***
That fucker didn’t answer a single one of my questions.
Not even when I threatened to cut his dick off and shove it down his throat.
“You know,” Eli says as we walk across the quiet yard toward one of the houses, “he might’ve actually talked to you if your firstquestion wasn’t‘how the heck can I kill your boss without him knowing?’”
“I said, how thefuck, sweetheart,” I correct, guiding him up the porch steps with a hand on his back. “And I don’t actually want to kill Maverick. I just figured if I caught his man off guard, his face might give something away.”
“The only thing it gave away,” Eli mutters, “is that whatever Maverick pays him, he needs to double it.”
He’s walking so damn slowly. Every step looks like it costs him something.
It’s a good thing the door’s unlocked because I’m done wasting time.
I scoop him up without a second thought and make a beeline for the stairs.
“Put me down, you buffoon!” he yelps, struggling weakly. “You can’t just pick someone my size up. Your knees and back will give out, and we’ll both go toppling down the steps!”
I huff a laugh, tightening my hold as I climb.
“Sweetheart,” I say, kissing the top of his head, “I could carry you up five flights of stairs, over two bikes, and climb a damn refrigerator before my knees gave out. I’m very fucking strong.”
He goes quiet for a second.
“You still shouldn’t risk it,” he sighs. “I would’ve made it… eventually.”
But his head drops against my shoulder anyway, like his body trusts me even if his mind doesn’t…yet.
I carry him into the bedroom and lay him gently on the bed. He sinks into the mattress with a sigh.
I move to take off his shoes.
“Oh, I can—”
“Close your eyes, baby,” I cut in before he can finish. “Just let me take care of you. We can argue about it later.”
His lips part like he wants to protest, but exhaustion hits him first. His eyes flutter shut, lashes brushing his cheeks, and he melts back against the pillow with a soft, helpless exhale that punches right through my chest.
“I’m glad these houses come furnished,” he says sleepily. “My bed is nowhere near as comfortable as this one. I might never leave it.”
“I think I’d be okay with that, pretty boy,” I say, pulling the blanket out from beneath him and tucking him in. “Get some sleep. I’ll check on you in a little while.”
“You don’t have to,” he starts. “I’ll be—”
I don’t let him finish.
I lean in and press my lips to his…soft, careful, just enough to stop the words from tumbling out.
He jolts like I shocked him. His eyes fly open.
“You don’t get to brush me off anymore,” I murmur against his lips. “Not when I almost lost you today.”
When I pull back, his eyes are half-open, dazed and warm, the exhaustion cracking just enough to show the emotion underneath.
His throat works around a swallow, and his voice comes out barely a whisper.
“I wouldn’t have died.”
