Almost as an afterthought, he added,
~XO, SHILOH
He set the piece of paper on the pillow beside Levi’s head, then made a reckless decision, leaning down and pressing his lips to his forehead in a kiss that lingered a moment too long. Then he forced himself to go. He winced when he opened the bedroom door, relaxing when the hinges didn’t protest.
In the living room, Nico was still there, eyes glazed as he watched something on television. He tilted his head, giving Shiloh a curious look, but remained silent, his eyes following Shiloh as he crossed to the door, opening then closing it behind him.
Shiloh was grateful Nico didn’t question him. He had no answers. At least, none that didn’t break his own heart. He walked to the staircase as if everything was fine, but once he was out of sight of the apartment door, he took off, sprinting down the steps and out of the building, ankle smarting from his earlier injuries. But he refused to let that stop him.
He was going crazy. On the street, he didn’t slow. If anything, he only ran faster, his imagination whispering that someone was behind him, chasing him—that if he didn’t keep moving they would overpower him and everything would be over. He made it about three blocks before his lungs gave out.
He bent over, hands on his knees, sucking in lungfuls of air, his ribs protesting beneath the bruises. He looked back, half-expecting to find Levi behind him, but there was nothing. Shilohembraced the knife sharp stab of disappointment. There was a weird sort of comfort in the pain, reminding him he didn’t deserve good things.
It was better that way.
He pulled his phone from his pocket, then called for an Uber. He didn’t have to wait long at this time of night. Once in the car, he kept his eyes closed while the driver spoke to someone on his phone in another language. Vietnamese, maybe? Shiloh rested his head against the cool glass of the window for the whole ride back, dread settling deep within him when his house came into view, curdling in his stomach like spoiled milk.
Shiloh hated this place. It was a two-story modern home with six bedrooms and seven bathrooms, luxurious enough to appeal to Micah’s ego, but remote enough for the neighbors to mind their own business. The nearest home was at least five miles in any direction, ensuring nobody could hear Shiloh scream. The distance also ensured nobody picked up on Micah’s business ventures.
He pressed in the code for the gate, then slowly made the short walk up the drive. The lights were on. Usually, that meant nothing given Micah’s minions often stayed and partied even when Micah himself was away for business. Still, Shiloh attempted to guard himself to the best of his ability. There was nothing worse than a surprise attack.
He disengaged the lock, then pushed open the heavy wooden door, praying nothing waited for him on the other side. But luck never favored Shiloh. Ever. Micah sat in the parlor, slouched in a fancy wingback chair, jean-clad legs crossed at the ankles, a near full whiskey glass in his hand.
When he saw Shiloh, he grinned. Not the look he gave right before he beat the shit out of him, but the smug one he saved for when he felt he’d won some victory against him.
“Welcome back, little one. Did you do what I told you?” he asked.
Shiloh didn’t answer, just stalked across the room, pulling the gun free and slamming it down onto the table beside him. “Here.”
To an outsider, it would appear as if nothing had changed between them. Micah still sat; Shiloh still stood. But the subtle shift in Micah’s eyes set Shiloh’s nerves on edge, like the screaming violin in a horror movie. His brother stayed sitting, blinking at him with this lazy hostility, letting Shiloh know the only thing keeping him from a beating was fatigue, like he was simply too tired to beat the shit out of his sibling again and like he was annoyed that Shiloh would even put him in a situation where he needed to beat him.
Instead, Micah picked up the gun and pointed it directly at Shiloh’s head, his voice quiet, every word enunciated for effect. “I asked you a question.”
But Micah wasn’t the only one who was tired. Shiloh was tired, too. He was angry, too. Too angry to even care about the gun pointed at him. As far as history went, it was one of Micah’s less creative intimidation tactics.
“And I didn’t answer,” Shiloh retorted, mimicking his brother’s cadence back to him.
It was easier to be bold after a really good beating. Micah held back after that. It wasn’t out of concern by any means, it was just strategy. Micah didn’t want to kill Shiloh. He’d have nobody to torment if he did. Micah also liked luring Shiloh into a false sense of security. It was always more fun whenever Shiloh didn’t see it coming.
Shiloh’s time with Levi had left him raw. He just wanted to sleep. Heneededsleep. A deep, dreamless, drugging sleep. He opened his mouth to say so when Micah pulled the trigger.
He startled at the hollow click of the gun dry-firing, his heart thundering in his ears. He sighed, his words dull from an exhaustion so profound he couldn’t even name it. “You could have killed me.”
He could tell from Micah’s expression that he’d hoped for a bigger reaction. Fear, anger, tears, surprise. Something. But there was no element of surprise anymore. Shiloh always expected the worst, he always saw it coming. He just no longer had the brain capacity to worry about Micah’s motives.
Micah chuckled, releasing the magazine, showing him it was empty. “I know the weight of this gun loaded or empty,” he bragged. “Besides, I’m assuming your little boyfriend had enough sense to not hand you a loaded gun. He’s seen how useless you are with one.”
It was his mention of Levi that ignited the little fight Shiloh had left. As hopeless as he felt, there was this tiny sliver of a chance that, maybe, there could be something more with Levi, no matter how absurd or impossible it seemed. He clung to that hope. Held it tight. Used it as duct tape across his mouth to keep him from deliberately antagonizing Micah into doing something drastic.
Instead, he just stared at his maniac brother for a full minute while he waited for his heart rate to return to normal, then he turned, heading towards the stairs. “Goodnight, Micah,” he managed.
Micah’s chuckle was borderline deranged. “You didn’t answer my question. Did you do what I told you?”
“You got your gun back,” he said just loud enough for his brother to hear.
“Did you fuck him or not?”
Shiloh didn’t acknowledge Micah’s words, focused on putting one foot in front of the other, eyes on the stairs.
