But then something happened. Shiloh’s mouth softened, his lips parting, a tiny whine escaping that went straight to Levi’s now half-hard cock. He could have stopped it right then. He could have slipped the gun from his hand and pushed him away, sending him back to his shithead brother.
Instead, he gripped Shiloh’s chin between thumb and forefinger, tugging his mouth open wider before slipping his tongue inside. Once more, Shiloh made this helpless sound, but, this time, Levi just swallowed it down, deepening the kiss, groaning when the boy melted against him.
Fuck, he tasted so sweet and he was so submissive, letting Levi take what he wanted. Which was dangerous. No matter how much Shiloh gave, Levi wanted more. He wanted to drag him over the counter and sit him in his lap and show him a much better way to spend his night. He wanted to take him back to his apartment, strip him down and see what buttons he could press to keep him making those whiny, helpless sounds.
It took him longer than it should have to register that something was vibrating between them. The gun slipped from Shiloh’s fingers, clattering to the floor, then he began struggling against Levi once more, harder this time. Levi reluctantly let him go, taking a step back. Shiloh’s lips were pink and his face flushed. He looked…debauched. Was that a word? He thought it was a word, one from his mother’s worn romance novels with bare-chested pirates holding women with dresses falling off their shoulders.
Shiloh’s miserable gaze fell to his phone, apprehension tugging at his features, making him look somehow both older and younger at the same time. Levi wanted to help him, wantedto tell him not to go, that he would protect him, take care of him. But that was fucking insane.
“He’s going to kill me now,” Shiloh whispered, almost to himself. Then his gaze flicked to Levi, his expression bleak. “I’m…I’m really sorry. About all of it. I didn’t want to do it.”
Before Levi could formulate any kind of coherent thought, Shiloh was turning on his heel, hurrying out the doors and into the night.
“Wait!” he shouted, but the boy was already gone.
Levi stared after him for a long moment, lips tingling, dick hard, a gun at his feet. All because he’d kissed the boy sent to kill him. And now, that boy was going to die.
Because of Levi.
He couldn’t let that happen. He hopped over the counter, bolting out the doors, looking up and down the street. But Shiloh was gone.
Had he ducked into an alley? Had his brother been waiting there for him?
Fear sloshed in Levi’s gut. He didn’t know what to do. He gave one last look, then walked back into the store. He retrieved the gun, noting that the safety was still on. Christ, why would his brother send someone so unqualified to do this job, especially if it was to send a message? He pocketed the weapon and grabbed his phone, already knowing he was about to get an earful.
Jericho answered on the third ring, voice a low rumble as he said, “What’s wrong?”
“I need your help.”
“So, you didn’t kill him…andyou lost my gun?”
To anyone who didn’t know Shiloh’s brother, they would think he was perfectly calm. Mildly amused, even. But those in the room—especially Shiloh—knew that beneath the barely-there smile and soft words was an explosive temper and a capacity for incomprehensible cruelty.
“Micah—” Shiloh started.
“Ah, ah, ah,” Micah said, waggling his finger at him from where he sat at the head of the large table. “You speak when spoken to.”
The others shifted uncomfortably. This wasn’t their first time witnessing one of Shiloh’s punishments. Most of them had stood where he did at least once. Micah wasn’t singling Shiloh out. He did it to be fair. Anyone who disobeyed him, anyone who failed a mission—whatever that mission might be—would be punished accordingly.
No exceptions.
The only real difference between Shiloh and his brother’s douchebag henchmen was that Shiloh had been getting these punishments since birth and most of Micah’s crew had only been around for a few years. Not that Micah needed any of them. They were next to useless. As much as Shiloh hated to admit it, Micah was the mastermind of the operation. He was beyond smart. He was the reason they lived in this fancy house, had decent clothes, had food to eat. But none of it had been gained legally. Micah had his fingers in a lot of people’s pies, so many that even Shiloh didn’t truly understand what he did. Money laundering? Counterfeiting? Shiloh would likely never know. Micah said he was too stupid to understand.
He was probably right. Shiloh felt stupid. He’d done okay in school until Micah had made him drop out. He said college was for losers. But Micah had gone to college. He even had a degree. He’d majored in business and minored in economics. All to become a better criminal.
Shiloh wasn’t smart, but the idiots slouched around the large dining room table certainly weren’t geniuses. They were goons. An intimidation tactic. Micah didn’t need any of them, but he kept them around to look important. And probably to have people he could abuse any time he liked.
Shiloh didn’t get why they stayed. The money couldn’t be that good. Shiloh stayed because, every time he tried to leave, Micah had dragged him back and made him sorry. And last time, he’d punished Malachi for Shiloh’s sins.
But these guys didn’t have to stay. They didn’t have to tolerate his abuse. Maybe they were afraid, too? They all looked bored but there was an undercurrent of fear. Shiloh could practically taste it.
Micah was unpredictable, even on his good days.
Shiloh dropped his gaze to the floor, his hands clasped behind his back, partially because his brother liked himsubmissive but mostly because he couldn’t stop trembling. And he refused to give them all a show.
Shiloh squeezed his eyes shut. “Yes, sir,” he muttered. “Sorry, sir.”
The others in the room snickered, then abruptly fell silent, most likely because Micah had turned his frigid gaze to them. They forgot themselves too often.
