“Fuck,” Kit said, his own voice distant. “I missed.”
James laughed. The nervous edge was barely audible. “You definitely hit him, babe.”
“No,” Kit said. “He isn’t dead.”
Everyone else fell silent. Then Holden ruffled Kit’s hair.
“Great shot,” Holden said, not nervous at all. After some complicated eye contact with Darius, he eased the gun from Kit’s stiff hands.
“Need to call my security backup,” James said, phone to his ear. “Tell him nothing’s wrong. Unless we need backup?” James added, raising his voice.
“Stand by,” Bishop called back. “I don’t know this guy, but I recognize him. He’s been poking around my neighborhood as a realtor.”
Kit jerked forward, and Darius let him move this time. Just enough out of the garage to see Bishop, crouching over the pressed-down bushes. The dark, twitching, groaning figure slumped on the ground.
Not Dad, then. Not Archie Calvin, either.
Nausea wavered through Kit. Disappointment or sick relief. He hadn’t shot Dad.
Of course, Dad wouldn’t come himself. He enjoyed getting his hands dirty, but he would never risk getting caught.
“I’ll help Bishop,” Holden said, and strode out.
Darius still held Kit’s shoulder, but his touch had changed from an iron grip to slow, soothing circles. “Why did you shoot?”
Wasn’t it obvious? “He shouldn’t have been there.”
Darius’s slow massage moved to the back of Kit’s neck. The warm touch was the only real sensation Kit could feel. “Can’tfault you for that. I’d love to take credit for your aim, but I’m guessing that’s another thing you’ve been hiding.”
Across the driveway, Holden bent with Bishop over the injured intruder.
“Dad taught me how to shoot,” Kit said, and he shouldn’t have worried that speaking his secrets aloud would make them real. Nothing was real. “But I missed.”
Holden straightened up. “I’ve seen him before, too,” he called out. “The pervert who was watching us in the SCU parking lot.”
Mr. Tweed.
So, they had a stalker. Holden’s school, Bishop’s neighborhood, now the new house. Kit didn’t have time to process that before Holden aimed down and fired.
The gunshot was quiet, as gunshots went. Kit’s bones rang, while Holden didn’t flinch with the recoil. Like Kit was the one who shot again, because Holden was an extension of his desires. Because Holden wanted to finish what Kit started.
Silence followed. No more twitching and groaning.
Bishop stood, hands on his hips. “Why the hell did they let you take the gun?”
“They were distracted,” Holden said cheerfully, holding it out. “Here you go.”
“Keep it.” Bishop waved him off. “Can someone help me with this? Someoneelse?”
James put his phone away. “On it.” He was in front of Kit suddenly, bending down to eye level. “Are you…” Whatever he saw in Kit’s face cut off any questions. He just pressed a kiss to Kit’s forehead, rough, lingering forever, even as he took off across the yard.
“I need to clear the house,” Darius said, professional, calm. Kit thought the words were directed at him, until Darius added, “Can you hold Kit?”
Holden was right there. “Any time, D.”
“I won’t run away,” Kit said. “I promise.”
Darius rubbed Kit’s neck again, and said far too kindly, “That’s not what I’m worried about, boy.”
