Ideally.
“You don’t care if Holden gets recognized,” Kit said slowly. “If Terry notices Holden, he could identify him later.”
James swiveled his chair around and drew Kit closer by one tense wrist. “I don’t want Holden to get recognized,” James said seriously. “I respect your inexplicable infatuation with him.”
Kit’s lips pursed stubbornly. “You don’t want it, but you’re willing to risk it.”
“Holden’s willing to risk it, too.”
“James,” Kit complained.
James tugged him even closer. “I promise, I’m not secretly trying to get him killed. If I was, I wouldn’t bring you along.” James paused. “Wait, is that more or less reassuring?”
Kit allowed himself to be pulled until his knee braced against the chair seat, between James’s thighs. “Christ, I don’t know. More, I think.”
“Good.” James toyed with Kit’s bare forearms. So slim and pretty.
He might have a forearm kink now. He kinked on every part of Kit’s body. How were elbows so fucking sexy?
Small bruises scattered inside Kit’s left forearm. James didn’t remember marking Kit there recently, which meant it must have been someone else. “Who left these?”
Kit jumped, then stared at his pale wrist between James’s fingers. “I don’t remember.”
James pressed next to a bruise, planning to move closer, because Kit liked that. Usually. This time, Kit pulled away.
“We should keep watch,” Kit said, evading James’s grasp. Flashing lights from the interior Cicada feed danced across his face.
“So responsible.” James reluctantly looked away from his pretty little boyfriend, just as Holden entered the club.
20
kissing emoji
It had been a while since Holden got to indulge in a good stalking. The simple task of showing his ID to the bouncer took on new pleasure, the knowledge of his purpose fueling his excitement. The early March night at his back and the warm crowd of bodies before him—a thrilling liminal space.
Cicada straddled multiple demographics. Far enough from campus not to be overrun with students—but close enough and cheap enough that some trekked over anyway. Holden’s classmates considered Cicada the nice bar. The non-students making up most of the crowd probably considered it trashy.
The bouncer nodded him through. Holden slid his wallet back into his pocket. The wallet was oversized. Not enough to stand out, just enough to hold the extra tools Holden needed.
Including a key to the utility closet, next to the ground floor bathrooms.
Holden had been here before, and studied the layout with James and Kit. The ground floor was a bar, dance floor, and stage. No live band tonight, so the stage was just an elevated extension of the dance floor. Upstairs was a loft with tables and booths, and servers running up truffle fries, truffle tater tots, probably truffle pretzels too. Downstairs was a quieter bar.
Loud, chaotic, everyone preoccupied with their own experience. Few friends and plenty of strangers. This was a perfect hunting ground.
Last time Holden followed someone was that pervert Mr. Tweed jerking off on campus. Disappointing, no murdery payoff. The time before was stalking Kit—also no murder, but not disappointing at all. Having Kit was better than murder.
Holden wouldn’t get to murder anyone tonight either. Probably.
Hopefully Kit was watching now. Holden resisted the urge to wave at the cameras. Instead, he casually moved to the ground floor bar and ordered a beer.
From the redhead woman bartender. Not the blond man bartender Terry was dating.
Holden tipped, closed his tab, and surveyed the scene. He didn’t have to look far to find the target.
Terry was an unassuming man in his thirties. Not bad looking, a little soft around the middle, trendy haircut. He didn’t look like a secret crime boss’s assistant, which was the point, Holden supposed.
Terry leaned against the bar, talking animatedly to the blond bartender. Mr. Blond Bartender looked distracted and bored. How very sad.
