But when his hand drifted to his crotch and he adjusted himself as if he’d forgotten I was still watching—or didn’t care—I knew this wasn’t just idle flirting. It wasn’t a game. His breath was shallow, pupils blown wide, the faintest pink creeping up his cheekbones. He wantedme. And he wanted something from me he didn’t think I could give him.
“Lyric…”
The sound of the back door creaking open and the unmistakable scuff of heavy boots across concrete stopped him in his tracks. The tension snapped, bothof us turning toward the noise. Jamie’s voice followed, clipped and low, talking to someone.
And when I looked back, he was normal-stoic Rio again.
But I adjusted myself as well, right in front of him, and I saw the desire flash in his eyes.
Fuck.
If he only knew what I wanted to do to him.
Something bright, hot, andcompletelyfucking dangerous.
SIXTEEN
Rio
A pickup in the afternoon,Jamie on guard duty, and it meant I didn’t get to talk to Lyric anymore today—at least that was the excuse I gave myself, because sure as fuck I was avoiding him. A day, he said. He was going to give me a day and put me on my knees.
Jesus. His voice—his threat, his promise, whatever the fuck it was—chased me in my sleep as if it had teeth.
Not even ten minutes in the shower the morning after that declaration, one hand on the wall and the other between my legs, fingering myself, pushing hard, trying to chase the edge, got me there. With scalding water pounding, I imagined someone pinningme down—himpinning me down—making me feel everything I swore I didn’t need.
Still wasn’t enough.
I was antsy, edgy, and spent all of Saturday dodging Lyric as if he were a live wire—which, to be fair, he was. Easiest thing in the world with him and Jamie holed up doing whatever digital wizardry they were buried in. I didn’t understand half the words they used, and I didn’t try to. We all had our uses. Next time someone needed to swing a bat, or a crowbar, or walk into hell with fists up? That’d be me. But tech? No thanks. My phone was about as much circuitry as I trusted myself with.
Well, that and the complicated wiring looms in nineties cars, I could handlesomeof that. The rest was on Jamie, and Robbie, our electrician-in-training.
Strangely, the fight with Bruno wasn’t dominating my thoughts. Sure, the usual adrenaline was there—excitement tangled up with nerves that made my skin itch—but it didn’t feel as if it was the main event. Not with everything else clawing through my head. Still, when the clock hit five, I was damn glad. Time to move. Time to fight. Time to shut my brain off and let instinct take over.
I headed out into the main garage where Enzo washunched over the gutted front end of a boxy old Volvo, elbows deep and cursing under his breath.
“You doing overtime?” I asked, even though that wasn’t really a thing at Redcars. We got paid well and did what needed doing—clock-watching wasn’t part of the deal. Still, it was a way to open the door to some banter.
Enzo snorted. “If by overtime you mean babysitting a car with more rust than function, sure.”
“You love it,” I said, grinning.
He glanced over his shoulder. “I love when you fuck off and let me work in peace.”
I leaned against the bench, arms crossed. “You’re grumpier than usual.”
“That’s ’cause someone’s been stomping around itching to fight.”
I chuckled despite myself. “Can’t imagine who.”
Enzo grinned back. “You heading out to the Pit?”
“Yeah.”
“Where’s it at?”
“You coming?”
“Not tonight,” he said it casually, but I couldn’t remember the last time Enzo had come to a fight—not since Robbie showed up, that much I knew. I didn’t blame him. Why waste a night watching me beat the hell out of someone when he could be homewith the man he loved, safe and warm and not bleeding?
