A soft breath and the weight of his words landed against me with all of the desired impact. I crashed our mouths together, licking the taste of the confession out of his mouth with a growl. Golden grabbed me, his fingers clawing at the hem of my shirt as his mouth opened for me, making way for me to take whatever parts of him I wanted.
“I don’t want my father’s blood on your hands,” I said against his mouth when I stopped for a breath.
“I don’t mind.”
I released him and stepped back. Golden sagged from the pressure of holding his own weight, his shoulders slumped forward and his eyes tired and worn out. I saw it then—the truth of his admission. Every moment we spent together, every breath I’d taken since Golden had gotten the contract on me, was a fight for him. Watching his best friend stitch me up and save my life when every molecule in his body knew I should be dead or dying…
“Better him than me?” I arched a brow, then chuckled. “Never mind. Don’t answer that.”
I bent over and fiddled with the laces on my boots because Golden had done them a little tighter than I liked. He walked away from me with a gentle noise, but had returned by the time I straightened. He had his Ruger in hand, trigger finger tapping against the side of the barrel. My body allowed my heart one beat of surprise before surging with adrenaline. I did my best to mask the fight or flight and leveled an unamused look at him.
“Apparently not,” I said.
Like a flash, Golden shifted his grip on the gun, fingers curling around the barrel and he stretched his arm out, butt of the piece extended in my direction.
“Take it.” The words came out soft, probably quieter than he’d intended, but the room was so silent he might as well have screamed it at me.
“What?”
“Take it,” he said again, blinking rapidly. “Take it and go do what you need to do.”
“I have guns, Golden.” I smirked and rolled my eyes.
“I know.” He enunciated the dual syllables like his life depended on it, his expression steeled against further argument. “Take mine.”
“Golden.”
“Sandro.”
I surged forward, fingers wrapping around the cool end of the Ruger and finger slipping right onto the trigger. I pushed forward, pressing the tip against his chest.
“What did I tell you about that?”
He ignored me, dropping his hands out to his sides and closing his eyes like he’d made peace with something neither of us yet understood.
“I’ve never wanted a partner,” he said, eyes still closed. “You know me well enough to know that’s not what I need.”
That was an understatement.
“Feelings bring liability,” he continued. His eyelids twitched, but his stare remained downcast. “Your father brings liability.”
“You’re a liability.” I checked the safety and slid his gun into my pocket, gathering him into my arms. His body was as it always was—big and warm and solid. Golden was a dangerous man in a thousand different ways and, at that moment, I worried I didn’t even know half of them.
“What do you do with liabilities?” Golden whispered against the side of my head.
“Control them.”
“And how?” he pressed himself against me.
“However they need to be controlled, Foster.” I slid my hand down his side, between our bodies, until I could palm him through the fly of his jeans. He was hard, as I’d expected, and a tight fist around the thick of him had him groaning into my ear. His knees trembled and he leaned against me in the way that had me feeling things I had no right, so I manipulated his erection through his jeans until sweat beaded on his temple and dripped against my collarbone.
“How are you going to explain not ending my life?” I asked, working him through his pants.
“You’re a hard…” he gasped. “Hard man to find…”
“You know where to find me,” I told him.
“Where?”
