Kit rolled his eyes. “I’m not worried. I was just curious whose hand it was.”
Darius wasn’t the new Rat King, exactly. It was just easier for the underground organization to think so, while Darius dismantled the parts that were too distasteful or tedious to work with.
Burning the whole organization to the ground would be easiest. But that would leave a power vacuum in San Corvo’s underground. Just like when the Viper retired, giving the Rat Kings room to take over in the first place.
“Oh, right.” Darius leaned back and called out. “Hey, B! There’s a hand in the fridge. Can you run the DNA?”
Bishop turned around from his laptop. “How soon do you need it?”
“No rush,” Darius said. “Whenever it’s convenient.”
“You got it,” Bishop answered.
“You don’t even know whose hand it is?” Kit asked, aghast. Then James slid over a glass, a neon green umbrella stuck in the slush. “This looks amazing.”
James jerked the glass out of Kit’s grasp. “Nuh-uh. You have to pay for your drink.”
This again.
“Oh no, I forgot my wallet.” Kit chewed his lip. “Is there any other way I can pay?”
James tapped his lips, pretending to think, as if they didn’t do this at least three times a week. “I suppose you could trade your shirt.”
Kit was already yanking it over his head.
Paradoxically, Kit felt warmer without the t-shirt. It might be related to the hungry gazes sweeping over every inch of exposed skin. James took the shirt and made a gleeful show of smelling it.
“Thank you, come again,” James said with a wink.
Kit took a cautious sip from the hot pink curly straw. Dangerously sweet liquid chilled his tongue, the alcohol barely discernible but promising to pack a punch. “This is pretty decent,” Kit said, not wanting to inflate James’s ego too much.
He took a deeper sip, hollowing his cheeks around the straw, just for fun.
“You know exactly what you’re doing, don’t you?” Darius asked, fingers ghosting up Kit’s spine.
Kit yelped, startled. Sweet ice sloshed over his fingers. “So do you,” Kit accused, as James rescued the imperiled daiquiri.
Darius seized Kit’s hand. “You love it,” Darius murmured, bringing Kit’s fingers to his mouth. Slowly, without breaking eye contact, he sucked each finger clean one by one.
Kit exhaled, stomach tightening. The heat of Darius’s tongue seared all the way up his arms, down to his tensing cock.
“You should check on Bishop and Blondie,” James said, in between sips of Kit’s daiquiri. “They’ve been working too long.”
“It’s a Monday afternoon,” Kit pointed out, dazed. “That’s a normal time to work.”
James shrugged. “Well, I have the day off.”
Darius withdrew from Kit’s fingers with a filthy wet sound. “That’s because you’re a second-generation rich boy with no work ethic.”
“As you persist in pointing out, you’re rich too.” James swirling his tongue around Kit’s straw one more time, then set the drink on the counter. “Want another drink, Darius?”
“Yeah, I’ll have one of those.” Darius swatted Kit’s ass. “And I’ll take your jeans, boy.”
“Yes, sir,” Kit said, and hopped down to the tile. Shimmying out of his jeans left him even warmer, especially when Darius copped another feel. His big, rough hand kneaded sweetly intoKit’s red skin, the briefs barely there between them. Breathless, Kit added, “You can keep my drink, too. I have a feeling I’m about to get thrown in the pool.”
“Odds are good,” Darius agreed, neatly folding Kit’s jeans.
Leaving the two of them bickering over his leftover drink, Kit crossed the deck. He might be mostly naked, but he felt fully dressed in confidence. Bishop and Holden—both in swim trunks, no blinding shirts to distract from the eye candy—turned toward him like swiveling cameras.
