Nero rolled over, chest tight, arms flailing, suffocating in the murky blackness of the dank cellar, his brain vibrating to the stampeding beat of his heart. He cried out, though for who he didn’t know, because no one ever came.
Gasping awake, he curled instinctively into the foetal position, but his knees hit a warm mass.
What the fuck?
Nero’s eyes flew open, but the paralysing fear he so often woke with was absent, held at bay by the sight of the pale, slender man stretched out fast asleep beside him.
Lenny’s shock of white-blond hair gleamed in the dark like a halo. Nero reached out to touch it before he remembered why it was here. He combed lightly through the silky strands, and trailed his fingertips down Lenny’s face, tracing his cheekbone, ghosting down his jaw. Part of him craved the heat of Lenny’s fierce gaze, and as the stolen moment tunnelled through the haze of complication between them, Nero found himself willing time to stop so they could always be like this.
Inevitably, though, reality made itself known. Lenny stirred, like he’d sensed the disquiet in Nero’s fragmented mind. He opened his eyes, but they were vacant and unseeing, and a split second later they fluttered closed again, leaving Nero to wonder if he’d imagined it.
But there was no make-believe in how it felt to have Lenny in his bed, the warmth of him, and the sound of his soft, even breaths. Nero rarely had shared a bed—to sleep, at least—and as hard as he tried, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d woken to someone sleeping beside him. And Lenny’s quiet presence was like a drug. Nero’s eyes grew heavy, his heart slowed, and he slipped into the kind of sleep he’d been chasing for years.
Insistent banging on the front door roused Nero sometime the next morning. He sat up, grumbling; it would be some idiot from downstairs who couldn’t find a teaspoon. So much for a lie in—not that he’d truly anticipated one. He woke most days before the sun, unless—
A trembling hand closed around Nero’s wrist. “Who is it?”
Nero blinked. So it wasn’t a dream. But before his brain could implode at the thought of what that meant, the sight of Lenny huddled at the headboard, his knees drawn tight to his chest, his eyes wide with fear, took over. “Len—”
“Who’s at the door?”
“I don’t know, but it won’t be anyone we don’t know. It’s—” Nero checked his phone “—half seven. Debs is downstairs counting stock with Spanks. They wouldn’t dare let anyone up here, so it’s gonna be one of them, I promise.”
Lenny looked far from convinced. “You can’t be sure.”
Nero’s phone vibrated. He tossed it down the bed without glancing at it. “Yes, I can. In all the time I’ve lived here, no one outside of Urban Soul staff has ever knocked on that door. Some days, Cass don’t even bother knocking. Fucker just lets himself in and sticks the kettle on when he remembers his key.”
Lenny savaged his bottom lip, digging his teeth in so hard he drew blood. Nero scrambled up on his knees and took Lenny’s face in his hands. “Lenny, mate. You gotta calm down. I can hear your heart juddering from here, and I’m telling you, it ain’t worth it for Debs’s ugly mug.”
For a long moment, Lenny said nothing, just trembled, his breath caught in his throat, and his face so pale Nero half expected to see bone. Then he let out a shaky breath and brought his hands to Nero’s. “You sure it’s Debs?”
“It might be Spanks.”
“No one else, though?”
“No one else.” Nero brushed a light kiss to Lenny’s lips, surprising himself as much as he clearly surprised Lenny. “I’m gonna answer it before Spanks takes a piss though the letterbox. Chill out, yeah? Go back to sleep.”
He got up, knowing all too well that his attempts at comfort had done little to ease Lenny’s fears. And who could blame him when he’d spent so long with that creep following him around?
Fuck’s sake. Rage rumbled in Nero’s veins. He pulled on the trackies he’d discarded the night before, trying not to think about the fact that he was stomping around in his pants in front of Lenny, or to imagine his hawkish gaze on the faint scars he’d likely noticed on the backs of Nero’s thighs. God knew, Nero had enough bullshit spinning his head without having to dodge Lenny’s inevitable questions about that.
Out in the hall, he wrenched the front door open. “All right, all right. Stop fucking with my door—”
The words died on his lips. Coppers. Fuck. Nero’s blood ran cold, his skin prickled, and every fight-or-flight instinct he’d ever had roared to life.
“Mr. Fierro?”
The first policeman stepped forward. Nero blocked the door. “What’s it to you?”
“We’re looking for Lenny Mitchell. Your employees downstairs said he was staying with you.”
“They’re not my employees. I just work here.”
“Mr. Fearnes told us you were in charge.”
Tom. Something clicked in Nero’s chaotic mind, but he widened his stance. They’re coppers. Don’t trust ’em. “What do you want Lenny for?”
“Could we come in?”
