Tempting. So fucking tempting. Kit had been doing all this work being open and emotional and present. Spilling his secrets might blunt the knives that lived behind his ribs. Catharsis might give him wings.
But those wings might snap, dashing him against the concrete.
If he told James or Darius, they would tell Bishop. Even if they promised not to. Kit loved them. They loved him back. He refused to tarnish that love with his jagged, rusted memories.
“This is the last time I’ll ask,” Bishop said.
“Don’t fucking lie to me,” Kit snapped, and swung to his feet.
To his surprise, Bishop kept silent as Kit texted Carla for an early ride, and remained silent as Kit searched the house for hisshoes. Not another word passed between them as Kit gathered his things and stormed out the door.
He slumped on Bishop’s porch, shoulders crawling with the thought of Bishop peering through the windows. Or watching him on the security cameras. But he didn’t turn around. He just shoved his hands back in his sweatshirt, and beneath the baggy fabric, dug his knuckles into his thighs.
The pain was dull. Dissatisfying. Not as good as scratches, or the snap of a rubber band on his wrist. But the bruises would just look like fingerprints, if anyone saw them. The good kind of harm.
The worst part was that Kit couldn’t even blame Bishop for asking. Bishop was right. Kit should say something.
But he wouldn’t.
Holden prowled the perimeter of James’s home office, not trying to hide his inspection. Surely anything important was already concealed behind glossy cabinet doors. Maybe the sleek monstrosity of a bookshelf hid a secret chamber, filled with James’s darkest secrets.
Maybe everything important was already packed away.
Maybe it all lived inside James’s mind, deep in shadows as dark as Holden’s own.
Maybe it sat in the pile of books on the desk, where James watchfully reclined. His shirt bunched a certain way over his hip, and Holden instinctively hated that James was armed while he wasn’t.
Holden paused by a painting—a seascape, its frame set into the wall, lit from the edges. It feigned a glimpse of theworld outside, but the office had no true windows. “It’s very inappropriate to bring the intern home, Mr. Zhou,” Holden said lightly. “Someone might get the wrong idea.”
“Feel free to call HR.” James’s voice was just as light, despite the dark circles under his eyes. “Tell them how I fuck my boyfriend in front of you, too.”
“Our boyfriend,” Holden said, just to see if James would twitch.
James didn’t oblige. He tapped a sleek, black laptop. “I have a project for you.”
Holden’s interest was already piqued the moment James declared they were working from his home office today. After so many little tests, it was time for a real task.
Holden didn’t want James’s approval, beyond the expedient truth that James’s approval made Kit more accessible. Also, Kit was happier the better they got along. Holden would gladly perform many more months of menial busy work. James would be annoyed that Holden wasn’t annoyed, and Holden took satisfaction from that.
But fine. Part of Holden was curious about the next step, and how he could twist it to his advantage.
“This laptop includes mirrors of my parents’ social media accounts, plus basic annotation and analysis software.” James gestured to the books. “These are my father’s scrapbooks. I’ve already labeled most of the people within. There are four I can’t identify.”
‘Identify the final four’ sounded like the obvious assignment. But that was a task for Bishop’s cute little investigation business, or James’s own security resources.
Holden wasn’t an obvious collaborator.
“What’s the assignment?” Holden asked.
James appeared casual, but he watched Holden as carefully as Holden watched him. “Read everything and tell me what you think.”
Oh, that was deliciously vague. “Is there anything in particular I should look for?”
“If I knew what you should look for, I wouldn’t want you to look.”
Holden approached slowly. He knew he could be unnerving—he spent his childhood practicing how to look like a person instead of a cold, sharp blade. He didn’t bother masking now, but James didn’t tense until Holden traced the spines of the scrapbooks. Such a clear, involuntary reaction.
“Kit suggested this,” Holden said. “Even with his suggestion, I’m surprised you asked me.”
