Chapter 12

An airof something heavy fell over them. Silence filled with a whole lotta shit Scotty couldn’t have even dreamt up while high off his ass. He’d broken into Zander’s place and entered an entirely different world. It scared him, but he tried not to show it.

Vince didn’t look scared.

Zander for sure wasn’t scared. He looked scary. As if he were thinking up ways to decimate somebody. As long as it wasn’t Scotty. Or Vince. He’d thought his life was fucked up but nope, Vince and Zander tied for that award. Compared to them, dealing with his uncle Don had been freaking paradise.

He stroked Vince’s legs absently as the agent laid his head back on the arm of the couch. Zander sat next to them stiffly, as if he didn’t know what to do with his body, where to put it. Scotty almost felt sorry for him, until he remembered just who Zander was.

Man, he’d really fucked up, hadn’t he? Breaking into a professional killer’s place? A snort left him. Then a chuckle.

Under his touch, Vince’s legs twitched. “What’s so funny down there?”

Scotty glanced at him. “Just thinking about how I fucked up, breaking into this one’s place.” He jerked his chin in Zander’s direction, a laugh spilling past his lips. “Who the fuck did I think I was?”

Vince’s lips twitched, but his gaze was heavy, searching. “Somebody who needed help, that’s who you were. Still are.” He glanced at Zander, who hadn’t said a word. “Zander’s gonna make sure you’re okay.”

Scotty narrowed his eyes, his hand stilling. “What does that mean?”

“When I’m gone, he’s gonna make sure you never have to fear your uncle again.” Vince shrugged as if it were no big deal and he said a lot of shit, but all Scotty could focus on was the first part.

“When you’re gone? So you’re just… You’re just gonna let him do what he plans to do? Give you over to his uncle like some kind of fucked-up gift?”

“Not much I can do in my current position,” Vince told him softly.

And those words hit Scotty in the chest because it was his fault. Vince in pain, incapacitated and unable to mount a defense against Zander’s schemes—that was on Scotty. “What do I do?” He reached for Vince, grabbing his left hand, the one unaffected by the gunshot wound. “How do I fix this?”

“Nothing you can do.” Zander chose that moment to speak up.

“Shut up!” Scotty yelled the words before he even thought them. “Don’t fucking talk to me.”

“Scotty, hey. Chill.” Vince’s fingers tightened painfully around his. “What you can do is calm down. I just told you, don’t provoke him.”

But Scotty barely heard him. It wasn’t fair. Vince was the only good person he knew. He protected Scotty even after what Scotty did. And Zander was just going to hand him over like that? The thought of not ever seeing Vince again made it hurt to breathe. “You can deal with your uncle without using Vince,” he pleaded with Zander who sat between them. It was futile, trying to get a trained killer not to do what he’d been programmed to do, but still, he tried. He begged, grabbing Zander’s forearm. “Please. If anyone can do that, it’s you. Don’t—” His lips trembled. “Don’t take him from me.” Vince wasn’t willing to beg and plead, but Scotty didn’t have those qualms.

Zander’s expression gave nothing away as he stared down at Scotty’s hand on his arm.

“Scotty.” Vince yanked on the hand he was still holding. “Stop it.”

A tear rolled down Scotty’s face as he pleaded with Zander. “Please.”

Gaze inscrutable, Zander swiped a thumb through the wetness on Scotty’s cheek. “You’re pretty when you cry, you know that?”

“Zander.” Vince issued the warning in a growl and Zander’s lips curled.

“Nah, Fed.” He held Scotty’s gaze. “He’s a big boy. Let him say what he wants to say.” There was a threat in there, Scotty heard it clearly, and though it made his pulse race and dried out his mouth, he kept going.

“It’s not Vince’s fault. It’s mine.” He released Zander and thumped his own chest. “I did this. I set it in motion, so blame me. Use me.” His voice trembled, the words trickling down to almost nothing. “Let Vince go.”

“Don’t listen to him,” Vince interjected. “He doesn’t know what he’s saying?—”

“Oh, he knows.” Zander never once took his eyes off Scotty. “You know that. I know that. And if he wants to throw himself on his sword, who am I to stop him?”

Scotty blinked. What did that mean? Was that—Was Zander going to agree?

“He’s not gonna do shit.” Vince’s voice rose, and Scotty heard the strain in it. The worry.

He broke away from Zander’s stare, so strong and almost tangible, and focused on Vince, who was trying to sit up, expression pinched.

“Hey.” Vince glowered between Scotty and Zander. “Don’t speak for me. This is my choice and you’re not going to take it from me. We made a deal”—he directed that to Zander—“and I pegged you as a man of your word.” He paused, narrowing his eyes at Zander. “Was I wrong?”

Zander shrugged. “Talk to your boy, not me.”

Vince exhaled loudly then released his grip on Scotty to pinch the bridge of his nose. “I swear you two are just…” A rumbling sound echoed between them, Vince’s stomach growling, which he ignored to continue scolding Scotty. “Weren’t you cowering in a corner, afraid of your own shadow, like, two seconds ago?” He lifted an eyebrow. “What changed?”

There was nothing to smile about and still Scotty’s lips curved. “I just—I figure I’m not gonna live to see morning, so why the fuck not? Besides”—he touched Vince’s knee—“I think you’re one of the good ones, and people like me need as many of you as we can get.”

Vince smiled. And then his stomach rumbled again.

Scotty pulled back. “You’re hungry. Let me get you?—”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine.” Zander stood and went over to a few boxes stacked in a corner, rummaging through them before coming up with several containers of cup noodles. “You should eat something other than chips.” He glanced at Scotty. “You too.” As they stared at him, he left the room holding the noodles.

Vince cupped Scotty’s jaw. “Hey, listen.” When Scotty faced him, he pressed his lips together, expression turning pensive. “Please, listen. Don’t antagonize Zander. Please. I’ve made my decision.”

“But you can’t.” That was a whine and Scotty didn’t even care. “You can’t leave me.” It was weird. It felt as if they’d been locked in the shop for months when it’d only been hours. Felt as if he’d known Vince all his life. There was a draw there Scotty didn’t quite understand, but he wasn’t up for questioning it. Not then.

“I don’t want to leave you.” Something flashed in Vince’s eyes—regret maybe—and he stroked a thumb across Scotty’s jaw. “I wish things were different.” He blew out a breath. “But they’re not.”

Scotty circled Vince’s wrist, holding his hand to his face, ensuring Vince kept touching him. “But they could be.” He tilted his chin up, leaning closer to the other man while remaining conscious of Vince’s wound so as not to hurt him. “If you want things to be different, change them.” They were close enough for him to press his forehead to Vince’s. To feel the other man’s breath on his face. It warmed Scotty’s belly. Stirred him in a way he hadn’t been in a long time, a feeling he should probably be ashamed of. But he welcomed it.

Welcomed, too, Vince’s touch that slipped from his jaw to his nape, fingers firm, pressing deep. Scotty’s breath shuddered in his lungs as he gazed into Vince’s eyes. What was happening, he couldn’t really say. But he could admit not wanting to move from their current position, to not caring about the hows and the whys.

Not when Vince’s lips brushed his own. Soft and tentative. Testing. Scotty didn’t think he’d ever been properly kissed. Or maybe it had happened while he’d been high and couldn’t recall. Either way, Vince’s lips on his felt like a first. Like a moment he never wanted to forget and he was fucking glad that he was sober for this. That he’d be able to recall the texture of Vince’s lips, the way they curved against his. How they felt—firm but still somehow soft.

He moaned, reaching out to Vince, clutching his t-shirt, fisting it, and parting for him. Their tongues met and Scotty’s breath hitched. Vince grunted, deepening the kiss, fingers spasming on the back of Scotty’s neck.

Scotty would always remember his taste. Would always remember the fire that spread through his body, shooting down his spine and settling in his groin, waking his dick from its long slumber.

Fuck.His head spun. So that was what it felt like to want someone, to experience pleasure without the artifice of drugs tainting it. He inched backward, just enough to break the kiss. “Vince.”

Vince blinked at him with eyes that seemed to sparkle, lips wet, a muscle ticking in his jaw. “I’m sorry. I?—”

Scotty kissed him this time, hard and bruising to shut him up because there was nothing to be sorry for. He wasn’t sorry. Vince’s hand on his neck drifted down Scotty’s back, caressing, drawing little moans.

A sound filtered in and he ignored it, but Vince was the one to pull away first, though he took his time. When Scotty cleared his vision, he glanced up to find Vince’s stare trained over Scotty’s shoulder. Scotty followed his gaze.

Zander stood in the open doorway, staring at them, features as hard as granite, eyes darker than Scotty had ever seen. He carried three containers of the noodles in his hands, steam escaping out the open tops. The aroma made Scotty’s stomach rumble, but that wasn’t what caught his attention.

No.

It was the outline of Zander’s very obvious, very impressive erection pressing against the front of his jeans.