Just weeks before that normal college student started dating Bishop’s… before Holden started dating Kit?
Bishop bid his clients farewell with a reassuring smile, then fled the house on autopilot. The quiet suburban street yawned empty and dark. Bishop flung his briefcase into his car, and was dialing James on speaker before he even closed his car door.
James answered immediately, half-shouting over the music on his end. “What’s wrong?”
“Where’s Kit right now?” Bishop demanded, pulling open his tracking app.
“He’s in a bedroom on the second floor.” The music grew quieter, and James’s voice got clearer. “I’m surprised they made it that far. Holden looked like he wanted to fuck Kit right over the bar. Maybe I’ll do that when they’re done.”
The loading circle spun around the tracking app as James spoke. Then it blinked red, and a banner popped up:
Device Disconnected
“James,” Bishop said sharply, starting his car. “Get eyes on him now. Something’s wrong.”
“On it.” James’s voice chilled. “Call Darius.”
The music blared louder, then cut off as James hung up. Bishop stepped on the gas, and barely hesitated before turning left at the next intersection.
Turning right was the quickest way to campus, but his own house wasn’t far away. Instinct told Bishop he wanted a few more guns for this.
James’s mind raced, but he forced himself to move carefully. Music and laughter pulsed through the darkness. This was an unfamiliar environment, jam-packed with unfamiliar people. He wouldn’t help Kit by panicking.
Even if his every nerve screamed alarm. Even if his lungs tightened, the grubby walls closing around him as if he wasn’t in a crowded co-op. He was curled up in a closet, suffocating under winter coats, while everyone he loved died.
James shook off the memories as he mounted the staircase. He wanted a gun, but the bottle in his hand would work as a weapon if he needed one. Broken glass could do plenty of damage.
The second floor of the co-op was quieter. There was no noise behind the bedroom door that James’s tracking app led him to. James exhaled, readying himself—then kicked the door down.
A girl down the hall shouted, “What the fuck, dude?”
James ignored her, focused entirely on… the empty, silent bedroom. Posters of porn stars writhed across the walls. Clothing scattered across the unmade bed. A broken bong sat next to an intact bong on top of the mini fridge.
Kit’s cell phone sat on the bedside table. But Kit himself was nowhere in sight.
Kit would never leave his phone on purpose.
James’s panic crystallized into something sharper, colder. He shouldn’t have taken his eyes off Kit. This was his fucking fault. But he would tear himself apart with guilt later. Now, he had only two goals.
Find his boyfriend and kill Holden Radley.
James tucked Kit’s phone into his jacket pocket, then pulled out his own phone to send a voice memo to Bishop and Darius.
Darius was still on the phone with Bishop when James’s memo came through. He listened to it along with the echo on Bishop’s end, clear through his earbud.
“Kit isn’t with his phone. I’m searching the house. Get over here now.”
James had that edge to his voice that made Darius nervous. Taking that furious, personal energy to a job was dangerous.
Darius shoved his own fear deep down, out of the way, where he couldn’t trip over it. He shoved down his relief too—being prepared for this was good, but Darius distrusted positive emotions as well as negative ones. Either could slow him down.
Darius’s phone buzzed again with an address drop.
“You think this Holden kid is responsible?” Darius asked, sliding a gun into his side holster. Bishop and James seemed certain Holden Radley was to blame. Darius trusted their judgment, but he didn’t like to make assumptions.
It could be one of Darius’s enemies. One of James’s enemies. Fuck, it could be related to the hit that Kit swore wasn’t a problem anymore. Which would mean it was Darius’s fault for believing Kit.
Darius couldn’t think about that now. Regret was a luxury. He texted his sister a code phrase—not an evacuation signal. Just a note to be prepared:Hey, might be late next week.
