“You’re not serious,” Jericho said. They were terrible last words, but they were all he could think of. “You’re not going to do this.”
Wade stared at him. “I’m holding a fucking gun. And I have every reason to want to shut you up.”
“Killing a cop? How much extra heat would that bring down on you?”
“Like the fed I killed last month?” Wade actually licked his lips as if savoring the memory. “Can’t say I’ve felt any repercussions from that. And dead cops aren’t that big of a deal these days, not in Mosely.”
“Kay would make it a big deal.”
“Kay’s in the process of kicking you off the force. I’m sure she’ll be upset, but she’ll get over it.”
Jericho needed to move. To attack. He was stronger than Wade, he could overpower him if he got the chance. But Wade had always been faster than Jericho. Too fast. And Wade had the gun half-raised, now. Pointed at about gut-height, but still off to the side.
Wade wasn’t pointing the gun directly at him. Not yet. If Jericho moved, Wade could aim fast enough. But Wade knew his gun-safety rules. Never point a gun at someone you don’t want to shoot.
That was all Jericho had, but he needed it to be enough.
“You won’t do it.” He couldn’t let himself think about Eli, couldn’t wonder if his father had felt this same sense of trust immediately before Wade pushed him off the damn cliff. “It’s me, Wade. You and me, just like always. I have no fucking idea how things are going to end between us, but I know it’s not going to be like this. And you know it too.”Please, please let him know it too.
Wade stared at him and raised the gun higher, aimed it closer. “You’re too confident, Jay. You’re counting on shit you shouldn’t be counting on.”
“Counting on you, Wade?” God, this had to work. “Okay. Fine. Point the fucking gun at my face, and look at me while you’re doing it. Tell me I’m wrong to believe you won’t hurt me. Tell me that and pull the fucking trigger.”
Wade didn’t move the gun. Didn’t raise it, didn’t lower it.
Jericho had no more words. And for once, Wade didn’t seem to have a speech.
Slowly, so slowly, Jericho reached his hand out. Not toward the gun, but toward Wade. The back of Jericho’s knuckles traced along Wade’s arm, the one at his side. Then up to his neck, down along his chest. Familiar, foreign territory. Jericho let himself exhale. “Put the gun away, Wade. It’s a bit of a mood killer.”
Then Wade moved. As fast as Jericho had known he could, but his body, not his gun hand. Forward, into Jericho, shoving him backward, his mouth finding Jericho’s in a desperate, bruising kiss that felt like a question, a demand, and a statement. But not a threat.
Jericho lost track of where the gun was—it didn’t matter anymore. He gripped Wade’s shirt, pulled him in even though they were already tight against each other, and kissed back, just as hard.
But Wade pulled away. “You’re killing me,” he gasped. “You can’t wander around town thinking you’re fucking safe.” He tucked his gun back under his jacket, giving him two hands for grabbing Jericho by the shoulders and shaking him. “Getting in Mike DeMonte’s car after I told you he was a fucking psychopath? Thinking you’re invincible or something?” He jerked his chin toward the healing scar on Jericho’s shoulder. ”You’re not bulletproof, Jay.”
“No. Not bulletproof. But you were there—you shot a fed, you got me out of there.”
“You can’t— Fuck,Ican’t. I can’t always be there. You can’t count on me. You can’t assume you’re safe around me.”
“I’m safe around you. And it’s not your job to keep me safe anywhere else.” The adrenaline was still coursing through Jericho’s body, but it was moving differently now.
“Fuck,” Wade said, maybe to himself, and his shoulders slumped in defeat. “So, what now? You go tell your theory to the feds?”
Jericho nodded. “Pretty soon, yeah. But first—”
Wade was ready for him. Wade of the laughing eyes, the generous mouth. Wade who knew Jericho well enough to anticipate his lunge and catch it, spin it, turn it into something closer to a dance. Wade who allowed himself to be pinned against the wall, gave Jericho’s brain a chance to at least partly catch up to what his body had just done, and then tucked his warm fingers inside the waistband of Jericho’s jeans.
“Shit,” Jericho murmured, but that was all he could manage before Wade’s lips were on his, Wade’s tongue lapping protestations away before Jericho could form the impulses into words.
This was stupid, and Jericho knew it, but that didn’t matter. Wade’s jacket fell to the floor, a dull thud making it clear that the gun had fallen too. Jericho’s fingers were quick and sure on the buttons of Wade’s shirt, his earlier apprehension gone now that he was actually doing something he’d wanted to do for so long. He pushed the gray fabric off the golden skin of Wade’s shoulders, pulling his head away to watch, almost hypnotized, as its beauty was revealed. Wade had been a skinny kid and he was still a lean man, but there was a layer of tight, hard muscles stretched across the familiar bones now. The dusting of dark hair was new too, and Jericho wanted to slow everything down so he could explore more thoroughly.
Then Wade’s fingers curled just a little in Jericho’s waistband, just enough to remind him how tight his jeans had become and how simple it would be to fix that discomfort.
Stupid! Stupid!a distant thought warned him, but it was easy to ignore that when he could run his hand over the front of Wade’s shirt and make the man bite back a moan.
Jericho propped one forearm on the wall beside Wade’s head and kept their faces close together while his other hand skimmed down Wade’s chest again and then flipped open the button on his jeans. Jericho was in control now, and it was about damn time. He yanked the zipper down, and that was all the room he needed. Quickly, efficiently, he slid his hand inside Wade’s underwear and eased the elastic waist down to tuck under his balls.
There wasn’t time to appreciate the view, not when something more important was going on. Jericho closed his fist around Wade’s shaft, so intent on the task that he barely noticed what Wade was doing until his own pants were open and his own cock was wrapped in a tight, warm grip. Of course. This was Wade; he wouldn’t give up without a fight.
