He’d already figured out how the intruder got in: exploiting a loophole for delivery workers, flagging a false scheduled delivery. Which was good because the intruder couldn’t have gotten into the house itself that way, or even much closer than he’d gotten.
It was bad because it meant the intruder was prepared—and familiar with James’s systems.
Loopholes. That was why James’s veins buzzed with triggered alerts. Alarms blinked red behind his eyes.
Kit had slipped past all James’s defenses, using the most effective trick in the book. Luring James himself into inviting him in. That wasn’t Kit’s fault. However singularly enthralling Kit was, James didn’t have to move him in. Didn’t have to sweep him away in a limousine for a lunch date with murder for dessert.
Didn’t have to touch his exquisite face in the aftermath of a massacre.
But James had, and now they were here, deep inside each other, sharing so much breath and skin. Need for vengeance burned sharp, indistinguishable from the bloodthirst that drove James for the past fourteen years. He had finally satisfied that fire. Now it lived again, with a new victim. A new target.
Nausea blended with James’s anger.He didn’t touch me,Kit emphasized repeatedly. Because he had to emphasize it. Because it was possible.
Inevitable, had Kit not disrupted the hunt’s trajectory by turning his father in.
Downstairs was safe. James paused in the foyer, contacting the backup team. They needed clearance to get through the front gate without being electrocuted. Once they were settled in the yard, James headed upstairs.
A certain shadow followed. James ignored the shadow until he was done checking the second floor. Like he was inspecting his anger, too. All the cameras and circuits in order.
James stopped at the stairway to Kit’s attic bedroom. “Are you trying to piss me off?”
Halfway down the hall, Holden shrugged. His thumbs hooked in his pockets, irritatingly casual. Probably on purpose. “Would that help?”
“You want to help me,” James said, deadpan.
“Only for Kit’s sake.” Holden shrugged again. “I guess you’re useful to me, too.”
True. Holden was lucky to have fallen in with their morally flexible crew. Good job opportunities. Supportive home life. Less judgmental than most people about the murderous impulse thing.
James was lucky too, and he’d never been so grateful that Kit had people besides him. Darius and Bishop could stay with Kit while James got his shit together.
And Holden… he was here to check on James, sure. But maybe he needed something, too.
Only one person could leave Holden conflicted. Time for James to pick at both their scabs.
“How much did you already know?” James asked.
Holden grimaced, an unfamiliar expression. “I promised not to tell anyone. He didn’t want me to dig. I knew about the other kids, and I found his dad’s name. But I didn’t know Laird was the Viper. I just knew the charges didn’t make sense.”
Guilt. That was guilt on Holden’s face. How novel.
“You told us anyway,” James said, teasing out the conflict. “Do you regret telling us, or do you regret waiting until a crisis?”
“Both.”
“So, you do have feelings.”
“Always have.” Holden looked away. “They just aren’t nice feelings.” Amusement bled back into his voice. “I like knowing things about Kit that you don’t.”
The deliberate goad didn’t hit.
James expected a resurgence of his own anger, but it didn’t come. Of course he hadn’t known about Kit’s past—he never asked. He never pushed. He treasured each moment he could steal of Kit’s present, each bruise he could kiss into Kit’s future.
“You didn’t do the right thing,” James said. “But you didn’t do the wrong thing, either. Sometimes with other people, there isn’t a right move.”
Heading up the attic stairs, James grinned at Holden’s outrage.
Yeah, psycho. Take some advice from your elder.
