“I only own a few dozen.” Darius’s hand dropped to caress Kit’s wrist. “Which does mean I have extras. Want to head to the range next week and try them out?”
“That sounds great.” Miraculously, despite the distracting wrist-fondling, Kit remembered another important point. “Um, you should probably teach me how to shoot things, too.”
“We’ll start with the more important part,” Darius said. “Hownotto shoot things.”
Kit wrinkled his nose. “You’re so responsible.”
“One of us has to be.”
Darius’s amusement was so warm, so fond—his lips so plush and inviting—that Kit couldn’t resist. He didn’thaveto resist, so he slid a hand behind Darius’s neck and tugged. Darius tightened his hold on Kit’s other wrist and leaned down.
Kit intended a brief tease of a kiss. Darius apparently had other plans. He slow-fucked his tongue into Kit’s mouth. Addictive peace steadied Kit’s nerves. By the time Darius pulled away, all the tension had left Kit’s shoulders, and his cock was uncomfortable in its denim prison.
Rocking back on his heels, Kit remembered where they were. The parking lot outside Holden’s apartment. A group of college students kept looking over as they carried in groceries.
“Let’s go get you some coffee,” Darius said, and slid into the driver’s seat.
Face hot, Kit fumbled into the passenger seat. He twisted around to see Holden in the back seat, eyes closed, palms up on his knees.
“What are you doing?” Kit asked.
Holden took a deep, slow breath. His expression was serene. “I’m meditating, darling.”
Kit touched his tender lower lip. “Is it helping?”
Holden took another deep breath, eyes still closed. “I love you, and I’m happy that you’re happy, no matter how many other men are involved in that.”
Darius muffled his snort.
Kit didn’t quite manage to hide his amusement. “I’ll take that as a no. But I’m proud of you for trying.”
Holden’s next breath was more of a happy sigh. “Your voice is better than any meditation.” His eyes cracked open. “Also, can I have a gun too?”
“No,” Kit and Darius said in stern unison.
3
a man who belonged in a cage
Bishop had to wait for ten minutes in the yellowing room. He was the only visitor. Nobody else sat in the metal chairs along the far wall, and nobody waited beyond the plexiglass.
Thankfully the guard seemed preoccupied. Not great from a personnel perspective. But Gordon was on duty last time Bishop visited too, and he wouldn’t stop talking.
The quiet was nice after meeting with the Wellingtons this morning. Bishop was still technically working their son’s case. Except instead of an investigation, it was now a coverup.
Bishop didn’t feel good about that. He couldn’t even pretend he didn’t have a choice. Turning Holden in would be easy. Killing him would be even easier.
Except Kit would be upset. That mattered more than it logically should.
So, Bishop was doing his best to be quietly, respectfully useless to the Wellingtons. He could guide them to the idea that not every case could be solved. Timothy—their criminal asshole of a son, not that they knew about that—wouldn’t want them to be stuck in their grief.
“Why is it so quiet today?” Bishop asked.
Gordon shrugged. “We don’t have visiting hours on Mondays.”
Either Bishop was getting special privileges, or someone else was. Exactly the kind of thing Bishop hated about law enforcement in San Corvo. No use complaining about it to Gordon.
A text from Kit buzzed in. Bishop’s first instinct was concern until he opened the perfectly ordinary message.
