Normal people reacted to things like that. Kit didn’t have to go into the thing about Dad. The photos of pale little faces with glassy green eyes and handprints bruised into their throats.
“You should have said something,” Darius said eventually. “Though I’m not surprised you didn’t.”
Kit shrugged. “I didn’t want to fuck up that plan either. The photos were a better idea than most other options.”
“What photos?” Holden asked suddenly, a cold, restrained edge to his voice.
11
“You’re still not supposed to have knives.”
Shit. Kit had already shared too much today. He trusted both men far more than was sane or reasonable, but he felt too exposed. The shattered pieces of his story were getting hard to keep track of.
“None of your business,” Darius said coolly. Which Kit would usually appreciate. Holden didn’t know about the attempted contract killing by Smith. He didn’t need to know.
But Holden knew about Dad. He knew about the photos Kit found. If Kit didn’t explain now, Holden’s imagination would go to far darker places.
Mind racing, Kit tried to remember what bits and pieces he’d told Holden and Darius.
Would it be so bad to tell Darius everything?
Panic slammed so hard Kit’s vision darkened. He only breathed again when he rejected the thought. He still couldn’t talk about this. Holden was the only one whose emotions Kit fully trusted.
A chair scraped against the tile. “Kit?” Darius asked, poised to stand.
“Just thinking,” Kit said quickly. He didn’t look up to see whether they accepted the clumsy lie. “It’s fine if Holden knows.”
Darius leaned back in his chair. “Then you explain, because I still don’t fully understand.”
“You don’t have to say anything, darling.” Holden’s voice still had that edge. “I was just curious.”
Yeah, that was an obvious lie too.
Kit sighed. “The guy who made my fake ID had a change of heart. He hired Darius to kill me.”
Holden twitched but remained silent.
This part still made Kit uneasy. Something must have spooked Smith. Maybe the wrong people finally noticed Kit had slipped away from his fosters. Didn’t matter. It didn’t work. “Darius and James killed him first, of course.”
“Of course.” Holden’s expression didn’t change, but his voice softened. “What photos, darling?”
The words stuck in Kit’s throat. Holden would know why the photos were so triggering.
Kit unfairly punted the ball into Darius’s court. “Well, Mr. Photographer?”
Darius took his time answering. He had to be aware something was off about the conversation. “We took photos of Kit pretending to be dead as bait. James doctored the images after, to make them look more convincing.”
Blankness fell over Holden’s face like a veil. His chopsticks stilled, and then he set them down.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Darius asked as Holden stood.
Holden’s fake smile was the best of them all. “I’m going to the living room to do a hundred pushups.”
Maybe Kit should study Holden. Ask him for acting lessons, because he was damn good. If Kit hadn’t known what droveHolden to exercise, he never would have guessed the man’s murderous rage.
“Just leave the door open,” was all Darius said.
That night, when Holden was safely chained in another room, Kit curled in Darius’s arms. Darkness enveloped them, far softer than the cheap duvet. Kit’s forehead pressed against Darius’s bare chest, and his knees tucked tight between them.
