And he had failed.
Three days later, Kit concentrated on pretending to load a handgun. Then he pretended to unload it. He followed Darius’s directions over and over without bullets. Having so many people around made him nervous. Even though he liked all of them. Maybebecausehe liked all of them.
The plan had been just Darius and Kit at the firing range. But James had wanted to go too. When Darius said somebody needed to babysit Holden, James appeared to acquiesce.
They shouldn’t have trusted James’s easy surrender. James managed to rent out Darius’s favorite firing range for the day. When Darius and Kit pulled up, James was already parked, sitting on the hood of his car.
He’d left Holden handcuffed in the backseat.
Now, after a glare from Kit, they were gathered in a large, private room. Darius still argued with James near the door—something about reliable communication when they were keeping hostages.
Holden, now without handcuffs, leaned against the table and watched Kit. They didn’t touch. Kit wasn’t ready, and Holden wasn’t an idiot. They were as close as they could get before James would yank them apart.
“I think James is starting to warm up to you,” Kit said, starting the pretend loading over again.
“You could have fooled me.” Holden didn’t sound bothered.
“He hasn’t killed you yet,” Kit pointed out.
“He doesn’t want to upset you.” Holden shrugged. “He didn’t need to handcuff me to come over here, though. I knew we were coming to see you, so I would have cooperated.”
Setting the gun down, Kit sighed. “You’re such a romantic.”
“I don’t know what that means anymore.” Holden tilted his head up. Not looking at Kit, but his awareness was still palpable. “That used to be a word for other people.”
“And now?” Kit asked, curious.
No, not curious. Needy. He wanted the sharp edges of Holden’s desire. The razor blades. The unexpected softness.
“Maybe I’ve always been a little romantic. A little enamored with death.” Holden grins. “I’ve found someone much cuter now.”
“Flatterer.” Kit glanced at Darius and James—who were still arguing, but both keeping one eye on Kit and Holden. “Anything else you want to say before they come over?”
He and Holden hadn’t had any time alone together since the whole kidnapping incident. Since Kit tore out his own bloody, secretive heart and placed it in Holden’s hands.
Since Holden returned the secret to Kit’s ribcage and sewed him back together with unconditional acceptance.
Kit expected Holden to reply with something else sappy. Some teasing promise to look forward to.
Instead, Holden lowered his voice. “Have you looked at my archives yet?”
Kit frowned. “Not yet.”
“Read the red and gold binder,” Holden said, even quieter. “See what’s there, and see what’s missing. Then talk to me.”
Instinctive fear thudded between Kit’s lungs. He couldn’t muster a reply before they were interrupted.
“All right!” James clapped. “Someoneis standing too close to my boyfriend. Take three big steps back.”
Holden remained motionless, eyebrows lifted.
Kit snagged the empty gun and moved away from the table. He pointed the muzzle at the floor, because he was taught to treat every gun as if it was loaded. The grip was cool in his hand as he leaned up to kiss James.
“That works too,” James murmured, and kissed him back. Blatantly, he angled to give Holden a clear view.
Darius coughed. “Let’s get a move on, unless you want to rent this place overnight.”
“No thanks.” Kit extricated himself. “None of the furniture here looks nice enough to fuck on.” The room fell silent. Kit looked from one man to the next. “What?”
