Knowing Ivan Volkov is right outside makes us all stand to attention.
Stahl and his men straighten, briskly making their way to the center of
the warehouse. Their steps echo loudly, bouncing off the concrete. The
space is empty, but it won’t stay that way for long.
There’s a shipment down at the docks, waiting to be brought up.
Ivan steps into the room, flanked by two burly motherfuckers. They’re
dressed in black from head to toe, guns slung around their chests, holsters at
their waists. Ivan, on the other hand, is clad in a fancy ass suit—with
fucking pinstripes.
It surprisingly takes a great deal of effort to not roll my eyes. I’ve been
around Jaxon for far too long, and I’m getting rusty at schooling my
expressions. When I’m with him, it’s simply something I don’t have to
think about. Another little piece of who I am that doesn’t fucking matter.
Because he wants to see me, everything I have to give.
My own men are armed. I am as well; mine is just concealed.
The slacks tailored to fit my long legs perfectly make me shift slightly,
uncomfortable. I’d planned on wearing my usual jeans, but Blaine talked
me out of it. Respect, he kept saying. If you want this to go as smoothly as
possible, don’t be fucking disrespectful. Show him this is important to you.
Important apparently means wearing a fucking penguin suit, but what
the fuck ever. Blaine’s dressed the same, as well as Stahl. It looks like all of
us are trying to impress Ivan.
It pisses me off.
But I bite my tongue—literally. The metallic tang of copper in my
mouth is enough to steer my thoughts in the right direction.
Just this one last fucking thing and I’m done. We all are.
“Mr. Harms. Wonderful to see you.” Ivan steps up to me, reaching for
my hand. I stick it out and shake his. When our hands detach, my fingers
twitch to wipe his touch off. His dark eyes flicker between Blaine and
Sebastian. Stahl’s lurking somewhere to the side of us, just out of my
peripheral.
“And, you are Jury Stahl, I presume.” Ivan turns toward Stahl, holding
his hand out. Jury takes it, shaking enthusiastically but modestly.
“Yes, sir. It’s a pleasure.”
My lip curls—in my mind. What a bunch of pretentious bullshit. These
motherfuckers are acting like we’re not standing in a warehouse about to
deal illegal guns.
When they step apart, the prickly tension in the room seems to drop
moderately. “Good. So, Leo.” My eyes fall to Ivan at the sound of my
name. His dark irises are consumed by his pupils, straight fucking black.
They look similar to Vincent’s. I’m unperturbed.
He’s not the first devil I’ve faced. I’ve had to look myself in the mirror
every fucking day for the last twenty years.
“Ivan.” I nod.
“Let’s do this, shall we?” I bite down on my back teeth and swipe my
arm out.
“Lead the way.” When he turns his back on me, wholly confident in his
protection, it’s then I finally do roll my eyes. Fuck, this is exhausting. Ivan
and his endless stream of men—how many is that? Seven, eight—fuck, I’ve
lost count.
Seb’s elbow jams into my side. I grit my teeth, glaring down at him. His
eyes are narrowed, lips pursed. “The fuck is with you?” he mutters as most
of us file out of the warehouse, making the short walk to the docks. Both
Stahl and I leave men behind to keep an eye on things up here.
“Nothing,” I answer briskly. I inhale deeply when we step free from the
suffocating walls of the warehouse. It’s unbelievable to think that after
tonight, I won’t ever have to breathe in that wretched, musky scent again.
 Blaine told me earlier, after my quick jabs with Sebastian, that he’s
already sold the warehouse to Stahl. It’s in his name with no connection to
us whatsoever.
Pieces are just fucking clicking.
And this is the last fucking one.
The wooden dock creaks under our collective weight as we make our
way to the boat nestled in its designated slip. I honestly have no idea whose
name it’s in because this is Ivan’s part in all of this, but regardless, not my
fucking problem anymore.
We all hang back, letting Stahl and his guys converse with Ivan. After a
short conversation, they start unloading. They carry each crate to the
wooden platform, stacking them high.
“Would you be a doll and help us carry these up?” Ivan’s fucking
smirking at me, eyes swallowed by the shadows of the night. I brush my
fingers along the brass knuckles in my pocket. With a quick jerk of my
head, we each take our own spot—two to a crate. Carrying them up doesn’t
take long; we’ve done this hundreds of times in the past.
The sound of feet shuffling fills the muted silence. When each of the
crates is stacked precisely, my men and I step back, letting Jury take over.
He takes a crowbar and cracks open the first one to take a look at the
merchandise.
I tune them out, hating how fucking tedious this all is. I’m antsy to get
out of here, but it must be done. We’re only here to make sure this all goes
smoothly.
“How long do you think Stahl’s gonna keep kissing his ass for?” Seb
leans in to whisper in my ear. My lips twitch with the urge to chuckle.
Flicking my gaze over him, I watch the way he looks up at Ivan with
every word, fingers cautious with each gun he picks up. “Probably forever.
He’s fucking terrified.”
Seb actually does snort, and I whack my hand across his chest. It’s fairly
silent in the grand scheme of things, but it does garner Blaine’s attention.
He shoots us each a heavy glare, making us snap our mouths shut and
straighten up.
“I feel like we just got scolded by Dad,” he murmurs.
“That’s because we did,” I hiss.
“Shut the fuck up.” My eyes clash with Seb’s, but we do as we’re told.
Fuck, I don’t know what’s going on with me, but the longer this goes on,
smooth like fucking butter, I feel the tension just oozing out of my fucking
body.
By the time everything’s concluded, I feel so impossibly fucking light, I
could skip to the car. I won’t—because I have dignity—but I could.
I shake my head at my absurd thoughts. It sounds like it’s Jaxon’s voice
in my head, not my own. But I like it, feeling like he’s with me, even when
he’s not. It’s a comfort.
When the final car door slams shut, I release a deep breath, hands
clasped tightly around the wheel. No one says a word as I start the SUV and
pull out. The night is black, light from the occasional streetlamp eclipsed as
we pass them.
“Holy shit,” Seb breathes from the back seat. I find him in the rearview
mirror. He’s slouched across the seat, arms slung along the back, bracketing
Roy and O’Leary. “That was fucking it.”
“It was,” I say, feeling surreal myself.
“Well done, boys,” Blaine states. He still looks tense.
“What’s up?”
“Nothing. That went as well as could be expected.” I can feel his eyes
drilling into the side of my face as I pull onto the main road.
“Then, what’s the problem?” Ivan shook both of our hands before we
left. He said he was satisfied. The bags of cash in the hands of his two
brutes probably helped with that.
All in all, it went fucking well.
“No problem. I…shit.” He rubs his hand down his weathered face. “I
can’t fucking believe it. It’s all gone.”
Oh. Shit. He sounds, well, sad.
“This about Jameson?” I ask.
“Yes. But don’t worry about me. This is a good thing. For everyone.”
I light a cigarette. The crisp night air filters in through the crack of the
window, seeping in through the thick material of my suit. I shift in my seat,
hating how fucking tight it feels.
“What do we do now?” I ask him. I haven’t really thought about it. Or
more, I haven’t allowed myself to think about it.
“We fuckin’ live, Leo.”
“It’s about goddamn time,” Seb chimes in, shoving his way in between
both of our seats. His hands clasp each of our shoulders.
 I shrug him off to turn the song up. My phone automatically connected
to the stereo when I started the car, and the playlist Jaxon had been playing
started back up.
It’s a song from that band he loves so much—Sleep Token. This song
carries a slower beat, sort of melancholy in a way that makes my heart ache.
I pull my phone out of my pocket, never taking my eyes off the road as I
dial Jaxon’s number.
“Hey, big guy,” breathes into the phone with a heavy sigh. It sounds like
a breath of relief. Like he was worried about me.
“Hey, sweetheart.” I’m all too aware of Blaine and Sebastian’s eyes
drilling into the side of my face. I turn my head, narrowing my eyes at both
of them. Seb looks away, but I don’t miss the smirk on his lips. Blaine,
however, just keeps staring, unperturbed by my antics, as always.
Whatever.
“You okay?” Jaxon asks. I swallow.
“Yeah. It’s, uh, all done.” I hate that I can’t just fucking tell him
everything. Explain how fucking terrified I’ve been, of losing him, of
continuing to lose myself in this life.
But it’s not my life anymore.
This one is all I’ve got.
“Shit,” he laughs shakily. “That’s good, right?”
“Yeah.” I take a drag. “Went perfectly.”
“Fuck, Leo. I was a fucking mess all night.”
“Shit, baby. I’m…fuck. I didn’t mean to worry you.” Sebastian snickers
beside me, so I shove my phone between my ear and my shoulder to smack
him. “Fuck off,” I snap.
“Who, me?” Jaxon asks, and I grit my teeth.
“No, of course not. I’m talking to Seb. He’s pissing me off.” The road
seems endless in front of me with an hour left of driving still.
“That’s nothing new.”
“Yes.”
“Come get me,” Jaxon says, and everything snaps into place. My foot
grows heavy on the pedal.
“I’ll see you in forty minutes, sweetheart.” I’m breathless.
“I’ll be waiting.” He hangs up. My eyelids flutter, my heart hammering
away.
 He’ll be waiting. Is this really it? Did I actually manage to not fuck
everything up?
“Uh…” Sebastian drawls.
“What?” I snap.
“We’re still an hour out, boss man.” I laugh. It sounds manic and a bit
wild.
“Not if I can help it.”

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 29

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 LEO

T wo W eeks L ater

“D o you have to ?” I ask , refusing to release my grip on J axon ’ s

fingers. He’s tugging against my hold but reluctantly.
“Yes. I have clients, big guy.” God, I don’t want to let him go. These
last two weeks have been the best of my fucking life.
I’ve been freed of the shackles of my past life, and now, I’m living in
what I can only describe as paradise.
“And you have to work, too.” He’s smiling at me, bright and lively. His
hair is cut shorter again, shaved along the sides with his dark roots, longer
blonde on top, the hair there mussed to perfection. He plays with the silver
hoop in his lip, ass resting on the edge of the leather seat, knees jammed
against the glove box.
I reach forward, pinching his lip between my fingers, dragging him to
me. He comes willingly, and every time he does it, it’s a jolt straight to my
chest.
He wants me.
Jaxon clambers over the center console, crawling into my lap. He
swathes my body for being so small.
He makes me feel consumed.
“It’s only for a few hours, big guy.” He leans in to press a chaste kiss to
my lips, but that won’t do. I open automatically, swiping my tongue along
his closed lips. He shudders, opening for me. Our tongues wrap together as
we eat at each other’s mouths.
 My hands find their place at his hips, fingertips digging into the bone.
This is my favorite place in the world. Just me and him.
His hand wraps around my throat, keeping me pinned against my seat. I
could fight him off easily, but why would I want to do that?
His grip feels otherworldly. Possessive.
I’m yours, baby.
A sharp knock against the glass makes us jerk apart. Our eyes slam
together. We’re both panting. His lips are swollen and deliciously abused.
“Quit fucking in the car!” Amos yells from the other side of the
passenger door. I roll my eyes. Jaxon catches it and narrows his. I’d hold
my hands up in surrender, but I don’t want to let him go, even for a few
hours.
We’ve spent almost every fucking moment together since I picked him
up two weeks ago, either at my place or his. But it’s mostly been at my
house because, surprise surprise, Amos still fucking hates me.
I can’t really blame him after everything, but at this point, it’s just
become a fucking nuisance.
“You know you two will have to get along eventually, right?” Jaxon
tells me.
“Eventually,” I grumble.
“Hey. It’s just us, yes?” I breathe out, eyes closing for a moment before
I force them back open.
“Yes.”
“Good. Now let me go.” My hands constrict, fighting against it. “Leo.” I
begrudgingly release him, trailing my fingers over his crotch as he clambers
out of my lap. Amos is still standing there, just staring in through the
window like a fucking creep.
I roll it down a crack. “Can I fucking help you?”
“Actually, yes. Leave Jax the fuck alone.” I puff out a breath and roll
my eyes, looking at Jaxon with a brow arched, like see?
“Knock it off. The both of you.”
“I didn’t—”
“I don’t care. I’ll call you later.” He leans over and kisses me before
jumping out. Amos flicks a smirk through the open door before he slams it
closed, unnecessarily hard. My lip curls indignantly. I don’t think Jaxon
realizes that no matter what I do, his best friend is going to hate me
regardless.
 When they both disappear inside, I pull away and make my way to the
pub.
It’s loud when I step inside, the music blaring, voices billowing. Seb is
sitting on the counter, legs dangling off the side. He’s talking animatedly to
Andy, hands whirling around chaotically. I can tell Andy’s trying to follow,
but he got lost somewhere along the way and is just pretending to pay
attention as he readies the bar for opening.
“Seb, leave him alone to do his fucking job.” Andy shoots me a grateful
smile over his shoulder. Seb, on the other hand, frowns.
“I wasn’t doing anything.”
“You’re being annoying.”
“You always fucking say that.” He jumps off, wiping his hands on his
jeans.
“What are you even doing here?” I ask.
“I’m here to work.” He holds his hands out in front of him, eyes shining
bright, a dopey smile plastered on his face.
“I don’t fucking think so,” I grumble, shoving my way past him. He
whirls around, hands on his hips.
“Uh, yeah?” He’s frowning—fucking frowning.
“Who the fuck invited you? I sure as fuck didn’t, and I own the
goddamn place.”
“Andy did,” he sasses. I look at Andy. He shrugs, straightening the
bottles on the shelves. “Come on, Leo. I’m bored. I need something to do.”
“Fine,” I concede. “Go help in the kitchen.”
“You got it, boss man!” He disappears through the door. I run my
fingers through my hair.
“It’s gonna be a long night.”
“Eh. He’s funny,” Andy muses.
“More like fucking annoying.” I brush past him to grab a rag and wipe
the counter down since Seb had his fucking ass on it.
“You treat him like he’s your annoying little brother.” I scoff. He’s not
wrong. Seb does feel like a little brother. A very, very aggravating one. It’s
easy to forget he’s only a few years younger than I am.
The pub fills as the hours pass. It’s a rush but a good one. One I need.
Andy and I work effortlessly beside one another. It smells like greasy
food and sweat. Music plays loudly through the speakers, followed by the
occasional shout from a rowdy crowd, but overall, it’s a good time.
 I’m buzzing being around so many people. It’s not something I’m used
to, but I think I could. Grow into it, that is. It’s not bad. And I think this
could be good for me.
Something simple. Mundane. Legal.
When I finally have a minute to breathe, I step outside to smoke a
cigarette. The air feels nice against my overheated skin. My shirt is damp,
riding up my back as I lean against the wall, staring at the dumpsters across
the lot, thinking.
I went to see Vincent a few days ago in some fucking town called Le
Grande. It was a small, hole-in-the-wall, kind of place.
Vin was in a bad spot—shit with his girl isn’t going as well as he’d
hoped, but it’s not that surprising. Vin’s a vindictive motherfucker, but he’s
down bad for this Essa girl. He got her goddamn name tattooed across his
torso.
That was a fucking surprise to me. He’s not one to get attached—to
anyone. But it was a blatant display of how he does feel about her.
Consumed.
I know the feeling all too well.
I have an inkling he’s going to do something stupid, but at this point, he
needs to live with the consequences of his own actions.
He’ll figure it out, eventually. And when he does, I’ll be here.
It feels weird, not worrying as much about him, letting him make his
own choices without stepping in to referee. I do care, all the same, but it’s
different without the darkened presence of my…other life.
I’m still keeping those secrets from him, of course, and I’m not sure I’ll
ever tell him the truth. He’s lived in the dark so long, it doesn’t feel right to
upend everything, to shatter his trust I worked so hard to earn.
Maybe one day, when he’s stable enough to handle it. And that’s sure as
fuck not now.
My phone vibrates in my pocket, pulling me out of my reverie. Jaxon’s
name lights up the screen, along with the smile on my face.
Fuck, I missed him. I don’t know how he did it, but spending almost a
week alone with him in a hotel changed something within the both of us.
I’m still fucking terrified I’m going to hurt him, but he’s allowed to make
his own choices.
And he’s choosing me, darkness and all.
 “Hey, sweetheart.” I hope he can hear the smile in my voice, the way
just a simple phone call shifts my entire mood.
“Do I have your attention?” The silence rings impossibly fucking loud.
My heart fucking plummets into my stomach, tethering me in place. I’m
trapped.
I recognize that voice. And it’s…not Jaxon.
The static burns my brain. My vision tunnels as my grip tightens on my
phone. I can hear it crack.
“I’ll take your silence for a yes,” Soren fucking Cooper snickers on the
line. It sounds dry, raspy. My teeth crack from the pressure in my jaw.
“Why are you calling me from this phone number?” The air feels cold.
Too fucking cold.
“Oh, this number? You mean Jaxon Fitz, co-owner of Vice Tattoo and
your fucking boyfriend,” he sneers. It’s fucking nauseating.
“Soren,” I growl. Blood rushes in my ears, and I have to swallow deeply
to pop them so I can fucking hear again. Cramps make my stomach revolt,
convulsing with the overwhelming urge to vomit.
“Let’s cut to the fucking chase, shall we? I told you I wanted your
fucking supplier. You wiping out my crew didn’t fucking change that.”
I bark out a laugh. It sounds far away, from someone else’s lips. “Are
you fucking shitting me? That’s what this is about?”
“You sound like you’re forgetting I have your boyfriend.”
“Don’t you—” A sickening crack rings loud through the speaker
pressed to my ear. Jaxon’s scream follows.
My vision goes black.
Quiet.
It’s so fucking quiet.
I strain my ears so fucking hard. Is that a whimper? He’s breathing. But,
fuck, he’s hurt.
That motherfucker.
“‘Don’t I’ what, exactly? I told you what I want. And I have your little
boyfriend to make sure I get it.”
Fuck. This isn’t happening. Not after everything we’ve fucking been
through.
I was done! Fucking done.
“Don’t you fucking touch him again, or I—”
 Soren laughs. It sounds downright fucking deranged. My blood runs
cold. “Or what? I have what you want, you have what I want. Seems like a
fair trade.”
“You will not get a fucking thing if you lay another goddamn finger on
him. That I fucking promise you.”
“Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Look. Make it happen, and you’ll get your boy.
If you don’t, I’ll slit his fucking throat. And I have a feeling you know just
how serious I am.”
I can’t breathe. I…fuck. I claw at my throat as I slide down the roughly
textured wall. My ass slams into the concrete.
Not Jaxon. Fuck, not Jaxon. I can’t. I can’t!
“Let me talk to him. I need to hear his voice.” My own echoes in my
ears, sounding far away.
“Awe, you sound worried. That’s cute. Didn’t know The Grim liked
dick.”
“Now!” My nails scrape against the concrete, digging in deep. Fire
bursts from my nail beds as I shred them.
“Leo,” Jaxon’s voice comes on the line, weak and wobbly. I can hear his
sniffle, his ragged breaths.
“Baby,” I exhale the word, “are you okay?” Everything tunnels into the
sound of his voice. To him.
“I’m tied up…and he—he hit me a few times. It hurts.” He stutters,
tripping over his words before he starts crying, wet and wonderful, because
he’s alive. That’s what I need to focus on. He’s breathing.
I couldn’t save them.
But I can save him.
And I fucking will.
“Just hold on for me, sweetheart, okay? I’m coming to get you. It’ll be
okay, I promise. I lo—”
Jaxon wails as the phone is ripped away from him. The sounds of his
cries grow more distant as Cooper walks away from him. I slam my bloody
hand against my chest.
“That’s enough of that. Don’t give the boy false promises. That’ll only
disappoint him if he has to die because of you.”
He’s not going to die because of me. That won’t happen again.
It won’t.
 “I need some time to get this shit worked out.” I’d do anything for you,
sweetheart. Hold on for me, please.
Just hold on…
“You have twelve hours.”
“That’s not enough fucking time!” I snap.
“You’ll make it work.” And then, he hangs up, leaving the dial tone
ringing so fucking loud against my eardrum.
My phone slips from my slick hand and clatters to the ground. I press
my skull into the wall at my back, digging my fingers into my eye sockets.
Tears fall in fast tracks down my cheeks as I lift my head to slam it back,
again and again, until I’m dazed and panting through the pain.
But even the buzzing bouncing around my skull doesn’t lull the endless
quiet surrounding me like a fucking plague once more.
I thought I was done with this shit. I fucking was.
I was a goddamn fool. We were supposed to be keeping an eye on Soren
Cooper. But he slipped through the fucking cracks, like a goddamn
cockroach.
“Hey! What’s—” Sebastian’s voice cuts through my turmoil. “Leo, what
the fuck’s wrong with you?”
I meet his eyes in the dark. At least, I think it’s his eyes, but I can’t see
past the sheen coating my own. Everything fucking hurts.
My voice is raspy, wretched. I don’t even recognize it. “Go to Vice and
get Jaxon’s friend, Amos. Bring him to the compound. I’ll call Blaine.”
“Leo…” he says, dragging it out. “What the hell is going on? You don’t
even sound like yourself.”
I laugh. It really doesn’t sound like me. But I’m nothing without Jaxon,
and he’s in the hands of a man with nothing to lose.
That was me once. I know how ruthless they can be.
“Jaxon’s been taken. By Cooper. I have to get him back.” I sound
robotic, just going through the motions as I shove myself up. The world
tilts.
I need to pull myself together. Jaxon needs me.
He fucking needs me.
“What?! Oh, fuck. Shit!” I look at Sebastian. His hands are tangled in
his hair, pulling ruthlessly as he paces.
“Can you do what I asked?” Calm. Automated. Everything opposite of
what I’m feeling.
 “Yes. Fuck. I’m going. I’ll take care of it.”
“Good. I will meet you there.” I turn to my car, my legs picking up
speed with every step. I call Blaine as I splash through puddles. It soaks
into my boots. Nothing matters.
“Leo?”
“Cooper took Jaxon.” It sounds surreal coming out of my mouth.
Blaine’s eerily silent.
There’s a lot of static—pricks in my skin, each one leaving a revolting
sting in their wake.
I jump in my SUV and crank the engine. Peeling out of the lot, I head
toward the house.
“Fuck.”
“I’m on my way home.” I hang up and throw my phone into the
passenger seat. My eyes keep flicking down to it every two fucking
seconds, waiting for the screen to light up. But it won’t.
Soren made his demands abundantly clear.
A deal with Ivan for Jaxon’s life. As if I have a fucking choice. But
Ivan? He does. And he’s not someone who does favors.
The road is a blur through the windshield. Rain splatters across the
glass. My wipers clear it away.
I don’t see any of it. Not really.
I almost drive past the compound, that’s how out of it I am. I slam on
the breaks, jolting forward. My chest slams into the steering wheel,
punching the breath from my lungs. It fucking throbs, pulsing and tender
from the impact.
It’ll bruise. Good, I think as I slam the SUV into reverse so I can peel
up the drive. I place my hand against the ache, pressing hard until my
breath hitches. The thick clouds above drizzle rain, blocking any light from
the moon trying to escape, but the light seeping from the open garage doors
illuminates the path to my family. They’re lined along the walls, waiting for
me.
I park just outside one of the opened doors, leaving the car running. My
headlights shine brightly along the furthest wall. Blaine meets me the
second my feet touch the damp concrete.
“What do I do, Blaine?” I can’t mask the way my voice breaks, choking
on the anguish that it’s happening again.
 “Ignore the quiet, Leo. You’re not alone this time. You have us.” He
pulls my head up and away from where it was pressed against his. My eyes
fall over my family, faces set in stone. Ready for anything.
Am I so toxic, that anyone I dare to love is bound to this fate?
“Tell me what he wants.” He grips my forearm hard enough to bruise as
he drags me inside the garage, out of the drizzle. I think it’s cold. My skin
feels numb.
“He wants a deal with Ivan,” I say. My voice still sounds so far away. “I
only have twelve hours to make it happen. And the deal with Ivan and Stahl
happened two weeks ago. There’s no way he’s still stateside.”
“I’d bet money he is,” Roy says, sounding out of breath. When my eyes
meet his, I notice the way his crinkle at the corners. His dark skin is slick
with perspiration, his chest rising and falling rapidly.
“Cause it’s a new deal. He’d want to make sure more than one shipment
went off without a hitch before he left,” Rooks adds, arms crossed over his
chest. He looks pissed off but determined.
Why do I just feel numb?
“I’ll give him a call,” Blaine says confidently from beside me.
“Ivan isn’t going to risk exposure just for me. This is personal. Ivan
doesn’t do personal.” I lean against one of the SUVs lined up in the row of
cars. My head falls back against it as I light a cigarette. And for the first
time in almost twenty fucking years, I don’t close my eyes.
I let myself see the fucking flame. I let myself feel it.
And that pain, that reminder of what happened to my family, is nothing
compared to the agony I feel at the prospect of losing Jaxon.
He’s here. In the now. He’s not a ghost in my past. A haunting memory
of my failures.
He’s the man I…I fucking love. And I refuse to lose him to Soren
fucking Cooper. To the tragedy of my past. To my unwilful fucking heart.
Because I choose him. Here and now and forever.
The startling revelation is rejuvenating. It gives me a purpose as I drown
in the panic of what could happen.
I know where Soren’s keeping him. It has to be at that house. Where else
would he go? It’s secluded, abandoned.
Am I willing to risk it? In case I’m wrong?
I have to. Ivan’s not going to risk shit for me, for my family. This is the
only choice.
 And I have to do it alone.
“No. Ivan will most definitely want something in return,” Rooks
comments, his voice stealing me from my dire contemplation.
I growl through the cigarette pinched between my lips. I tug on the ends
of my hair just to feel the sting. “Like fucking what?” I don’t have time for
this shit; don’t they see that? I need to go get Jaxon. Now.
“Well, he certainly didn’t want us to end our deal,” Blaine says
apathetically. I jerk my head up, eyes bugging.
“We did not spend these last few months clawing our way through the
fucking trenches just to fall back in. I goddamn refuse. I fucking told Jaxon
I was done! I was finally gonna fucking tell him the goddamn truth, and
now—”
“Leo—”
“No! This can’t be happening. I—” A sharp sting, followed by a bloom
of heat, radiates across my cheek and through my eyeball. My eyelids fly
open. Blaine’s standing in front of me, clad in his suit, dressed to the
fucking nines, hands by his sides, expression utterly fucking blank like he
didn’t just slap me.
“What the fuck?”
“Listen to me, boy. Now is not the fucking time to panic, and you know
that. I will figure it out. I always do. You focus on getting everyone ready. I
will call Ivan. And call fucking Cooper and see if you can figure out where
the fuck he is.
"Get him to talk, see if he slips up. You’re good at that. Utilize your
strengths. Quit focusing on what you cannot control.” He turns away and
disappears inside of the house. He leaves me standing pathetically alone,
blinking at his absence.
Fuck. He sounded exactly like Jameson. A voice of reason I don’t want
to hear. Not now. It was hard enough back then, being forced to push my
own feelings aside, to look at it from an outsider’s perspective.
Now that I look back years later, I see the purpose behind his demands,
but right now, Jaxon is being held by a deranged fuckhead, and time is
something I don’t fucking have.
“What do you want us to do?” O’Leary steps up, clasping my shoulder.
I pat his arm before shrugging out of it. I crush my cigarette under my boot,
watching the ash drag across the concrete.
 “Same as always. Prepare for the worst. Get everything ready—grab all
we’ve got.”
“You’ve got it, boss.” Everyone disperses in low murmurs. I yank open
the door to my SUV to grab my phone out of the passenger seat, forcing
myself to switch off the ignition, but I leave the keys in. As soon as Cooper
answers, I plan on getting the fuck out of here to go find him and slit his
goddamn throat, but as I close the door, I notice the front gates creaking
open, the sharp beam of headlights illuminating the path.
It must be Seb. With Amos.
Fucking great.
Seb pulls up beside my Escalade and throws the car in park. The second
his door cracks open, he rushes out, “He’s pissed, boss. I—”
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing having a fucking stranger
pick me up?”
It’s hard not to roll my eyes, but now is really not the fucking time. “I
need to make sure you’re safe.”
“Safe?” He scoffs, crossing his tiny arms over his tiny chest. God, I
could fucking snap him in half like a human toothpick.
Sometimes I want to with the way he runs his fucking mouth.
“What could you possibly be keeping me safe from? Jaxon is the one
that’s fucking gone! I knew it was because of you! It is, isn’t it? That’s why
I’m here.” He’s going off on a tangent now. “I knew you were a piece of
shit. Putting his life in danger like it doesn’t matter to you. I told him you
were toxic for him. And you’ve never tried to fucking prove me wrong.”
I step up to him, forcing him back into Sebastian’s car. The metal is
probably cold and wet against his back. He sucks in a breath as I make him
cower down. I don’t fucking like it any more than he does, but fuck! It’s not
the goddamn time for this shit.
I can’t be here right now, forced to listen to this shit that has no
relevance.
“You don’t like me. I don’t fucking like you. That’s fine. But right now,
I can’t handle your shit. Jaxon’s in fucking danger, and that’s my one and
only focus. I only brought you here because he loves you, and that’s
important to me.”
Amos’s breath hitches when he registers my words. His thick, dark
brows wrinkle together, hands clenching into fists as his mouth turns down.
“Is he gonna be okay? Do you know where he is?”
 I shove away his questions, refusing to answer them. Especially because
I don’t even know the answers myself, and that kills me. “Frankly, I don’t
have time for this conversation. Sebastian will stay with you, keep you
updated, but I have shit to do, and I would appreciate it if you fucking
played nice for a while. The last thing I need to worry about is you.” I can’t
keep the sharp bite out of my words, but fuck it.
“Sebastian, take him inside. Don’t let him out of your sight.” Seb grabs
Amos’s arm, practically dragging him through the garage. “And keep your
fucking phone on.”
“Of course,” Seb replies as he disappears inside.
I’m left alone, surrounded by concrete walls. Each set is different, but
fuck, when you’re alone, they all feel the same. Cold, vacant. Austere.
My hands tremble pathetically as I dial Jaxon’s number. It rings five
times before cutting off to his voicemail. His voice is loud and boisterous
and happy, and I fucking torture myself by listening to the whole thing.
The gaping wound in my chest expands into something
incomprehensible.
I call him again, wishing he’d answer as happy and content as he
sounded in that message.
As the line rings endlessly, the wretched sound bouncing around my
skull, I think, I’m gonna save you, sweetheart. Even if it means trading my
life for yours. I’d do it without hesitation.
Just hold on for me. Please, baby. Hold on.
“You better be calling to tell me you have what I want.”
I’m going to kill you, you son of a bitch.

OceanofPDF.com
 30

OceanofPDF.com
 JAXON

S ometimes being a nice person bites you in the ass .

It did for me—in the form of a fist to my temple. The dude who walked
over to me came out of nowhere—literally. Like he was lurking behind a
wall, waiting for the precise moment to come up to me.
He looked homeless, truthfully, and that’s why the thought of walking
away didn’t cross my mind. I figured he was approaching me to ask for
money, so I dropped my cigarette to the ground to dig in my pocket for a
few dollars. That’s when I got sucker punched.
The pain bloomed instantly before it all went black.
And now, I have no fucking clue where I am. It’s some sort of house,
though it looks abandoned—dirty and cluttered with junk.
But it’s the fucking smell that singes the fine hairs in my nostrils. Shit,
it’s even burning my brain the longer I’m forced to breathe it in.
It smells like death but worse. Like the stench of rotting flesh has
seeped into the walls and the floors.
I’ve never smelled something so atrocious; it makes my head spin and is
what initially pulled me from unconsciousness.
I can’t keep myself upright any longer, so I slump against the dirty wall
at my back. My wrists throb and ache from being bound together too
tightly, the duct tape pinching and pulling at my skin.
Whoever took me restrained me in a rush, almost haphazardly, but that
doesn’t mean it’s a subpar job. He used so fucking much of it. My eyes trail
up the path of tape going halfway up my forearms to where the backs of my
hands are pressed against the metal of the radiator I’m fucking bound to.
 I couldn’t get out of it, even if I could move more than a few inches.
Pain blooms and pulses at my temples and behind my left eye socket.
It’s such an intense pain, I want to claw my fucking eye out. But I can’t
move. There’s tape wrapped around my legs, too, binding them together.
I always thought bondage was such a hot kink, but I’m not feeling too
keen on it right about now.
My breaths come a little too fast. My mind spins, dizzy and disoriented.
I sink my teeth into my cracked, bottom lip, focusing on the sting of the
ridges digging in deep. I use the bite of pain to recenter my breathing
because if I start hyperventilating, I know I’ll pass out.
I’ve experienced it before—too many times to count being at that
fucking camp—and passing out is far more fucking terrifying than dealing
with reality.
It takes longer than I’d like to regulate my body’s reactions, but a light
flickers on in a different room and then—“Oh, good. You’re awake.”
My head jerks at the sound of a voice, coming from somewhere I can’t
fucking see. It’s dark and cold. The sweatshirt I was wearing is nowhere to
be seen. I’m dressed in only a white tank and my slacks. Even my fucking
belt was taken, along with my shoes and necklaces.
The bite to the air is more than enough to chill my skin past the point of
being bearable. I’ll grow numb soon enough, which is almost better, except
I know how fucking cold numbness can be.
I grit my teeth, refusing to go back there, to that fucking outhouse with
Amos. This isn’t that. This…is worse.
But if I survived the torture of my own goddamn parents, I can survive a
psychopath.
I think.
“Who are you?”
He scoffs, coming closer. He looks scraggly, greasy and wired, with
impossibly wide eyes. “What a cliché fucking question.” He seems
disappointed.
“What? Was that not the right thing to ask? Okay, how about, why the
fuck am I here?”
“Well, at least that’s a bit more entertaining,” he muses, pacing the
room. I track him, doing my chest to ignore the jolting creak in my neck
with every turn.
 “Who I am isn’t that important. But you can call me Soren, I suppose.
As to why you’re here? That’s entirely dependent on your boyfriend.”
The unexpected mention of Leo makes me jerk. I cry out at the
sensation of my skin being ripped. My heart lodges in my throat, making it
impossible to breathe.
“Don’t fucking strain yourself.” I glare up at his disgusting, dirty
fucking face. He crouches down to press his finger against the bruise I’m
sure is splotched against my cheekbone. He digs in deep, pulling an
unwanted hiss from my lips.
I don’t want to give him the satisfaction. I know people like him. The
ones who use others to do their bidding because they’re too fucking weak to
do it themselves.
“What does Leo have to do with this?” Please let him be okay. I can’t
handle this if he’s not.
“You don’t deny that he’s your boyfriend. Interesting. I didn’t know The
Grim was so blatantly out of the closet. And proud about it.” He sneers the
words like they’re poison coming from his lips.
What an asshole.
“The Grim?” I ask, those two words catching my attention. I’m not
about to argue with this asshole about the fact Leo’s sexual preferences
have no fucking relevance in anything.
His brow arches, making his forehead wrinkle. And then, he laughs.
Right in my face, spit flying. I can’t even wipe it off, instead forced to
swallow the disgust crawling up my throat at the putrid wetness drying in
place.
“Oh, this is greaaaat.” He pats my fucking head, hard enough to jam
my chin into my chest. My lip curls. I try to jerk away from his touch, but
the tape snags on my skin again, making me cry out.
“You have no idea who you’re even involved with, do you?”
“What the fuck are you even talking about?” I’m growing hysterical.
Nothing is making sense. “Why am I here?! Let me go!”
“Well, Jaxon Ashtor.” He says my middle name like a taunt, proving he
knows things he shouldn’t. “I’m about to fill you in on all things Leo
Harms, the Grim fucking Reaper. But first.” He holds out my phone,
dangling it in front of my face. “Let’s give him a call, shall we?”
After he uses my face to unlock it, he shoves a dirty rag in my mouth,
immediately followed by a swift jab to my ribs. The cloth tastes like dirt
and something I can’t place. Something oily. It lingers in the back of my
throat, choking me along with the buildup of saliva as I inhale sharply
through the burning in my chest.
“Do I have your attention?” whoever this Soren dude is says into my
phone. I struggle against my binds knowing it’s impossible, but I have to
try.
Leo. Leo, baby.
I can faintly hear his voice on the other end, but then, whoever the fuck
took me walks away.
I’m panting uncontrollably. The scent from the rag wafts up. I don’t
know if it’s a better or worse smell.
I hear him say my fucking name, where I work. And something about a
supplier? He walks back into the room, face twisted into a sneer. He rips the
cloth from my mouth. “You sound like you’re forgetting I have your
boyfriend.” He leans down, towering over me.
Our eyes connect for a split second before his fist slams into my face. I
cry out on instinct, tears instantly welling in my eyes. The pressure in my
skull kicks up a notch, becoming unbearable. It hurts to blink.
“I told you what I want. And I have your little boyfriend to make sure I
get it.”
I’m whimpering, my body wracking uncontrollably. From the pain or
the cold, I can’t be sure. His voice muffles as my vision goes in and out.
It feels like hours have dragged out in mere minutes.
Without any warning, the phone is shoved in my face, the screen dimly
lit. Leo’s name is illuminated across the screen. Big guy.
How did he even know it was his number?
“Leo,” I whimper. I try to hold it back, the way I’m breathing, the
sniffles of sucking snot back so it doesn’t drip pathetically over my upper
lip.
“Baby,” he breathes like a prayer on his tongue. It fucks me up. “Are
you okay?” He sounds so worried, his voice a higher pitch than normal,
more gravelly, too.
The words burst out of me. The relief of hearing his voice is too much.
And he gives me exactly what I need to hold on. To him, to hope that this
isn’t the pathetically, bitter end.
Me tied up by someone so full of erratic hatred.
Just hold on. He’s coming for me. It’ll be okay. He promises.
 He loves me…
Leo didn’t get the chance to say it before the phone was ripped away
and the rag was shoved back in my mouth, but I fucking heard it all the
same.
He could be saying it solely out of fear, but I’m stealing a page out of
his book and taking it selfishly and keeping it close to my heart.
I’m left alone once more. Bitter and shivering. But hopeful.
Leo’s lived a whole other life. This, I knew, but being shoved into the
depths of it so suddenly is enough to send my mind reeling. But if there’s
one thing I am absolutely sure of, it’s that Leo will find me.
Dead or alive.
Dying for him could feel a lot worse. I could’ve gone without ever
knowing, but I do. I really fucking do.
I love you, big guy, I think as I blink my way through the tears.
Come find me so I can finally tell you.

I’ m groggy when I come to . M y head ’ s heavy against my shoulder ,

and when I try to lift it, a sharp zing shoots throughout my vertebrae.
“I would just stay still, if I were you. We have a lot to talk about.” I
don’t even bother looking toward the sound of the voice. I do, however, pull
my legs closer. My hips ache from being locked in the same position, but I
want every part of me as far away from him as possible.
“Right, because I can move around as freely as I’d fucking like,” I snap,
painfully twisting my wrists, gritting my teeth as my skin drags. Still so
fucking tight. Not even the cold sweat leaching from my skin makes a
difference.
“Snarky. And annoying. Honestly, I don’t know why Leo sticks around.
Maybe it’s the tight ass. I could see the appeal there.”
“Would you quit being so goddamn derogatory!” I shout, hating every
word that comes out of his mouth.
“Hit a nerve? Seems to happen with you sensitive fags.” My hands fist,
nails digging into my palms. I yank harshly against the tape, teeth bared.
The radiator groans at the pressure. I don’t even care that my skin is being
shredded from the ridiculous amounts of adhesive. I want to knock his
fucking teeth down his throat.
I haven’t had to deal with pricks like him since I was back home.
Maybe because now Amos and I mostly keep to ourselves, apart from our
acclimated group of friends.
Anger is never my initial reaction unless it’s to protect the ones I love or
my own fucking identity—and this time, it’s both, despite knowing he’s
probably saying the things he is to get under my skin.
“Wow, you’re a rowdy fucker. Calm it down.” He casually smacks me
across the face, his palm connecting sharply against my flesh. My lip is still
curled. Is it pathetic when I’m bound, helpless, and trapped? Maybe, but it’s
all I’ve got.
“Leo is part of a crime syndicate here in Portland,” Soren goes on, like
we’re having a normal fucking conversation. “He’s involved in the biggest
gun running operation in the state of Oregon. Probably beyond Oregon,
actually. But,” he drawls with a sneer, his scarred, top lip twisting, “I should
say, was. He was stupid enough to try and get out, but everyone fucking
knows that doesn’t happen. Especially in the position of power he held.
“Although, maybe he can. But I’m making sure I get what I want first.
That’s where you come into play.” He’s wandering around the room, his
voice getting louder or more faint depending on what direction he’s facing,
but I hear his words all the same.
Crime syndicate. Guns.
Jesus fucking Christ.
It’s so much worse than anything I could’ve conjured up. When Leo
told me what he did wasn’t legal, I didn’t even know what to think. The
possibilities were endless, but this? Knowing this and hearing it from
someone else?
Fuck, this is bad.
He said he was getting out, I remind myself. This dude even said the
same fucking thing, so it must be true. And not another lie, because, shit,
there are so many.
But what am I supposed to do with this? The reality of my position,
kidnapped and bound to a fucking radiator because of my…whatever the
hell he is.
 I know Leo would never want this. In fact, I know he would do
everything he could to avoid it, but it doesn’t change the fact that I’m here
now, enduring it anyway.
Wants and woulds have no purpose right now. Not when my life is
hanging in the balance because of his choices. His life. A life I never knew
enough about.
“So, you better hope he gives me what I want. Otherwise, he’ll find you
with your fucking throat slit. Maybe I’ll do it anyway, to pay him back for
killing my crew. In this very house.”
I guess this is what I deserve for falling for the darkness.

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 LEO

T ime ’ s going too fucking fast . A nd not fast enough .

I may be a big guy, but I’m nothing up against four of my men as they
drag my ass inside, away from my fucking car. I fight them the entire way,
refusing to listen to their words of reason.
I don’t want to hear it—not now. Not when Jaxon needs me. And
waiting around for Ivan fucking Volkov isn’t going to make a difference
when it comes down to it.
“He didn’t tell you where he’s at, Leo,” Blaine reminds me for the
umpteenth time, face set in stone, although I can tell by his blanched lips
that he’s holding a lot more in than he’s saying.
“I know where he fucking is,” I growl. I’m restless, crawling out of my
fucking skin. Jaxon’s scream is playing on repeat in my head, over and over
and fucking over until it’s all I hear.
Can’t lose him. Can’t do this again.
“You can’t be sure of that. Do you really want to risk it?”
“What fucking choice do I have?!” I shove away from the table, from
the hands on me, no longer holding me as tight, hating how fucking
confined I feel. Everything’s too small, too tight. Suffocating.
Quiet.
Quiet.
QUIET.
“And, what if you went to find him, and he saw you coming from a mile
away, huh? He could kill Jaxon and disappear before you’re none the wiser.
Are you simply assuming he’s alone in this?” Blaine’s words make my
blood run cold. I hate how fucking reasonable he’s being. I don’t want
reason; I want to fucking kill him. I want to kill everyone who gets in my
goddamn way.
Because this is my fault. I’m the one who left Soren alive. Because I
was feeling vindictive. Savage in such a deeply, disturbing way. I wanted to
force him to endure the repercussions of his pitiful actions.
“Leo!” Seb’s shout rings loud, bouncing off the walls. I snap my head
toward him, finding Amos tucked slightly behind him. His eyes are wide
with fear, skin paler than it should be.
I swallow the lump in my throat and press my fists to the tabletop.
“What, Sebastian?”
“Amos…he, uh—”
“He what?!” I snap my eyes to Amos. “I don’t have the time to deal
with you right now. Swallow your fucking grievances until after Jaxon is
back.” I look at Seb. “Get him the fuck out of here.”
“Yes, boss. Sorry, boss.”
Amos cuts in. “You can’t even tell me why he was there one fucking
minute, talking to some random person, and the next he was just gone?
Fuck. You.” He turns around to leave.
“Wait. What did you say?”
He turns around, full lips twisted. “About what?”
“He was talking to someone. When?”
“Oh.” He displaces his hair, like it’s a nervous habit. “A few hours ago.
He went outside to smoke—a bad habit he picked up from you, I’m
guessing.” He tries to sneer at me, but nothing can mask the worry on his
face. “Some homeless guy walked up to him. They were talking, it looked
like—maybe. But fuck, I don’t know. I was in the middle of working, so I
fucking took my eyes off him, and then, he was just gone.”
I ruminate over what Amos said, flicking my hand to dismiss them. It’s
fucking rude, but manners are the last thing on my mind right now.
Sebastian and Amos disappear. I hope Seb can actually manage to keep
him fucking reined in. Yet again, what he just told me might be helpful.
Soren was alone when he grabbed Jaxon. I don’t even know how the fuck
he did that. Jaxon may be small, but he can hold his own. From the vague
pieces of his past that he’s given me, he knows how to take care of himself.
He had to have blitz attacked him, caught him off guard, which could’ve
been easy enough if he did appear homeless like Amos said. Jax is so
fucking nice, he’d offer a stranger who walked up to him some help without
a thought.
I slam my eyes shut, forcing myself to breathe.
“What about Ivan?” I ask Blaine, my tone back to a respectable level. I
need to focus on what I can do.
“He’s on his way,” is all he says. Which is nothing.
“How did you get him to come?”
“That doesn’t matter. What you need to focus on right now is how
you’re going to control your goddamn emotions so we can pull this out of
our asses without one of us dying.” His words are spoken sharply with
enough bite to reel me in.
Digging my fingertips into my temples, I collapse into the chair, hating
how fucking heavy I feel. It’s suffocating after feeling light again in a way I
never even knew was possible.
“It’s already been almost two hours, Blaine. I’m losing my fucking
mind,” I admit pathetically. My clothes are soaked through with sweat. I
reek of it and smoke from the endless chain of cigarettes I can’t seem to
keep out of my mouth.
“He gave you twelve,” Kline mumbles quietly from somewhere to my
left.
I drill my eyes into him. “Do you really think Cooper is someone who
plays by the rules, even his own?” No one answers my question, the
implication of it sitting heavy and poignant in the air around us.
My skin pricks with an array of gooseflesh, flashes of heat cascading
through my extremities.
I glance down at the heavy, brass knuckles splayed on the table directly
in front of me. They gleam in the light, a glare shining just right. I want
nothing more than to knock Soren Coopers teeth down his throat, to make
him fucking choke. I want to shove the barrel of my gun in right after, until
he gags on it, and then, I want to blow a goddamn hole through him just to
watch his blood splatter pitifully.
“Ivan has arrived,” O’Leary walks into the room some time later. It’s all
morphing together, slowly, painfully. He’s my most reliable watchman.
Never misses a fucking thing and quick as a goddamn bullet. “And he’s not
alone.”
“I wouldn’t expect anything less. Thank you. Leo, let’s go greet him,”
Blaine says as he stands, buttoning his jacket.
 I stand on legs that don’t feel like my own, weighed down by something
inconceivable.
This is real. This is happening.
I’m about to unravel everything I killed myself for, so I could be with
Jaxon without being trussed up in a dense web of lies.
Maybe this is what I deserve for thinking it could have been any other
way.
I was born into this life.
Now, I’m going to die in it.
Blaine walks out of the room, a bout of confidence about him. I try to
mimic it as I follow, but it’s feeble in comparison.

B laine

“W ell , I must admit I’ m surprised ,” I van says . “T he fact you even

called me shows how desperate you are.”
His words make my temples throb. I fist my hands in my lap beneath
the desk separating us. When Leo and I walked into the room, past Ivan’s
goonies lined by the door, we found Ivan already seated in one of the chairs.
Leo took the chair next to him, leaving me to sit at the front of the desk.
I use the thick piece of cherry oak to give me strength to pull this off.
Leo isn’t going to approve of the outcome, but at this point, what fucking
choice do we have?
I’ve finally seen him happy, after all these years he’s been living a
tortured existence. I will admit, I was not much help to him, wrapped up in
my own delusional sense of loyalty, but I love Leo like a son.
And Jameson…he was the most important person in the world to me.
It’s been years since he died, yet, I’ve never moved on from the loss of
him. It still aches the way it did the moment Leo and I were told of his
passing.
 I think, maybe, that’s why it was so hard to accept it was time to let this
go. To…move on.
This life has been slowly killing Leo, in more ways than one. The bright
light inside of him, a spark of vivacity I first saw all those years ago, was
snuffed out long ago.
Until he met Jaxon. And that light—the one I thought was long gone
inside of him—began to flicker again. A small, smoldering ember at first.
But now, it’s a flame, flickering vividly, inspiring him to live, to feel.
And I would give anything to keep that fire inside of him burning as
bright as it used to. For the quiet he fears to be long gone from the endless
night he’s been trapped in.
“Desperate times and all that.” I wave my hand around, blinking myself
back into focus. My resolve is set.
Ivan stares at me, just on the other side of the desk. His eyes are black,
swallowed by his pupils. The material of his expensive jacket is pulled tight
around his biceps, tailored to perfection. He places his hands in his lap,
fingers twisted together idly. My eyes flicker to Leo. He’s already staring
back at me, not privy to the conversation about to happen.
I swallow down the lump of guilt. He’ll hate me for this, but all is well.
This isn’t his choice to make.
“You know I want something in return for risking myself in any
capacity.”
I nod. “Of course. I would expect nothing less from you.”
His dark eyes snake between Leo and myself, an amused grin flickering
on his tight, thin lips. He clears his throat, lax in his seat.
“I want Leo,” Ivan says casually.
Leo splutters, eyes bulging out of their sockets. The chair creaks loudly
beneath the sudden shift of his mass. His eyes drill into the side of my face;
Ivan’s eyes are on him. He’s bemused. He knows what he’s fucking doing.
“He would be useless to you,” I say confidently, ignoring the way Leo’s
eyes burn into me. I’m sorry, kid.
“I’m the one that’s been running the business since Jameson died. Leo’s
heart, nor his mind, has ever really been in it.” It’s not a lie, but it’s a pitiful
brush of the truth. Ivan’s eyes finally meet mine—two dark, soulless pits.
His bushy brow arcs.
“Disappointing.” He licks his lips. “He has so much potential.” The
condescending bite to his words make me stiffen, but I hold myself still. I
know he’s not finished.
“You’d give up your life for his?” he asks, never taking his eyes off
mine. I want to look at Leo, to see his reaction, but I can feel the tension
radiating off him, the way he’s too still.
“Without hesitation,” I answer, keeping my head straight, eyes never
drifting from Ivan’s.
“That’s a dangerous game to play,” Ivan muses. His index finger twists
one of the chunky rings on his other hand. His face is weathered, the years
having been hard on him. Though, I suppose I’m in the same boat. It’s been
a long, ruthless life.
“I’ve always played a dangerous game. This isn’t any different.”
“Then, I suppose we have a deal, my friend.”

L eo

“Y ou can ’ t fucking do this , B laine ,” I snap harshly the second

we’re out of earshot. Blaine doesn’t spare me a glance as he bypasses me,
heading for the table. I snake my fingers around his forearm and tug him
back, forcing him to fucking look at me.
“Blaine!” I shout, hating the way my voice wavers slightly. Not enough
for most people to notice, but I know Blaine does. And so do my men when
their eyes shift onto me.
“What’s done is done, Leo. It doesn’t matter.”
“Of course, it fucking matters. I can’t let you do this. I can’t lose part of
my family to get another one back.”
“Why not?” he asks, eyes narrowed. “You want to go work with Ivan?
You want to give up the possibility of a life with Jaxon just to save him?
You’re telling me you really want to fucking do that?” His words come out
fast, rushed in a way I have a hard time keeping up with, but I hear them all
the same. Each word is like a punch straight to my fucking gut.
Because he’s right; I don’t. But I can’t let him take my place.
 “That’s what I thought. Plus, I’m a better asset to him anyway. Speaking
I’m the one that’s been running the show all these years.”
It stings, but again, it’s true.
So many fucking truths coming to light today. With a fuck-ton more to
come.
“Call Cooper. Tell him the deal has been made.”
Five minutes later, I walk into the garage. “He gave me an address,” I
tell Blaine as I step over the threshold. Ivan’s eyes pin me in place, dark and
cold from where he stands across the room, an air of poise about him that
has always rubbed me the wrong way.
“Where?” We’re all lined up along the concrete walls. The doors are
still open, allowing the cold, night air to billow in. It washes over us,
chilling me to the bone. Or it would if I wasn’t so painfully numb.
“Rooks looked it up as he gave it to me. It’s some abandoned building
on Horst Street. Pretty secluded. Shouldn’t have any issues.”
“Do you think he’s alone?”
“Yeah.” I take a drag. “Who the fuck else would he have helping? We
killed off his crew.”
“Yet, you let him live, even after he ambushed you and your men?” Ivan
slides his way into the conversation, coal eyes cutting to me.
My lip curls. “I made a mistake.” Admitting that tastes like fucking gas
on my tongue, down my throat. Choking. Burning.
“Yes, you did. And now look where you are. Begging for my help.” He
sounds amused. It pisses me off.
“You’re the last person I’d ever want to ask for help,” I sneer. Ivan
chuckles, leaning against the wall, hip cocked, arms crossed. He finds this
fucking entertaining.
Of course, he would. He’s a cold, vindictive son of a bitch. He got what
he wanted, now he gets to watch it play out, probably hoping it gets a little
bloody.
The thought makes me sick.
This is the first fucking time I hope it doesn’t go in that direction. Not
with Jaxon being so close to the danger.
Close, I sneer to myself. He’s fucking entangled with it. It’s coiled
around him like a death grip on his throat, life on the line.
“I know. That’s what makes this better. You don’t have a choice.”
 I step forward, hands balled at my sides. Steam rushes from my fucking
ears, the pressure in my skull becoming impossible.
“That’s enough.” Blaine steps forward, clasping my shoulder and
pushing me back. It’s not a gentle shove, but it’s not purposefully
malevolent. I back off.
“I appreciate you helping me,” I say instead. The words are a lie as
much as they’re the truth. Because the fact is, if he wasn’t here, I’d be
risking so much more.
“I’m not doing it out of the kindness of my heart,” Ivan says, deadpan.
My stomach coils. But fuck. I can’t focus on this. Not right now. Not when
Jaxon is the sole focus of my…everything.
“O’Leary, Major, Rooks, Jerry. You four take the first SUV. Kline, you
come with Blaine and me since Seb is staying here. Ivan, I presume you’re
taking your own vehicle with your lap dogs?”
“Lap dogs,” he drawls, letting out a humorless chuckle. He looks at his
men braced on either side. The mass of one of them alone is enough to rival
mine.
“Yeah, I am taking my own. We will follow behind.” I nod my head.
Good enough.
I pull up the address on my phone and open the door to jump in the
driver’s seat, but before I can, Blaine grabs my forearm. I drag my eyes up
to his face.
“I’ll drive,” he says. I search his face for a minute before nodding.
I feel crowded into the passenger seat, the stale air of the car
suffocating. I roll down my window halfway, watching as the smoke
trailing from the lit end of my cigarette dissipates.
It’s dark as the tires eat the asphalt, the occasional streetlamp
shuddering light before disappearing again. We drive past Vice Tattoo. The
glass is darkened, the dark, orange logo on the front barely visible.
I force my eyes away, back on the road before they dart to the GPS
again. Eight minutes.
The brass knuckles wrapped around my fingers bite into my joints
painfully the tighter I squeeze, but I need something to focus on when
everything around me feels surreal, misplaced and impossibly jumbled.
“This it?” Kline asks as we pull around the back of an old building,
signs for a laundromat hanging haphazardly in the bordered-up windows.
 “Says it is.” I shove my way out of the car. My heart’s lodged in my
throat as I rush toward the back door. The shattered glass has been covered
by plywood, the usually light colored wood stained from dirt and rain.
Headlights beam across the silver frame. The rest of my crew and Ivan
pull in behind us, exiting their cars quietly and efficiently. Ivan’s lap dogs
are with him, one standing in front of him, the other behind. He’s boxed in,
protected at all angles.
I wonder how much he pays for that kind of loyalty because I guarantee
they don’t give two fucks about him otherwise.
“Slow down,” Blaine whisper-yells at me, but I shove away his voice of
reason, letting it slide right off my back as I yank open the door and fumble
my way inside.
It’s fucking dark. Cold from the lack of heat and the chill to the misty,
early spring air. I hear footsteps behind me, my men at my back, guns
poised and ready. They scope out the first floor, coming up empty, full of
vacant washers and dryers with the occasional rolling basket rusted from
misuse.
I spy a set of stairs off to the right. They’re old and decrepit, and they
shudder under my weight as I climb them. I take each step deliberately, as
quietly as I can, but it’s nearly impossible from the state of their condition.
My pistol digs into the skin beneath my waistband, the weight of it
heavy. A reminder. I pull it out and aim the barrel in front of me, but I don’t
want to use it, not if Jaxon is anywhere near me.
I step into what looks to be some sort of living space. There’s furniture,
dusty and shredded, spread out, clothes scattered across the floor. A fridge
and a stove are shoved into one corner, a sink a few feet away.
“Where’s the rest of ‘em?” Cooper’s voice sounds from the other end of
the room. My heart leaps as I spin on my heels, aiming the barrel of my gun
right at the shadow of his head. It’s far too dark in here, but I can see well
enough to notice the barrel pointed back at me.
“I wouldn’t do that,” he says absentmindedly, though he doesn’t come
any closer. Or move at all.
“And why’s that?” I take another step. He’s right fucking here. I could
end it all right now by putting a bullet in his goddamn head. He wouldn’t be
faster than me.
“Because then, you’ll never find your lover boy,” he sneers. The threat
of Jaxon has my feet stopping automatically. I lower my arms until my
Glock is resting at my side. Footsteps shuffle across the floor as everyone
files in, seconds behind me.
Time seems to be dragging, but I know it’s just my mind in a distortion,
slowing everything, dragging the torture out.
“Where the fuck is Jaxon?!” I shout.
My question goes unanswered as Soren’s eyes take in the plethora of
bodies filling the space. He’s gotta fucking know how outnumbered he is,
even with a gun in his hand, yet, he still holds the upper hand. When
Soren’s gaze lands on Ivan Volkov, still surrounded by his muscle men, his
eyes light up.
“You must be Soren Cooper,” Ivan drawls, tone neutral even as he steps
from the confines of his protection. Soren’s hand wavers slightly as Ivan
walks up to him, slowly, measured, so fucking distastefully confident.
“I am,” he says, looking Ivan up and down. “You must be the supplier.”
Ivan holds his arms out, his back to the rest of us as he puts himself
closer to Soren. The rest of us lower our guns slightly so they’re not aimed
directly at his back.
“That would be me.”
“You’re a hard guy to find,” Soren muses, still eyeing Ivan.
“I’m not someone who wants to be found. Yet, you went through all of
these intense steps in order to do so. That’s commitment.” Ivan’s just filling
Soren up with weak-ass compliments, and he eats them up.
I have never been so grateful for Ivan Volkov than I am in this moment
as I watch Cooper's guard slowly evaporate with every manipulative word.
“I want a deal. And to fucking get out of here with you without being
touched. Then,” he looks right at me, “I’ll tell you where you can find him.”
“He’s not fucking here?!” I bellow, fists balling. Even the sharp bite of
the brass digging into my skin isn’t enough to lower my blood pressure.
Knowing he’s not here means he’s somewhere alone. In pain. Scared.
“I’m not as stupid as you seem to think I am. I’ve had a little while to
think this through,” he says confidently, arms crossed over his chest.
“Oh, you’re a goddamn—” Ivan holds his hand up to me, fingers
splayed, silencing me. I bite my tongue until I taste copper. I swallow the
bitterness down.
“That’s enough. Mr. Cooper is right. This was a well-executed plan.
Inconvenient for myself, I will say, but good, nonetheless.” Soren is fucking
beaming from Ivan’s praise. It makes me sick to my stomach but anything
to get to Jaxon.
Kline and Roy shift restlessly beside me. Blaine’s positioned about three
steps ahead. Close enough I can make out his expressions, but far enough
away, he feels untouchable.
“If you walk out with me, would that be well enough for you? I can’t
have anything happening with my new business venture, after all.”
Soren looks from Ivan to the rest of us spread out through the room,
guns aimed and ready to fire. I swatch his throat bob with a swallow,
trepidation flickering over his pointed features. His hair is greasy, skin slick
with perspiration.
“Yeah, that’ll be fine,” he says almost noncommittally. Cocky. Like he
really thinks he’s going to make it out of this with his life.
I’m not making that same mistake again.
Ivan’s deadpan, taking cold and convincing to a whole new level.
“Good. Let’s leave, away from all this testosterone so we can discuss
logistics and what you can offer me.” He grabs Soren’s shoulder. I notice
the way his lip curls in disgust the second he makes contact with his sweat-
soaked shirt. It makes my lip twist.
Soren’s eyes widen in surprise, but his mouth twists into a self-
satisfactory smile, the scar through his lip more pronounced than ever. Like
he won the fucking game, but he has no idea. He nods, then turns to look
me dead in the eyes.
My blunt nails dig into the softer flesh of my palms. “Where. The fuck.
Is he?” I growl. “You got what you wanted. Now, tell me!”
Soren’s eyes widen slightly at my tone before they narrow. It vibrates
along the walls, ricocheting. I take a step forward but don’t make it any
further before his words have me reeling back.
“You know where he is.”
The second his words bounce against my eardrums, I’m gone. I don’t
even feel the floor against my feet as I run as fast as I can back to the car. I
don’t even notice Kline and Rooks behind me until they’re forcing their
way into the car at the same time I am.
“We’re not letting you go alone, boss,” Rooks says as he slams the door
closed. I don’t bother responding.
Jaxon. He’s all that matters.
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 LEO

I don ’ t remember starting the car . I don ’ t remember putting it in

drive or peeling onto the road. I don’t remember a single traffic light or stop
sign.
It’s all a blur as the trees whip past, the speedometer flying higher than
it ever has before, my heart hammering right along with it.
Fast.
Too slow.
Not enough.
Too much.
The road curves, turning bumpy from potholes and rocks. The tires spin,
drifting as I yank the wheel onto the gravel road, my sweat-slick palms
slipping and sliding along the leather.
This time, I don’t stop a half-mile away. I take the road all the way
down to where it ends just in front of the stairs leading to the front door. I
slam on the brakes at the last second, making all of us slam forward in our
seats, grunts and heavy breaths flying from our mouths.
My chest collides with the wheel again, bringing startling attention back
to the bruised pressure from just a few hours ago.
None of it matters.
Time tunnels into a black hole as I shove the door open with too much
force. There isn’t a single light on. Just endless darkness shrouded around
me.
Cold, dark, empty.
 “Jaxon!” I scream, eyes wide as I run around helplessly. Rooks and
Kline are right behind me, filing out through the house to look for him.
Panic claws at my throat, making it impossible to breathe. I’m inhaling
weirdly, oxygen not flowing into me correctly, like it’s not even there to
begin with.
My skin breaks out into an array of gooseflesh, the cold air biting and
uncomfortable. My hand is clasped tightly around my pistol, the brass
knuckles still wrapped around my fingers. It makes it difficult to hold my
gun properly, but I make do. I need the heavy weight of them.
Something familiar amongst all this desolation.
I rush into one of the smaller rooms in the back, eyes wide. Sweat stings
as it drips into them. I blink the sharpness away, not grasping what they’ve
conjured up.
There, bound to an ancient looking radiator, is my entire fucking life,
trapped and helpless, but alive. And all mine.
“Jaxon,” I whimper, falling to my knees before him, the weight of the
last few hours rushing out of me in waves at the sight of his chest rising and
falling. My gun clatters to the floor somewhere beside me as I reach for
him.
His breathing is weird, shuttered and heavy in a way it shouldn’t be. I
touch his face hesitantly, the tips of my fingers caressing the swollen flesh.
It’s already blooming with bruises, fresh and bright in color, even in this
darkness.
A light flickers on somewhere behind me, bathing Jaxon’s pale face in
an odd, yellow glow. It makes the loss of color that much more striking.
“Sweetheart,” I whisper, brushing his hair away from his eyes. His dark
lashes are fanned across his cheekbones, dark with contusions. My gut
alights with rage, bypassing the slow simmer, heading straight for a full-
blown fucking explosion.
“Wake up,” I croak. My hands flutter over him in a rush, covering every
inch of skin I can. I reach for the duct tape shredding his skin. Beads of
blood trickle from underneath, cascading down his arms in small rivulets.
Bile shoots up my throat. I’ve never hated the sight of blood more in my
life. I manage to pull a piece up and start to unravel it, but there’s so much,
it’s not long before I’m forced to pick at another piece.
My hands tremble. Something taps my shoulder. I jerk my head around,
finding Rooks holding out a knife for me, blade against this palm. My eyes
dart between him and Kline. They’re both silent, faces neutral, but their
eyes are creased with worry.
I swallow my own outrage and grab the knife, taking care to make sure
the edge of the blade doesn’t come anywhere near Jaxon’s shredded flesh.
When he’s free from the confines of it, both arms and legs, I pull him
into my lap, his back stretched across the tops of my thighs. I cradle his
head in the crook of my arm. Rooks takes the blade from me without a
word, stepping back into the shadows.
It’s just him and I. Leo and Jaxon.
Darkness and light.
Death and paradise.
“Come on, sweetheart. Wake up.” My voice doesn’t sound like one I
recognize. And I suppose it shouldn’t. This voice belongs to someone else.
Someone I’ve never allowed myself to be.
Someone Jaxon has made me into—someone better. Someone worthy…
I hope.
As gently as I can manage, I pull his eyelid open. His eyes are rolled
back. He’s unresponsive, and the way he’s breathing worries me to no end.
“I think he was drugged,” I croak. Kline and Rooks both step up beside
me, their legs on either side. Kline crouches down. When his hands reach
for Jaxon, I let out a snarl, pulling him away. He holds his hands up in
surrender, eyes searching mine.
“I just want to look at him, boss,” he says gently, like I’m a wild animal
that’s been spooked. I nod, forcing my body to only tense up when he
touches him instead of lashing out.
Kline isn’t the one I want to hurt.
No.
I want to fucking annihilate Soren Cooper.
But…Jaxon.
“Yeah, looks like he’s been drugged. I’d say it was Rohypnol. I’ve seen
it before, back when I was working at the county hospital.” I forgot Kline
used to be an ER nurse. Why the fuck he gave that up to work for a piece of
shit like me, I couldn’t say. But in this moment, I’m grateful.
“Will he be okay?” I ask. My voice is trembling, my eyes never leaving
Jaxon’s blemished one.
Even beaten and bruised, he’s still the most beautiful man I’ve ever
seen.
 “Should be, but we should get him out of here and have the doc look
him over to be sure.”
I nod, barely feeling it as I force myself to my feet. My arms barely
strain as I haul Jaxon against my chest, neck cradled, legs curved over my
forearm. He’s so light, but he fits perfectly in my arms.
I’ll carry you forever. Just stay with me.
When we reach the Escalade, Rooks opens the back door for me. I
maneuver my way in, not giving up my hold on Jaxon for anything. I set his
legs down against the seat, sliding him across the smooth leather so I can sit
beside him and keep his head in my lap.
Kline and Rooks jump in the front, taking us back to the compound. I
brush Jaxon’s hair off his sticky forehead. My thumb swipes over his
pierced brow.
His skin is clammy, damp and cold. I rub my hands over his exposed
flesh, biting my tongue as I find new blotches staining his skin. He’s so pale
that they’re vivid, easily visible through the stained white tank he’s
wearing.
My thumb finds his pulse below his jaw. His heartbeat is irregular. Not
by much but enough to twist my gut. Keeping it there, a reminder he’s
fucking alive after all this bullshit I put him through, I close my eyes for a
moment.
Curling myself around him, I whisper, “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I never
fucking wanted this. For you to get hurt. For me to hurt you, but I did. Fuck,
I really did. Please forgive me.” I kiss his skin everywhere I can reach. His
forehead, his nose—it’s so cold against my lips. His cheek, roughened with
stubble. His soft eyelids and thick brows. Even his jewelry.
My tongue darts out to lick his sweat away. It’s salty, the flavor
exploding on my tongue.
My pleas for absolution are in vain. I know this is it. The turning point
between us.
Jaxon will never forgive me for this, for my lies causing him harm.
This is too much for anyone to handle, let alone a beautiful, pure soul
like him. He’s not someone who carries hate in his heart. Hell, after what
his own goddamn parents did to him, he was still the brightest light in the
room, happy and wholly himself.
It’s remarkable, the way he can move on and become a better person for
it. I admire his strength, his ardor to live in the moment and be fucking
happy.
He made me see what I’ve been missing all these years. That the
culpability I’ve been holding on to served no purpose other than endless
self-torture.
His life hanging in the balance, another person I love so close to the
same fate because of me, made things I was refusing to acknowledge seem
so fucking crystal.
I’m a goddamn fool who’s been fighting for all the wrong reasons.
The dead can’t hold you captive. But you can.
“Pulling up, boss,” Rooks tells me. I look up at the gates swinging open.
“Fuck, I forgot to—”
“I called Dr. Carsen when we were leaving. He said he’d meet us here,”
Kline says.
Shit, I missed an entire conversation for the one inside my head. I’ve
never been so out of it.
My eyes roam over Jaxon’s face, my thumb sliding back and forth
across his skin. What have you done to me, sweetheart?
Whatever it is, it hurts.
“Thank you,” I breathe against Jaxon as I kiss him. The car slows to a
stop, the gear shifting into park. Rooks jumps out and holds my door open
for me so I can slide Jaxon out.
“Leo, wish I could say it’s good to see you,” Oscar says when I step into
my room. The lights are dim, but I know that won’t last long. I set Jaxon
across my bedspread, fixing his head over the pillow, hoping he’s
comfortable.
I step back when Dr. Carsen starts examining Jax, checking his vitals,
drawing some blood. My fingers flex at my sides as I pace the floor
aimlessly. There’s a crick in my neck, sending jolts down my vertebrae.
“Well?” I ask after what feels like fucking hours. Oscar looks at me,
eyes pinched.
“Kline seems to be right. He does appear to be drugged with Rohypnol.
The good news is it seems to be a lower dose. He’s already coming out of it,
but I’ll take this in and have it tested to be sure.” He nods to the vials of
blood he drew.
“Are you sure?” I ask, my voice cracked.
He nods. “I’ve seen it far too many fucking times. There will be some
side effects. He’ll need someone with him. I’m hoping he’ll come out of it
perfectly fine, but just to be safe.”
“Thanks, doc,” I rasp. I’m already crawling in bed beside Jaxon,
wrapping him in my arms until he’s cocooned.
“I’ll come back in a while to check on him.” The door creaks shut with
his departure, leaving us alone.
Jaxon groans, the sound drawn out and wretched. It shatters my heart. I
hold him a little harder through his whimpers and shakes.
“I’ve got you, baby.”

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 JAXON

M y head is pounding against my skull . T he pressure is blinding . I t

takes my breath away.
Everything fades in and out, my mind falling in and out of
consciousness.
It takes a while for me to finally wake enough to absorb my
surroundings. It’s dark and quiet. Peaceful. It soothes the pit of dread settled
in my aching stomach.
“Sweetheart?”
I force my heavy lids open. Leo’s face is hovering right above mine.
Dark locks of his hair hang down. He turns to look me over, giving me a
glimpse of the tattoo on his temple.
“Leo,” I rasp. My throat burns, impossibly dry and rancid. I try to
swallow the bitterness lingering on my tongue, but it doesn’t go away.
“Here,” he says, gently pulling away. I clutch at his chest, fingers
scrambling for purchase. His long, thick fingers find mine and wrap around
them. “I’m not going anywhere, baby.” He bends down to kiss my hand
before reaching for a bottle of water. “Drink this.”
I tip my head back against his chest, letting him slowly pour some of the
water into my open mouth. Taking care of me seems to ease some of the
tension lingering in his big body.
When my mouth no longer feels like a fucking desert, I turn away to
bury my face in his chest. He smells like smoke and body odor. I inhale
deeply, again and again.
 “Thank you,” I say, nuzzling his big chest. His thick muscles hide part
of my face.
A sound is torn from somewhere in the back of his throat. It sounds
agonizing. “You’re thanking me,” he says like he can’t believe it. “Do you
remember what happened? The doc said—” he sucks in a breath, carding
his fingers through my hair to massage my scalp. “He said you might not
remember.”
I blink a couple times, feeling my lashes drag against the fabric of his
shirt. Everything feels distant and cloudy, the pain in my head and my
bones overpowering pretty much everything. I shake my head before
stopping.
Leo must sense my hesitation because his fingers tighten marginally
before flexing and splaying across my skull. “What, sweetheart?”
“Remember pain,” I murmur. He sucks in a choked breath. I crawl into
his lap, ignoring the ache in my limbs, just needing to be surrounded by him
for a little while.
“I’m so fucking sorry, Jaxon. More than you know.”
It’s the last thing I hear before I fall back under.

“F uck . I t ’ s good to see your face , man ,” A mos muses when my eyes
open. It’s light outside now, though it’s muted. Dull.
“Time is it?” I ask. My voice is still dry, my throat raw. Amos hands me
water without a word, and I guzzle some of it down, hating that I have to
stop when my stomach flips upside down, a sharp threat.
“Like six o’clock, I think.”
“In the morning?”
“Nah, buddy. In the evening. You’ve been asleep pretty much all day.
But their doctor,” he sneers the word like it’s something dirty, “says it’s
pretty normal.” I let Amos crawl under my arm, resting his cheek across my
left pec. It feels comfortable, like home.
“What’s normal?” I ask. I hate feeling confused. I’m feeling more
awake now than I was the last time, but it’s still all very disorienting.
 “The drowsiness. Pain. Headaches.” His finger trails over my forehead.
“You stink,” he says then, making me laugh.
“Yeah, I can smell myself.”
“I’m glad you’re okay, Jax. I was so fucking worried. And pissed. You
could’ve been killed.”
“You don’t know that.” I think…Fuck. I wrack my brain, trying to
remember, but it just makes the pressure worse.
“Don’t strain yourself.” Amos looks up at me, his lips downturned.
“And don’t say you’re not. Let me take care of you for once. It’s about time
I’ve returned the favor.”
“You’ve taken care of me plenty,” I say, staring up at the high ceiling. I
recognize this room. It’s Leo’s.
Where is he?
I ask Amos. He stiffens, body going rigid. My brows crease in
confusion. I know they don’t get along, but…
“Can we not talk about him right now?” he says finally. “I just want to
be with you. To savor the fact that you’re fucking okay. Okay?”
“Sure, man.”
I hadn’t even realized I’d fallen asleep until I’m woken by the sound of
footsteps. It’s a soft sound, like someone’s trying to keep quiet.
“Hey,” I rasp sleepily. Leo freezes, his back to me. There’s a lamp
turned on, on the side Amos is sleeping on. His legs are intertwined with
mine, but the upper half of his body is twisted away.
Leo turns around. There’s a flush to his cheeks, like he got caught red-
handed. In his own bedroom.
That’s when it hits me.
“Were you watching me sleep?” I ask, my lips quirked in an amused
grin. Leo swallows as he walks toward me. He gets down on both knees
beside the bed, his hands reaching for one of mine. He entwines our fingers
like it’s the easiest thing in the world—and I suppose, maybe it is now.
Pieces of what happened have been coming back to me in flashes. Some
things are still blank in spots, and I think that may be for the best. The
doctor—Dr. Carsen—said I had a low enough dose that everything might
come back to me eventually, but the fact I’m already remembering things is
a good sign, something he didn’t expect.
My symptoms seem to be mild, all things considered, as well.
Overall, I got fucking lucky.
 “You look peaceful when you’re sleeping.” His eyes are crinkled at the
corners. The crow’s feet there make his age more apparent than ever. My
heart swells with adoration.
“Is it that, or do you have a somnophilia kink?”
“Jesus Christ, Jax,” Leo splutters, face flaming. My own grin widens at
the redness creeping down his neck and spreading to his ears. It will never
cease to amaze me that I can make such a big guy blush like a teenager.
There’s something so innocent, the way he can’t control his embarrassment
or even his attraction.
It’s why I always push him, wanting, or maybe more needing, to see it.
To know I’m not alone in the way this feels between us.
“Well, do you?” I ask, waggling my brows. I still feel heavy, leaden
with the burden of being drugged, but my mind is coming back to me, small
pieces at a time. And having Leo with me eases the sting a little more.
“I don’t fucking know,” he whispers loudly in my face. His breath
smells like minty toothpaste, like he brushed his teeth recently. I lean in and
take a deep breath. He also smells like his woodsy cologne. And cigarettes.
“Mmm, that’s too bad. Cause I do.” I pucker my lips, leaning in. “Kiss
me, baby.”
He presses his mouth to mine without hesitation. His lips are soft and
gentle as they mold against mine. Unfortunately, he keeps it PG, pulling
back when I try to slip my tongue between his lips.
“Hey,” I groan, grasping at the collar of his shirt to pull him back to me.
Amos’s leg kicks against mine, jabbing me directly in the kneecap. “Shit,” I
curse, pulling away to rub at the bone. Leo’s brow arches, his eyes
flickering over the sleeping body next to me.
Amos has always slept like the dead.
“Wanna cuddle, big guy?” I ask. He looks between me and Amos, a
frown making his lips curve down. I scoot over, throwing an elbow out. It
lands in Amos’s shoulder. He groans, rolling over. I push my way into the
opened up space, making enough room for Leo.
Okay, not really, because he’s fucking huge, but there’s space for him to
lie on top of me.
He’s hesitant. “I don’t want to hurt you. Not after…”
“Come here, baby. You won’t; I promise.” He swallows his complaints
and crawls into the bed. His arms wrap around my ribs hesitantly, one hand
settling at the base of my spine. It makes me lie a little crooked, but it’s
nice.
I’m tender where I’m bruised, but I swallow down the throbbing pain
just to bask in this.
Leo tucks his face just under my chin. His hairs tickle my face, making
my nose wrinkle, but he doesn’t stay there long. He moves his way along,
lips cascading over me, up and down, teasing over my nipples, before he
settles into my armpit.
His nose is buried deep. I’m sharply aware of the way I stink, my body
reeking unpleasant odors, but Leo couldn’t give two fucks less.
His fingers are caressing my skin almost absentmindedly as we hold
onto each other. My body protests the added weight, the immense pressure,
but I grit my way through it.
I’d bear anything for this. For him.
I close my eyes, focusing on my hand against his back, the muscles
hard, yet surprisingly soft and pliant beneath my light grip. It’s soothing.
“I’m going to have to do something you’re not going to like,” Leo says
out of nowhere. My eyes snap open at the desolate sound of his voice.
Trepidation creeps in.
“What do you mean?” I ask hesitantly. My fingers dig a little deeper,
like I can keep him here with me.
Don’t go.
“Full disclosure, I’m going to kill the man that took you from me. That
hurt you.” His voice gives nothing away, apart from the small raise in
octave toward the end.
He’s going to kill someone.
Because of me.
It makes me sick, in more ways than one, and I hate myself a little for it.
How do I feel about it? I wrack my brain, trying to figure out if this is too
much, but it just hurts.
“Soren,” the name spills out before I can think about it. Leo stiffens.
“Yes.” Sharp. Cutting.
“He said things.” I’m back to whisking my hands over his back. I wish
he’d lose the shirt so I can feel the warmth of his skin, something to connect
us directly. A lifeline. I tug against it, but his mind is elsewhere. So is mine.
“What did he say?” he asks. This time, he’s hesitant.
 “What you’ve done, what your job is. Was. I don’t remember
everything.” He swallows. Damp breath blows across my armpit, down my
ribs. Leo’s legs wrap around mine, pushing Amos’s out of the way.
Normally, that little act would make me laugh, but not now. Not when it
was such a blatant show at keeping me in place.
Not that I’d go anywhere.
Hearing truths from him is what I’ve always wanted. It’s accepting them
that’s going to be hard to swallow.

W hat I didn ’ t expect is the depth in which L eo would go into .

Details. Too many. Wrapped around my mind like a vice, pulling and
twisting me in all directions.
I lay, staring up at the ceiling, in a tailspin. He left a few minutes ago, at
my request.
I wish I could tell him I’m scared of being alone, that it’s better when
he’s with me, even though it’s my fault he’s gone. That having Amos up my
ass is the only reason I haven’t completely freaked out.
I don’t want the space I asked for.
I want him.
As wrong as it is. As disgusting as it makes me. As deeply as it goes
against my beliefs, my morals.
I want Leo. And I think that makes me a bad person.
Reprehensible.
What does it say about me when I’m this fucking deep for someone who
can never love me in the same way?
He may have chosen me. Because he did; that much is clear. I’m lying
in his bed, in his house, poisoned by the revelations of his truths. His pain is
my own. But what is all of that without his love?

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 LEO

“I think I need some space ,” J axon says , my face captured between his
hands. His thumbs are brushing back and forth over my beard. My eyes
pinch, lips turning down. I expected nothing less, but I can’t hide the hurt.
Not from him.
Jax leans in, kissing me quickly before searching my eyes. “I promise
I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be right here, but I think I need this. Please,
just give me some time.”
I remember saying that exact same thing to him back in that hotel. After
everything he’s been through because of me, it’s the least I can do.
I’ll give him as much as he needs, as long as he doesn’t leave.
He can’t leave.
My heart still pulses with the sting of watching Jaxon’s best friend curl
around him like that’s exactly where he belongs. I wish it were me. It was
me, but it can’t be. Not yet. Not until he knows, without a shadow of a
doubt, he wants me.
Do I deserve it? Not in this life or even the second, but I’ve never had a
problem acknowledging my selfish desires when it comes to him.
When I step into the kitchen, I find Seb stuffing his face with a
sandwich. I steal the other half, earning myself a muffled grumble. I’m not
hungry. In fact, the thought of food makes me want to vomit, but it’s been
far too long since I’ve eaten, and there seems to be this voice in the back of
my head, loud and annoying and sounding far too much like Jaxon, telling
me I better take care of myself, so I bite the bullet and listen to it.
 Once Seb swallows, he jerks his head in the general direction of my
room. “He okay?”
“Fine enough,” I answer, licking… “Is this fucking ranch?” Seb grins,
mouth full of food again.
“Hell yeah. Chicken, bacon, ranch, and picklessss,” he singsongs, taking
another bite.
“You eat like a fucking barbarian,” I grumble, taking another bite
myself because it’s fucking good, and would you look at that, I’m hungry.
“And make sure a couple sandwiches get sent up to my room for Jax and
Amos.”
“You got it, boss man.” He finishes off his food and grabs a few
premades out of the fridge along with more water.
“Seb.”
He turns around as he nears the exit. “Yeah?”
“I’m gonna be gone for a little while. Keep an eye on him, okay?
Please.” His eyes soften, his mouth quirking sadly.
“Yeah, of course. Be careful.” And then, he’s gone. I force myself to
finish the food that doesn’t really taste like much of anything anymore
before going and finding Roy. He’s been waiting patiently for me to help
Jaxon, to process.
But now, it’s time for me to get bloody one last time.

“M r . H arms . W hat a delight .”

“Sure,” I reply, not really in the mood to play nice. Blaine shoots me a
look over Ivan’s shoulder. He’s standing by his side, opposite of me in this
fucking warehouse. Stahl was generous enough to let us use the space one
last time.
Or maybe the threat of Ivan getting inconvenienced was more than
enough for him to oblige.
Either way, I don’t fucking care about the semantics.
I hate the sight of Blaine standing next to Ivan. It’s not where he
belongs. He shakes his head subtly, probably knowing the direction my
thoughts had taken me. It wouldn’t surprise me.
I grit my teeth and look away. “Where is he?” I ask Ivan, forcing myself
to look him in the eye.
“Ah, yes, yes. Javier, would you be a darling and bring Mr. Cooper in
for Leo?” Darling? What a fuckin’ creep. Blaine can barely contain his grin
of amusement. I grimace, my lip curling.
But then, Soren’s dragged through the large, opened door, and
everything else fades away except for him.
He’s bleeding from a split above his brow. Blood has dried along the
side of his face, and now, it’s slowly oozing, but apart from that, he’s
perfectly intact.
And mine to fucking destroy.
I keep my hands to myself like a good boy, waiting for Mr. Volkov to
give me the go ahead. After all, none of this would be happening without
his participation, and he knows it. But he got what he wanted in the end.
A man with three decades of experience in this world. An invaluable
asset. And I’m sure his business will prosper because of it.
I shove my hand in my pocket and fist my brass knuckles, my eyes
never leaving Soren’s bulging ones. He’s screaming through the gag in his
mouth. I’m sure he’d be flailing—if he could move.
I relish in the weight of the brass against my thick, scarred knuckles.
This will be the last time I wear them.
One last score to settle.
Then, I’m done.
“Well, go on. I’m sure you’ll make this entertaining.” Ivan sounds
amused. I roll my shoulders and take a step toward Soren. He can’t take his
eyes off me, wide and pleading. The muffled sounds coming from his
mouth grow surprisingly louder, more hysterical.
I swing my arm back. My vision goes dark at the sound of his jaw
cracking. The rag falls from his mouth.
His screams are a melody.
His blood a hot splash across my skin.
I blink, coming back into focus. I forgot how jarring the sound of bones
snapping is. Soren’s whimpering pathetically, curled in the fetal position.
His fingers are crooked, angled in all different directions, depending on
which way I grabbed them and snapped. His jaw is useless, drool pooling
out and onto the bloody concrete.
 “Please,” he gurgles. The word is almost indistinguishable. It pisses me
off.
I lean down, snatching him up by his hair. I yank his head back until his
neck is arched, throat exposed. “You know,” I muse, “there’s something
ironic here, but I can’t remember what exactly.” He whimpers, blood
muddled with the snot and tears smeared over his face. I dig into my pocket
and pull out my knife. I flick the blade open and press the tip of it to the
flesh on the underside of his swollen jaw.
“Oh. Yeah.” I press in harder than I normally would because the skin is
stretched taut. I drag the sharp edge of the blade across his flesh. Blood
pours from the gaping wound instantly. It happens so fast, Soren doesn’t
have time to react before he bleeds out, carotid pulsing in sporadic spurts,
lifeless in my arms. I drop him, not even bothering to look down as he
crumples to the floor in a useless heap. Just a bag of skin and bones.
I’m breathing heavily, my hands shaking with adrenaline. A slow clap
has me snapping my head up. Ivan pushes himself out of a chair, like he’s
giving a standing ovation.
“Passionately personal. Quite lovely.” He flicks his hand up. “Clean this
up so I can go home.” I don’t know who the fuck he’s talking to, but a
handful of people file into the warehouse and get to work removing Soren’s
body from the space and cleaning the mess of it.
I stand on shaky legs, biting down on my back teeth as I force myself to
breathe slowly and deeply, slowing the rush of my heart, my blood, my
mind.
Ivan’s eyes whisk over me impartially. “I assume our business has
concluded?”
I swallow, nodding. My eyes flick to Blaine. He’s giving me a small,
proud smile. He blinks and inclines his head, mouthing well done. I look
back at Ivan.
“Yes.” I reach for his hand. He grabs mine and shakes it before grabbing
a handkerchief out of his jacket to casually wipe the blood away.
Definitely not the first time he’s done that.
“Good. Well, I wish you all the luck, Mr. Harms.”
“Take care of my uncle,” I say in return.
Blaine’s eyes widen in surprise before softening. He walks up to me,
enveloping me in his arms, unperturbed by the blood and sweat I’m bathed
in. “You take care of yourself, kid. I love you.” He presses a chaste kiss to
my temple, and then, he’s walking out with Ivan Volkov. Because he’s a
better man than I’ll ever be.
My breathing takes on a funny hitch. Fast and uncontrolled. I pull off
the brass knuckles. I swipe my thumb over the metal, over the grooves and
ridges, the dents and dings from years of abuse.
These things have seen the deaths of too many people. They’ve been a
part of who I am for just as long.
But not anymore.
I walk up to the clean-up crew. “Get rid of these for me.” I don’t wait
for a response before I turn my back and step out into the night.
The clouds are abundant, but they’re stretched thin, giving teasing peaks
of the stars in the atmosphere. I reach inside the SUV to grab my pack of
smokes and lean against the door as I light one. I have to fight against the
urge not to close my eyes. It’s been so long, it’s purely instinct now, but I
don’t want to close them.
I want to see it.
I told Jaxon what I was going to do tonight. But more than that, I told
him everything. Of course, not every little detail, but there’s time for that—
if that’s what he wants.
Every moment from here on out is up to him. I can’t force his hand. I
know if I did, I would be risking his trust in me. And I would never know if
it was wholly his choice or if he felt forced into it, and I don’t want that.
I want him to want me the way I want him. But is that enough? I hate
how, even now, I’m still questioning so much. But now, everything’s on the
table.
“In Between” by Beartooth plays through my stereo as I pull out of the
lot, but I’m not heading home.
For the first time in twenty years, I’m going to Winston. The town I
lived in with my wife and my son.
The place where I buried them and never looked back.
Except…that’s wrong. I’ve been stuck staring into the rearview mirror
since then. Their reflections keeping me trapped in another life.
It’s time to say goodbye.
It’s time for me to choose me.
T heir headstone is covered in moss and weeds , the vines tangled
and wrapped around carelessly, like they’ve had years to grow aimlessly.
Because they have. But I don’t bother disentangling them.
The sight of the stone so encased helps settle something inside of me.
I trace my index finger over the R in Harms before dragging it down to
the picture embossed on the front. It’s small for the size of the headstone
they share, but I didn’t want it any bigger.
It’s faded considerably, but seeing their faces again after forgetting them
is a punch to my gut. The sight of Harrison in Quinn’s arms, his gummy
little smile bright and lively, steals the breath from my lungs. I collapse to
my knees, tears falling unbidden from my eyes in endless streams. I don’t
even try to fight them back.
It feels good to let them out, to fucking feel it after holding onto the pain
for so long.
“God, I’m so fucking sorry,” I sob, letting them wrack my body. My
shoulders shake. I press my palms into the dirt, digging my nails into the
earth until I can feel it beneath my nails, wet and dense.
“You deserved so much better than this. Than me. I failed you both.
Please forgive me.” I crawl on my hands and knees until I’m directly in
front of the stone. I stare at the picture of them.
And I realize, I never forgot them at all.
Placing my hand over my heart, I press in deeply, feeling the gnawing
ache.
My eyes sting, long dry now. My skin pulls from my dried, salty tears,
but when I finally stand, the burden of their deaths is no longer with me, but
instead buried in the dirt where it should have stayed.
A wave of melancholy surrounds me like a fog as I make my way to the
car, but it doesn’t feel bad. It feels more like this is how it should feel. Like,
for the first time since they died, I’m actually mourning their deaths instead
of trying to keep them alive.
It’s strange in a way I didn’t expect—to be hit with the revelation that
I’ve been doing it wrong.
 Apparently, there’s so many things I’ve gotten wrong.
How to live. How to heal.
How to love.
Jaxon doesn’t deserve half of me, only the pieces I’m willing to give
him.
He deserves the parts no one should have. The dirty, the ugly. The
wretched and depraved.
If he wants to know my darkness, I’ll give it to him.
The tires inch their way down the narrow, stone roads taking me out of
the cemetery. I look through the rearview one last time and say goodbye,
like I should have done back then.
You’ll always be with me, but it’s time for me to heal.
I love you. Forgive me.
“Goodbye,” I whisper to their fading headstone. To the past, the pain,
the broken.
Goodbye to the pieces I’ve left behind.

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 35

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 LEO

H e ’ s sleeping alone when I walk into my room after a quick rinse

off in the shower. I don’t want him to see blood all over me again. Never
again.
My eyes are bleary from driving for almost ten hours straight, my limbs
stiff and throbbing from being stuck in the same position. But fuck, when I
take in his sleeping form, beautifully relaxed and fragile, I can’t help the
gasp that tears out of my throat.
He’s alive.
Here, in the flesh, living and breathing. Skin pink with blood flow and
oxygen, if not a little bruised and beaten.
It’s surreal, the painful truth of how fucking close I was to failing him.
Because of my own mistakes, the choices I made. Death—or the threat
thereof—can give you perspective in the same manner it also takes it away.
Before, with Quinn, with Harry, I lost sight of everything. How to live,
who I was. The purpose behind living, surviving, fighting for nothing.
But the threat of losing Jaxon? The mere possibility of it shifted
everything that’s been misplaced for so long right into its rightful spot.
And it’s all crystal fucking clear.
Jaxon shed light to a whole other world I locked myself out of. One full
of light, of peace. Comfort. Love.
Love…
It’s something I never thought I’d feel again. Something I kept at a
distance, from everyone. From my fucking self. Because my self-hatred
consumed every morsel of my existence.
 Then I met him…Jaxon. A light in the endless abyss I drowned myself
in. It was then I fucking breathed, shuttering and trembling and gasping.
That fresh burst of oxygen is what fuels me as I stumble toward him,
just…needing. I shed my towel and collapse into the bed, breathing out as I
shove my face into his neck so my next breath is filled with him.
Lavender and cinnamon.
Home.
Mine.
“Leo?” Jaxon rasps, his voice deep and groggy with sleep. I nuzzle in
deeper, needing to be wrapped around him in every possible way. I push my
arms under his torso, my legs between his until my thigh is pressed against
his groin.
He’s hot and smooth against me. I’m mindful enough of his injuries to
be gentle amidst my desperation, but with the way Jaxon claws at my
shoulders, forcing me closer, he wants it as much as I do.
“You’re back,” he whispers into my hair, lips against my forehead,
hands wrapped around my neck, holding my head against his chest, the fine
smattering of hairs gentle against my face.
“I missed you.”
“Did you?” I ask, hating the words as soon as I say them. Will I always
question his feelings for me?
Probably.
Because he’s too good for me.
“Yeah, big guy, I did.”
“Even after everything I told you? After…what I did?” I fucking choke
it out. The irony isn’t lost on me.
He hesitates. My heart rate falters, palms growing slick.
Please, not now. Not after I finally fucking realized…
“I…I’m gonna be honest with you. I don’t know how to accept…what
you do. It’s wrong.”
“But it’s not what I do,” I cut him off, desperate for him to understand. I
lift my head to meet his heavy gaze as I rush out, “I’m done, baby. I
promise. It’s all over with.”
He gazes at me warily, eyes darting back and forth between mine. It’s
dark in here, but the glow from the cloud-covered moon brightens the
shadows through the gaps in the drapes.
“Everything?” he asks.
 “Yeah. Yes, everything. Fuck, Jaxon. I’m lucky. I don’t know if you
understand that—if you truly grasp the shocking depth of it, but I am. Not
only the fact I’m alive, that you are, because God help anyone who ever
fucking hurts you again.” I dip my head to kiss the bruise on his ribs.
Without looking up, I continue, “But that I made it out of that life.
“It still doesn’t feel real. I’ve never known anything but this, despite all
the years I’ve spent hiding on the sidelines. And it hurts in a way, knowing
it’s all gone. But it’s a good hurt because I know it would’ve killed me
eventually. And I have something to live for now.”
“Something?” Jaxon asks, his lips quirked, if not a little sad.
“Yeah.” I kiss him, just because I want to. And it feels impossible. “I
don’t deserve you. In any capacity.” I press my palm to his mouth when he
opens it to protest because I know that’s exactly what he was going to do.
“Please, let me finish.” His eyes search mine. I don’t know what he finds,
but a few moments later, he swallows then nods. I brush my fingertips over
his lips, over the stubble lining his jaw.
“Fuck, sweetheart.” I close my eyes against the sting, against the threat
of tears. “I’m death incarnate. They called me the fucking Grim, for fucks
sake.” I shake my head. “I’ve always hated that fucking name,” I mumble,
making Jaxon snort a shaky laugh.
“But I’ve stolen, manipulated, killed. I’ve threatened and lied. Over and
over. I’m worried these things have stained me in a way I’ll never be able
to…erase,” I fumble over my words, trying to figure out a way to word
what I mean.
“You’re worried you’ll never be forgiven,” Jaxon whispers, eyes soft
and glistening. I nod, a lump lodged in my throat. Holding eye contact is
too much. I drop my head back to his body. Mine sinks into the mattress,
exhaustion making me feel weak.
“Yeah, something like that,” I finally say after a while. Jaxon hums, still
playing with my hair. The repetitive scratch of his fingers on my scalp lulls
me into a trance.
 J axon

“Y ou are my impossible paradise ,” L eo says . I figured he was close

to sleeping by now. He hasn’t moved for a while, perfectly content to let me
hold him and ease the hurt a little.
And shit, does he hurt. But the intensity of it has dwindled significantly
over the months, I think. The hurt he feels now is softer, more melancholy.
“An impossible paradise, huh,” I repeat. I’m staring up at the high
ceiling, the dark walls. Leo’s hot and heavy, the center of gravity. I’m
pulled to him in a way that I shouldn’t be.
The truths sit heavy between us, their weight immeasurable, and their
impact inevitable.
It’s all still fresh, still too new for me to know what to do with it. It’s a
fucking lot, honestly. And more than I ever could have imagined, in a way
that doesn’t even seem feasible.
Like, what are the fucking odds that last year, the goddamn boss of
some local crime syndicate walks into my shop and flips my world upside
down.
Even thinking it makes me want to laugh from the absurdity of it. This
isn’t my life. Things like this don’t happen to me.
Except, well, it did.
I grip Leo’s hair, tugging a little harder than I meant to. It garners Leo’s
attention. He stills for a moment before lifting his chin so he can find my
eyes. “What are you thinking about?” he asks cautiously, like he doesn’t
want to know but does in equal measure.
I trace the rose on his temple, my fingertips brushing over the faded red.
“That this is all pretty fucking crazy.”
He scoffs, apparently not expecting me to say that. The tension deflates
from his body. “Tell me about it.”
“I can’t fucking believe that anything you said is the truth. It is—I know
that,” I say before he can interrupt. “But you’ve gotta admit, it seems
fucking wild from an outsider’s perspective. Like some action movie type
shit.”
Leo laughs, exactly like I was hoping he would, and my heart fucking
soars. My own face cracks with a smile. “I think you’ve overestimated the
scale of it all,” he says with a rough shake to his head. He’s lying back on
his own pillow now, but his legs are still wrapped in mine.
 I rub mine against his, relishing in the feel of the thick, coarse hair
against me. “Isn’t it all the same?” I ask.
“No, sweetheart.” He’s still laughing. The sound fills the room, throaty
and warm and so wonderful.
I want Leo like this all the time. Warm and comfortable. Happy. Whole.
“Oh, well.” I shrug. “What do I know.” He rolls onto his side, resting
his head in his palm, elbow sunk into the mattress. The duvet is thick
around us, warm and smelling of him. Of me, too.
Us.
Finally.
He leans over, pressing his lips to my shoulder. “Everything, baby. You
know everything. Is my darkness too much for you? Can you…” he looks
down, licking his plump lips. His hands tremble. He sinks them into the
mattress to hide it. “Can you forgive me?” he asks, flicking his eyes up to
mine.
I stare into the deep pools of amber-honey, seeing the whirls of golden
mixed in copper without needing the light. Because I know him. Who he is
in his soul, deep in his core.
“Do you remember what I told you all those months ago when we first
met?” I pause for a moment. “How I’d always make my own assumptions
based off what I’ve experienced versus what I’ve been told?” I wait for his
flicker of recognition. When his brow raises, I continue, “That hasn’t
changed at all.
“I know who you are, Leo. Sure, you finally fucking telling me the truth
changed things. A lot of things, honestly. But it’s not who I know you really
are. You’re Leo Harms. Your favorite color is blue. You only smoke
Marlboro Reds, and you fucking love pasta—almost as much as you love
my body.” I’m grinning at him. He snorts fondly.
“I’ve killed people. A lot of fucking people,” he bites out harshly,
sending the conversation in the opposite direction. I blink, not having
expected him to say that again. It makes me wince.
“I know you said that—”
“And I fucking liked it sometimes. That makes me a bad fucking
person.”
“Sometimes?”
He swallows. “I’ve had to do some shit I’m not proud of,” he admits.
 “I’m sure that list is extensive,” I muse. He nods. “But the…bits you
liked?” I can’t even fucking say it.
“Are the ones who deserved it.”
Ah. Well, I can work with that.
“So, you were like a moral enforcer.” That makes him snort. The sound
is dry, but it isn’t forced. I hike a brow, which he returns. His lips are
downturned, and I hate it, but this is the shit we’ve got to talk about. We get
to talk about.
“A moral enforcer is so off-base.”
“But not inaccurate. Look, big guy. You’ve always felt guilty. About far
too many things out of your control. I think it’s good that you feel the way
you do about the things you’ve done. It shows you’re not as inhumane as
you think.
“And the guilt, the shame—you can work through that. And I’ll help
you. Because I fucking believe in second chances.” That makes him scoff. I
narrow my eyes and grab his chin, pinching it as I dig my thumb in.
“What’s wrong with second chances?” I ask, voice low.
“People don’t change,” is all he says.
“Oh, they don’t? Are you saying you haven’t?” That makes him think.
His bottom lip pops out, so I play with it, pulling and tugging the soft flesh.
“People do change—if they want to. I’ve seen it happen, and I’ve also seen
people stuck in the very cycle they created, their downfall inevitable
because they didn’t think they had the power to fix it.
“The point is, you have to want it, and you have to fucking work at it.
Hard. Changing goes against our baser instincts. We like repetition because
it’s comforting, but repetition can sometimes be the very thing that ends up
killing us.”
“Have you changed?” he asks, soft and gentle. Curious.
“Yeah.” I have. Because of you.
I always thought allowing a person to hold so much power over you was
like asking for pain. It could only end one way—betrayal. Because people
are greedy. Selfish. But truth be told, there’s no fucking allowing about it.
Leo swooped in, and the next thing I knew, everything I did was influenced
by his very existence.
I had never felt anyone’s pain as viscerally as I felt Leo’s. The way he
carried it, his burdens, his failures, crippled him.
It fucking ruined me.
 And through it all, I wanted him. I still do, even knowing what I do.
Because I know I have the same power over him.
I think we’re going to be piecing ourselves back together for a while.
Many of them broke off into tiny shards, mismatched and misplaced, lost in
the ashes of failure, but with his hand in mine, I think we’ll find ourselves
whole when the light dawns, eviscerating the darkness.
It’ll still be there, of course, just beneath the surface, but I will fight for
Leo every fucking day until it’s not the first thing he sees when he wakes
up. For it to finally be his light.
“Come here, baby.” I pull him on top of me, needing the solid comfort
of his weight. He’s gentle as he splays himself out, legs between my spread
ones, dick soft against mine.
This isn’t inherently sexual, but feeling him up against me with the
proof he’s feeling everything as intensely as I am… “Kiss me,” I demand.
Leo obliges because he’s always so good. I wrap my tongue around his. He
tastes of toothpaste with the faintest traces of cigarettes.
I flex my hips. The velvety-soft flesh of his hardening length slides
along mine, eliciting a heady moan. I breathe into Leo’s mouth, hot and
heavy. They stay connected, our tongues still flicking out to touch, to taste.
Our foreheads slide together, slick from the condensation formed from
our heavy breathing. “Fuck,” Leo moans quietly. I peel my lids open to
watch him. The closeup is intense.
His eyes are closed, face relaxed, almost gentle like he’s in bliss. His
biceps are bulging as he holds himself above my body, so he doesn’t crush
me completely. The veins are popped out, bulbous and sleek along his
tanned flesh. I want to bite them.
I score my teeth across his tongue as I take in his abdomen, rolling and
flexing as he grinds against me. That thick barbell running through his
cockhead is like a beam for my attention, drawing me straight to it.
Reaching between us, I curl my fingers around his head, pressing right
against that goddamn piercing. What was he thinking getting this anyway
when he was pretty much a fucking virgin?
I have to know.
“Why’d you get this, big guy?” I ask, slipping my nail along the barbell,
pushing against it.
“Like the pain,” Leo moans, hips stuttering as he tries to fuck into my
hand. I loosen my grip so he gets no satisfaction, and he groans in protest,
making me smile.
“You a masochist, too, baby? All these kinks I didn’t know about…” I
muse, wiggling my brows at him. He pants out a laugh, arms shaking from
the exertion. I reach around to dig my nails into the thick muscle of his ass.
“F-fuuuck.” He whimpers.
He fucking whimpers.
I rock up into him, wrapping my hand around our cocks for us both to
fuck into. Leo’s head drops to my neck as he curls his upper half around me
to make it work. He’s hot and damp and desperate.
“Shit, you feel good.” His shoulder is right in front of my mouth, so I
angle my neck and latch on, fucking up and against him so hard, it hurts.
My teeth make two perfect, crescent moons when I pull away, flicking my
tongue along the indents in his tattoos.
Leo’s panting.
Sweat’s dripping.
My cock pulses without much warning, and everything goes a bit hazy.
My spine tingles from the feverish warmth of my orgasm blowing through
me.
I’m dazed, chest heaving as I stare at the backs of my eyelids, an array
of colors dancing along them as I use my cum to get Leo off. It’s so slick,
he slides through my fingers without resistance.
“Jaxon, baby. Shit.” He shudders, pelvis knocking into mine as he
thrusts as deep and as hard as he can. He’s vocal, not hiding a single
whimper and moan from me. And fuck, am I glad I’m the only person he
can’t hide from. I need these sounds like I need the oxygen around us.
Heady and potent and real.
His mouth drops to my ear as he comes until all I hear are his low-level
whimpers and the whines coming from somewhere in the back of his throat,
like he’s so consumed by what he’s feeling, he can’t control it.
His release soaks my hand and stomach, warm and sticky. Leo collapses
on top of me. The breath whooshes out of me with an “oomph.”
“Shit. Sorry,” he says between breaths. He presses down to move, but I
wrap my legs around his waist, pinning him.
“Uh-uh.”
“Jaxon, I’m crushing you.”
“Mhm.”
“I’m going to hurt you,” he tries again.
 “Nope.”
“Christ, you’re adorable.” He relaxes some, but I can tell he’s still
holding himself up. We’re both spent and sated. My body aches, but it’s
easy enough to ignore as my eyes droop closed, my mind sleepily buzzed
from coming so hard.
“I love you, sweetheart,” Leo says against my neck, lips pursed against
the script tattooed there. My eyes fly open, heart jackknifing. “I’ve been too
much of a coward to allow myself to feel it. The, uh, the remorse I feel
because of Quinn and Harrison made the possibility of loving you seem
impossible.
“But I do. I said goodbye; I can tell you about it later if you want. But I
want to love you the way you deserve to be loved, Jaxon. Wholly. Without a
shadow of a doubt.” He clears his throat. It makes me tighten my arms,
keeping him in place.
“Jesus, Leo,” I rasp. A tear falls from the corner of my eye, sliding
down my temple and into my hairline. He stiffens and tries to pull away. I
squeeze tighter. “No, don’t.” I blink through the cascading tears, a smile on
my face so wide, it hurts.
“Sweetheart.” He sounds brokenhearted. “I didn’t mean to make you
cry, I—”
“Love you, big guy. Have for a long time—just never thought I’d hear
you say it back.”
“Ever?”
“No, and I was okay with that. I accepted it’s what we would be.”
This time when he pulls back, I let him because I want to see his face.
He sits on his haunches between my legs, bare cock soft and long against
his thigh. I try to ignore the cum dried into the hair on his groin.
His eyes are soft and round with dark lashes, pulling me right into their
depth. It feels like home.
“We’re not that,” he says, insistent. I nod, but he shakes his head. “I
refuse to be that. I’ll need your help; I’m not going to lie. I’m going to
panic and fuck everything up. More than once. It’s inevitable, but I’m
fucking ready to face it all. With you.”
My smile splits my face in half. It hurts so good. My heart’s in the
clouds, stomach aching with joy.
He eyes me warily, eyes pointed. I can’t resist teasing him. Everything
feels right; I feel more myself than I have in far too long.
 “Before, getting you to open your mouth was like pulling teeth with a
screwdriver, and now, you won’t shut up.” I snicker as he balks at me.
Then, his worry-bitten lips tighten into a thin line. Awe, he’s pouting. Even
better.
I look him up and down, all broad muscle and intricately detailed
tattoos. Big, brawny, hard. Yet so, so gentle and beautiful and mine.
The fact he looks like a very large dog begging for affection doesn’t
help matters at all.
I scoot up until I’m leaning against the headboard. Leo stays where he’s
at—still between my legs, but I notice the way his fingers, which are
splayed over his thick, hairy thighs, twitch. Like he’s itching to stay pressed
against me.
“Come here.” I slap my stomach, and he dives right in, knocking the
wind out of me, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. I press a kiss to his
hair, inhaling the fresh scent of his shampoo.
“I’m about to sound so horribly cliché right now, so don’t make fun of
me for this, but I’m ready to face this with you, too, baby. I know it’s going
to be full of trial and error, but it’s already been that way for us.”
“You sound like a horrible dating app infomercial.”
I laugh loudly, pinching his side, eliciting a sharp hiss from him. “Yeah,
I know.”
“I don’t know what I’m doing,” he says, quietly this time.
“I know,” I repeat. “I don’t really, either.”
“Ready to ruin each other?” He looks up, brow arched, a small smile
splayed.
Such a beautiful, beautiful man.
I thumb his bottom lip, pinching it. His tongue flicks out to swipe across
the tip. Cheeky.
“Hell yeah, big guy.”

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 JAXON

O ne M onth L ater

“W ould you two stop jumping down each other ’ s throats ?” T heir
bickering almost made me mess up, and if I screw up this perfect fucking
line—
“Like I would ever let him in my fucking throat,” Amos bites out.
“I would snap you in half if you ever came that close,” Leo retaliates.
“Oh, my God! Enough!” I shove away from Leo, rolling on my chair
until the back slams into the counter, jolting me. I snap my gloves off as I
jump to my feet, my finger already pointed in their vicinity.
“You two are pissing me off. Either kiss and make up or shut up.”
“I am not going to—” Amos starts, but I cut him off with a glare.
“Don’t even say it. Don’t.” I raise my brows before directing my scowl
at Leo so he fucking gets some of it, too. The shop is quiet, apart from the
low hum of some Bad Omen’s song playing through the sound system.
The tension between the two of them racks up before it finally snaps.
Leo blows out a breath from where he’s lying on my chair. It’s folded out
flat so he can lie on his stomach, ass exposed to the air.
“Sorry, man,” he grumbles, pursing his lips. I roll my eyes, but it’s a
start. I look to Amos. He’s still glaring. Sneering, really, nose turned
indignantly in the air.
“Get off your high horse, dude.” I slap his back. “I’m still your best
friend. Nothing and no one is going to change that, so you don’t need to act
defensive.” He stiffens. Yeah, I sniffed your intentions out a while ago,
buddy.
“Yeah,” he says finally, relaxing. He wraps his arms around me, holding
me tight. I hug him back, feeling comfortable and content now that the
peace has ensued—temporarily. Because I’m not stupid; I know they’ll be
back at it soon enough.
“What’s up, fuckers!” Sebastian shouts as he flings the front door open,
making his presence well known instantly. When his eyes land on the three
of us, his lips form a perfect O, highbrows sky high. “Who died?”
Leo busts out laughing. “Shut the fuck up, stupid.” Seb snickers as he
walks up to the counter. He picks up the remote and turns the volume up.
Now “Something In Your Mouth” by Nickelback is playing. I grin, shooting
Leo a sly grin. It reminds me of the first time we met.
This song played while I was tattooing him, touching him all over with
my fucking gaze. And sure, he’s singing about a female, but the song is just
fucking sex.
I waggle my brows and blow Leo a kiss. My smile widens when his
face blooms with heat. He shakes his head and drops it to his forearms. I
card my fingers through his hair as I pass to go wash my hands. He leans
into the touch.
After, I snap gloves back on and get back to work on inking Leo’s ass,
head bouncing to the beat of the music. Leo’s quiet, still and stoic as the
needles pound into his skin, while Seb and Amos talk animatedly.
“When’s Jeris coming?” Amos asks as he snaps on his own pair of
gloves. I glance up at the clock.
“Should be soon.” Leo stiffens.
“Good shit,” Amos replies, and then, he gets to work placing a stencil
on Seb’s ribs. There’s nothing quite like tattooing during a party. It’s
something me and Amos have only done a handful of times, but it’s a
fucking blast. And I have a feeling tonight will be the best one yet.
My body has long since healed since Soren Cooper kidnapped me—Leo
told me everything about that dude and what a slime ball he is.
But my mind has needed some extra work. Being with Leo, recovering
with him, has been exactly what I needed. Just absorbing each other’s
energy—and cum, if I’m being honest.
Throwing a party, being around people and letting loose, is the dose of
medication my body is craving. Leo, though… I lean down so no one but
him can hear.
“You gonna be okay?” He eyes me.
“Yeah, why?”
“I know how you are, so I wanted to check on you. It’s gonna get loud.”
“I’ll be fine,” he replies tersely. That won’t fucking do. I bite his
earlobe, making him hiss, but instead of pulling away, he leans into it.
“Yeah, you like that, huh?” I tease.
“Shut the fuck up.”
I suck on the fronts of my teeth, nose scrunched up. Leo gives in and
glances at me. I don’t say a word. He huffs. “Fine. I’ll tell you if I need a
break.”
“Thank you. I’m done by the way.” I glance down at the abstract lines.
There’s no rhyme or reason to them other than they look fucking good
wrapped around his ass. An ass I can’t wait to sink my teeth into.
After getting him cleaned and wrapped up, he sits back in my chair, now
back upright. “Want another one,” is all he says.
I laugh. “What am I? At your beck and call?”
He blinks. “Yes.”
“Oh, really.” I cross my arms. “You aren’t even paying me.”
He raises a brow, deadpan. “Do you want me to?”
Yeah, I see what you’re doing, baby.
“Nah, it’s cool. I’d rather you pay me by sitting on my dick later.” Do I
say that a little louder than necessary? Maybe. But Leo can be so hard of
hearing in his old age, I want to make sure he hears me properly.
Sebastian cackles loudly from where he’s sitting, while Amos lets out a
low-key snicker. Seb’s even smacking his fucking leg, he’s laughing so
loud.
“Really,” Leo deadpans—or he tries, but his face is scarlet, flooding
down his neck and disappearing behind the collar of his black T-shirt. The
jeans he’s wearing are perfectly tight, molding to his thick thighs.
“Fuck, I want those wrapped around me,” I blurt. Leo stills. When he
catches where my eyes are, he shifts in the chair, lifting one leg, then the
other. I bite my lip, forcing my gaze to his. He’s got his own heavy stare.
One that makes my dick jolt to attention in my slacks.
“Once you give me what I want,” he barters. My brow hikes.
“Yeah?”
“Mhm.”
 Shit, yeah. I shamelessly readjust my dick, taking a step forward as I do,
putting myself in Leo’s face. He drags his fingers over the material, rough
and agonizing.
“Fine.” I plop down in my chair and get ready to pound more ink into
him—but only because I love it so fucking much. Him wearing my mark,
sitting so well for me.
“A sun,” is all he says. I rear back at the unexpected request.
“A sun,” I parrot, looking down at his wrist. At the tiny sliver of skin
exposed just to the left of the tendons there. He grunts. “What kind of sun?”
“Whatever you want, sweetheart.” I look up through my lashes, but he’s
tight lipped. Hmm. I cock my head to the side. Maybe I’ll get it out of him
later.
“Freehand?”
“Yeah.”
With a shrug, I place a tiny sun on his wrist. The lines are thin and
simple, the shading a light stipple. When I’m done, I kiss his palm and roll
away to get everything cleaned up. He waits for me like a good boy, and
when I’ve finished, I get up and stretch, bowing my back, hands placed at
my hips as I bend backwards.
I catch Leo’s lazy appraisal with my own heated grin. “Ready, baby?”
“With everyone here?” He looks over at the bodies filling the shop. The
music’s loud, the crowd even more so, but the vibe is lively and fun. They
won’t miss us for ten…twenty minutes.
I shake my head and reach for his hand. When his fingers wrap around
mine, I breathe out and take him upstairs with me.
“Where’s Vincent been?” I ask him because I know Leo’s been worried.
“Probably fucking everything up.”
Whatever that means.
The steps creak under my feet. I’m barely here anymore because I spend
most of my time at Leo’s, but all my shit’s still here; it’s just hidden behind
Amos’s mess. “Jesus,” Leo says as we step inside the small apartment.
Clothes are scattered everywhere, a couple of take-out containers
splayed on the shelves. It smells slightly off-putting, like used socks and
sweat.
But then, Leo presses himself against my back, and all I smell is him,
dark and dirty. He nuzzles into my neck, hands finding their rightful place
at my hips. He licks and nibbles his way across my skin.
 I rock my hips back into his groin, eyes rolling back at the hard ridge
buried between my cheeks. It feels good, so I relish in the sensation before
whirling around and pushing him down onto the extended sofa bed.
It rocks, teetering from the imbalance. Leo stills at the threat of it
collapsing, but I don’t. I rip his jeans off, discard my own, and then climb in
his lap. Our bare skin feels unreal. I groan loudly.
The music from downstairs beats heavily through the walls. It feels like
we’re in our own little world.
Always only him and I.
“God, baby,” I moan, rocking against him. He’s dry, but just the velvety
feel of his hard flesh is enough to send me reeling. His lips haven’t left my
skin, hands swiping up and down my spine. I scoot back. “Lay down for
me.”
Leo obliges, face warming as he shimmies his big ass down the bed. It
makes the metal frame knock against the wall. My eyes drag down his
body, over the hard ridges of his abs, tense in anticipation. I dig my
fingertips into the sharp divot along his hip bone, perfectly tapered to his
waist.
I follow the line down to the crease of his thigh, the skin there buttery
soft. I rub back and forth. Leo’s cock fully hardens, resting impatiently
against his abdomen. He whines in the back of his throat, twitching and
trembling under my touch.
I push myself between his spread thighs. They’re so big as they wrap
around my waist, ankles hooking together as he drags me down. My chest
collides with his. I run my mouth over his jaw, over his beard. It smells
woodsy, like tobacco.
Leaning over, I swipe my hand over the top of the stand, snatching up a
bottle of lube. I pop the cap and reach back to drizzle some over Leo’s cock
before soaking my fingers. I want to take my time, but fuck, I want to rush
more.
“Need inside you, big guy. I’m gonna need you to relax for me. Touch
yourself.” His Adam’s apple bobs with a swallow. He wraps his big hand
around his length, fingers overlapping, even with his girth. He plays with
the thick barbell on the underside of his head.
“Yeah, that’s good, baby.” I drag my palm over his balls, rolling them
around, getting them nice and slick before working my way behind them. I
press my way along his taint, applying pressure as I delve between his
cheeks.
Leo hisses and clenches for a split second before he relaxes, melting
into the bed. I massage his rim, getting him nice and soft and slick before
slipping my way inside. It’s all smooth, white-hot heat. His breath hitches,
the only indication I’ve entered him.
“So good. Can you take another? I slid inside you so easily.”
He nods shakily, his chest contracting as he breathes. I lean down to
press a kiss to his hip as I add another. It’s a tighter fit, but shit, he takes
them so well. It doesn’t take long for him to wriggle against my hand,
hesitantly rocking back, trying to get me deeper. Harder.
“Shit, yeah.” I pull out to lather my cock, grabbing the bottle to add a
bit more. When I’m glistening, I crouch down to line myself up. When his
rim is stretched around my head, my eyes roll back.
“Jax,” Leo pants, legs shaking.
“I know, baby. I know.” I keep pushing, and he stretches so fucking
beautifully around me. When my pelvis smacks against his ass, we groan in
unison.
I can’t take it. The heat strangling me, his hot, wet whimpers flooding
my ears. I fuck into him wildly, just needing. Feeling everything he has to
offer.
Sweat drips from my forehead and onto his face. I lean down to lick it
up. Leo meets my tongue with his. And that’s what we become.
Salty passion and cosmic desires melting into something so disturbingly
impossible.
We suffocate on one another as we fall into the black hole we created
for ourselves.
Our own world.
Just him and I.

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“WHEN WOUNDS ARE HEALED BY LOVE, THE
SCARS ARE BEAUTIFUL”

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—DAVID BOWLES

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 LEO’S EPILOGUE

S ix M onths L ater

“I still can ’ t believe you fucking knocked up the girl you almost
killed.” I shake my head as I peer through the glass sliding door leading to
the back deck. Jax and Essa are sitting at the table, drinking coffee and
talking.
The friendship they’ve built over the last six months has been so
incredibly good—for both of them.
They seem to have found solace in one another. Someone to talk with,
to heal with. A mutual understanding of trauma, I suppose.
Either way, I’m just glad to see that smile on Jaxon’s face. It’s been hard
between the both of us. I never could have imagined the way we’d clash
when we both hit a stubborn streak, but we always work through it.
Turns out, hate sex is pretty fucking great.
“What else was I supposed to do?” I turn to look at Vincent, my brow
raised to say, really?
He rolls his eyes, blowing out the smoke from his cigarette. It makes me
light up my own, eyes still fucking open. “Fuck off.”
“I’m serious. It’s not fucking healthy. It’s actually pretty fucked.”
“Yep.” He pops the P with a smirk.
“Vincent.” He’s fucking deranged.
“I said fuck off, Leo. Leave it alone.” He turns away from the window,
but his eyes never leave Essa’s back.
 “Are you ready to be a father?” The question must throw him off
because he whirls around, black eyes gleaming with anger.
“Actually, fuck no. I’m not. I have no idea what the fuck I’m going to
do. I haven’t the slightest fucking idea how to be anything other than what I
am. But what I do know is Essa’s going to be a good ass mom.”
I nod, accepting his words for what they are. Frankly, I didn’t expect
him to even go that far in admitting his thoughts.
Progress.
Over six months ago, I saw him become the worst thing I ever could
have imagined. He had his hands wrapped around Essa’s throat, eyes vacant
as he stole the life from hers.
Fuck, it still gives me chills when I remember running through the trees
to see him like that, so far gone I was terrified I’d never get him back.
I did everything I could to help her, to get her out even, but she stayed.
She’s always been a foolish fucking girl, but she’s allowed to make her own
decisions.
And she chose Vincent, for some fucking reason.
But I’ve seen the way he’s changed over the months, a little more every
day. He’s still ruthless and goddamn demonic, but with Essa, he’s a little
less untamed, a little more gentle.
I know the feeling.
My eyes find Jaxon’s through the glass; the blue in his irises is
impossibly bright. A ray of sun shines through a break in the clouds,
beaming across the left side of his face. The rings in his brow and nose
glint, making his face shine brighter.
He looks happy. Whole and content.
I’m ashamed of my past behaviors. The way I’ve snapped, freaked out,
almost ruined everything. It’s happened more times than I care to admit, but
every time I found myself coming back to Earth, shredding my way through
the anxiety, Jaxon was right there, waiting for me with open arms.
He’s too fucking good for me. But fuck, I can’t lie when I say seeing
him waiting for me, gentle and patient, kickstarts my heart.
I feel younger than I ever have, rejuvenated and light.
The darkness is surprisingly heavy—a weight you can’t imagine until
you’re no longer burdened with the immensity.
Jax raises a brow, lips mouthing the words, “You okay?” I nod, my eyes
crinkling at the corners from the way my heart leaps. He still cares so much.
More than I deserve.
So, so perfect.
“I love you,” I mouth back to him. His button nose wrinkles, the jewelry
in it shifting, too. His lips purse as he blows me a kiss before focusing back
on Essa.
He’s healed the most wretched parts of me. Choosing him, choosing me,
was the best decision I ever could’ve made.
“You’re disgustingly in love with the kid,” Vincent says from
somewhere behind me. I roll my eyes, gritting my teeth.
“He’s only a couple of years younger than you, stupid.”
“I know; he just seems so young. Definitely too young for you. What
are you, forty now?”
A growl works its way through my throat. “Not fucking yet.”
He scoffs. “Close enough.”
“Fuck off, Vin.” I walk across the floor to where Jaxon is waiting for
me. Because he always is, with those beautifully long arms that gave me a
glimpse into a paradise I never thought I could have. A love that rose from
the ashes of my agony.

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 JAXON’S EPILOGUE

O ne Y ear L ater

“C ome here , baby girl !” I squeal happily at P oppy as she hobbles

her way over the slate-gray floor.
“No fuckin’ fair,” Leo grumbles from my right, hunched over on the
couch with a petulant pout. It’s not my fault Poppy loves me more than him.
Poppy’s mostly-toothless grin is wide and drool-filled as she falls into
my arms with a squeak. I breathe out, beaming right back at her. Her dark
hair flops over her forehead in soft waves. I brush it out of her eyes and kiss
her soft forehead.
“Good job, baby!” I tell her, tickling her stomach. Essa and Vincent
walk back into the room with the food they went to pick up. Essa’s smiling,
her green eyes bright with happiness. She’s in a tank top today, so her scars
are on full display along with the tattoos I put into her flesh.
She’s never been ashamed of her scars, but the fact she feels so
comfortable around me, around us, makes my heart ache in a way I’ve
never felt before.
When I first met her, she was so incredibly broken. It was visceral
enough to the point it stole the breath from my lungs. Leo asked me to take
care of her, so that’s exactly what I did.
What I didn’t expect was the way we connected on a level I haven’t
with anyone—except for Amos. Essa and I bonded through trauma like the
best of friends do, and we’ve grown from there.
 Vincent…well. He’s more Leo’s cup of tea. He hasn’t liked me for a
while, and I don’t care much for him anymore, either. He’s…dark. And raw
and twisted in a way that makes my skin crawl. Especially since I know
what he did to Essa.
But I swallow my grievances because she loves him, and honestly, I can
fucking feel the way he loves her, in his own…warped way.
Not that I have much room to talk. Leo and I are toxically codependent,
and I’m more than aware of it. In fact, I encourage it. Especially in ways I
shouldn’t.
Vincent reaches for Poppy, and I let her go, my smile falling a little
when she clambers all over her dad with excitement. He grins back,
blowing raspberries on her neck, making her giggle infectiously.
My chest aches a little. I don’t realize I’m rubbing my sternum until Leo
catches my hand and pulls me down onto his lap, my back to his chest. He
wraps his arms around my waist and buries his face into my neck.
I remember when he never would have been able to do this, especially
in front of Vincent. But now, he’s told all of his truths to those that matter,
and he’s shamelessly himself, in every form that takes.
“I’m so fucking proud of you,” I say, needing him to know. He stills the
path of kisses along my shoulder before placing one last one and pulling
away to squeeze the breath from my lungs.
“I fucking love you.”
“I’m serious, Leo.” I turn around so I’m facing him, palming his
bearded cheek. “I really am. You’re exactly the person you’re supposed to
be, and I’m just glad I’ve gotten to see it.”
“Better late than never, huh?” he quips dryly. I roll my eyes. “It’s only
because of you that I am who I am,” he utters, hands finding purchase on
my waist.
“What—” I start.
“You, Jaxon. You are all of the good in my world. In me. You are the
light of my life, my promise.”
The sounds of Essa, Vincent, and Poppy behind us fade into a dull roar
as I try to blink the tears away, but it’s futile. They stream down my cheeks,
staining their own paths of truth.
“Shit, sweetheart. I didn’t mean—” I shut him up with a hard kiss. Our
noses squish together, chins jabbing, foreheads smacking as I clutch
desperately at him, hoping more than anything he fucking feels what I am,
the way I do for him.
I pull away to breathe, keeping our foreheads together as I card my
fingers through his hair. I look into his eyes, falling into the endless, amber
depths. “And you taught me not all darkness is grim.”

This is their end.

An impossible paradise.

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 AFTERWORD

Leo and Jaxon’s love took me in a direction I never expected. One of

heartbreak and remorse, pain and suffering. They both feel viscerally,
completely. In a way that consumes them. And being in that headspace was
beyond draining, but it was enlightening in an unexpected way.
Their love is toxic, co-dependent, and messy in a way that is
complicated, but I believe love is so much more than a simple word, than a
simple feeling. It’s something meant to consume you. And that isn’t always
a healthy thing. But for them, it’s what they both needed. To feel utterly
absorbed by the other.
I’m beyond satisfied with the way their story ended. The way they
healed; with each other and outside of their own little world. I only hope
you feel the same way.
That said, if you want to read about Vincent and Essa’s messy story or
find out who Essa was with after she ran away from Vincent, check out my
other books!
Thank you so much for reading this story. I can’t believe it’s finally
done and out in the world. Reviews are always so appreciated!

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 ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

As always, I have to thank my family for bearing with me as I dedicated

every second of every day to writing this book while it consumed me. Your
support never fails to amaze me.
My best friend, for always just being there.
Rae, for making my stories better than I could’ve hoped for. Especially
with this one. AND the logo art for Vice? Forever in love. Fucking thank
you.
My beta’s for reading one of the earliest versions and loving it while I
hated it. And for always catching the little things.
My street team for always being the best fucking supporters.
To the authors I admire most. Thank you for hyping this book up.
And of course, my readers. For waiting for this book so patiently while I
took the time I needed to make it the best it could be. Thank you for your
endless support.

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 CONTENT WARNING

detailed murder, mental health struggles, physical violence, grief, death,

mentions of homophobia/homophobic slurs, mentions of past sexual assault
and rape, suicidal thoughts and ideations, death of a child

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 BOOKS BY MARIE ANN

Monsters In Us—Vincent and Essa’s story

Creep (Book 1)
Monster (Book 2)
Fiend (A VinEssa Novella—A Monsters In Us Sequel)

Standalones:
Inevitable Destruction (A dark MM enemies to lovers romance)
Strangled (A MM erotic horror novella)
Fragmented Illusions (A dark psychological thriller taboo MMF romance)
Quiet Is the Night Now (A dark MM friends to lovers romance)

Poetry:
Skin&Bone

Coming soon:
Worthy: A Pride Anthology
Phobia: A Dark Romance Anthology

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 ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Marie Ann is a writer of dark and depraved romance. Her characters are always toxic and damaged to
some degree—which is just how she likes it.

You can find her on almost all forms of social media where her awkwardness is blatantly obvious,
but we pretend it isn’t.

Stalk her here:

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