“Apology accepted,” Kit said firmly. Even though he was hardly the true injured party in this situation. Just a bystander, yet again—but never just a bystander, wasn’t that always the case? He carried his baggage close, just like the man leaning over him. “James, what Melissa said about your mom—”
“We’ll talk about that tomorrow,” James said, pulling away.
Kit caught his wrist. “We don’t know what it means. We don’t know how long the Rat Kings have been operating, or if they’ve always been pieces of shit. All we have is a new angle.”
“Leave it for now,” Darius said, a soft warning.
“Even if your worst fears are true,” Kit said in a rush, because fuck, this felt important. “The good parts are still true, too. Nothing you learn will ever change the mom you knew.”
He meant it as comfort, but maybe it was a curse. Kit grew up happy and beloved too, unaware of the monster prowling his cage.
James sighed, breaking eye contact. “We’ll talk about that tomorrow,” he said again, not angry, just tired. But when he looked up again, new energy lit his dark eyes. “I’d rather think about something else tonight.”
And Kit fell back with a laugh as James shoved him into Darius’s arms.
Bishop was right. Every day, Kit made a choice. Today, the choice to stay was easy.
Bishop didn’t let Holden help with the dismemberment. Or the acid. He handcuffed Holden to the basement table—which was heavy enough Holden wouldn’t be able to lift it without Bishop hearing.
Just a sensible precaution, but Holden was almost disturbingly cooperative. He watched with rapt attention as Bishop took blood, hair, fingerprints, and retina photos from Melissa. Then with even more intense focus as Bishop spread out the tarp and turned on the chainsaw.
Somewhere upstairs, Kit was with James and Darius. Bishop’s imagination could fill in the gaps.
After the dismemberment, Bishop took a break to clean the chainsaw and the bits that flew off the tarp. The work was tiring. It would be easier with help, but like hell was he handing Holden a chainsaw.
Holden had enough weapons at his disposal already.
“He’s mad at you,” Holden said, sounding amused.
Bishop glanced over. Just to make sure Holden was still slouching on the floor. The handcuffs still tethered his wrist to the table leg.
Holden gave a sunny grin. “Apparently you keep kissing him, then backing off.”
Bishop bit back protests. Explanations. Caveats. He only kissed Kit on the top of the head today. He was comforting him.
The excuse rang hollow, even in Bishop’s own heart.
“He’ll get over it,” Bishop said gruffly, and regretted it. The last thing he wanted was a relationship talk with Holden. This piece of shit was the reason Bishop turned Kit down.
Nothing to do with Bishop’s previous trust issues.
“Yeah, that’s the problem.” Holden stretched out one leg. “You’ll reject him one too many times, and that’ll be that. A switch flips from attraction to resentment. No more chances.”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Bishop asked, also a mistake.
“Only if Kit was happy about it,” Holden said, with the earnest sincerity he reserved for Kit.
Maybe this wasn’t a mistake. Bishop could turn the conversation to Holden, instead of revealing more of himself. “Why do you want that?”
Holden took the question seriously. “I just feel very strongly that he deserves to be happy.”
Something hid beneath his words. Intuition drove Bishop’s next question, leaping beyond the bounds of evidence. “What do you know about Kit’s past?”
Holden looked away, his nonchalance clearly feigned, and didn’t answer for a long time.
“I know his dad’s name,” Holden said eventually.
Jealousy swept through Bishop.
