“Self-involved much? I know you think the world revolves around you,Your Highness, but some of us actually have a life outside of work. We like it here, don’t we, Tobias?”
Tobias nods almost imperceptibly, his eyes never leaving my face and every muscle in his body poised to flee, despite how intoxicated he is.
“Does my father know you’re here? Either of you? Wearing this on your neck”—I tap my own tattoo—“while fucking… snuggling?”
I keep expecting Eamon to falter and realize how much shit he’s in, but nothing’s getting through that impenetrable shell. Instead, his smirk turns into a full-on grin. He even leans over the table to get closer to me, and somehow, despite the fact that I’m looming over him, it’s as if he’s the one who has the upper hand all of a sudden.
“Your father,” he starts to speak, but even as he does so, I can see his hand sliding up Tobias’ back to rest possessively on theback of his neck. I can also see the way the kid is trying very hard not to flinch at the movement, which hits my own memories in a painful way I’d rather not acknowledge right now. I stuff all that down in my brain and focus on keeping myself as menacing as possible. “He respects me, because I’m a real man. And real men take what they want. Tobias here is a good little worker for us. He’s excellent at crawling into small spaces undetected, which comes in handy in our line of work. He does his job.”
Eamon’s hand shifts from the boy’s neck up to his dark, messy hair. It’s long enough for him to grab a fistful, and he does it suddenly enough that it makes Tobias gasp as Eamon yanks his head back and bares his throat to both of us. I can see the muscles work as he swallows, and it’s clear how hard he’s working to keep himself still, letting himself be jerked around.
“It’s also his job to keep his superiors happy. I saw something I wanted, and I took it.” Eamon tightens his punishing grip. “Now it’s mine. Padraig understands that. It’s not about fucking rainbows or any of that bullshit,” he continues, waving his free hand at our surroundings. “It’s about ownership.”
My eyes narrow. I can’t believe that my father would buy this bullshit. I mean, I don’t buyhishomophobic bullshit, because honestly who cares who people fuck, but he’s stuck to his guns on it as long as I’ve been alive. The thought that I might have been wrong about that… that I might have misinterpreted what he meant or who he fucking hates and why… it makes numbness spread through my limbs so quickly they threaten to drag me to the ground.
I guess it doesn’t really matter if he hates fags or not. He’s always hatedme,and I never did shit. Right?
Eamon’s voice continuing to drone on knocks me out of my painful reverie.
“Maybe one day I’ll own your baby brother, too. He looks like he’d put up a fight. I like that.”
I don’t think. I’m across the table, glasses knocked onto the floor and my hands around Eamon’s neck before I know what’s happened.
Tobias immediately skitters away, and noise erupts around us as people notice what’s going down. My fingers are tightening, feeling the seductive give of Eamon’s flesh beneath my grip. But he’s still grinning at me. So wide, I think he’d be laughing at me if he had enough breath.
He’s not even fighting back, which makes it even more frustrating. Blackness is tinting the edges of my vision like I’m the one who’s getting choked, and he’s basically laughing at me.
After a few more seconds, the sounds of my name being shouted from across the room finally break through my dim awareness. Then there are hands on me, pulling me off him.
It’s Gunnar. He gets in my face, tossing me off Eamon with more strength than I would have suspected and then walking me toward the back with both hands planted on my chest. I’m still roiling with anger, but I let him. I feel too ragged to focus on anything right now, even killing that piece of shit.
It feels like I blink and then I’m back in the little kitchen. My spine is pressed into the cold metal door of the walk-in, and Gunnar’s hands are still on my chest, pinning me there. I was expecting him to yell at me, but he’s not.
He’s talking. Repeating the same things over and over again, while my brain struggles to catch up.
“Take a deep breath. In through your nose, out through your mouth. Think. Breathe.”
Over and over and over.
I must not have been breathing right, because when I do connect his words to my brain and then down to my chest, it aches to fill my lungs with oxygen.
But I do it. And then again. All while he holds me steady. His presence is much more calming than I would have expectedanyone to manage in this situation, but something about his sharp gaze on me makes me feel like I’m rooted to the spot, and I have the chance to catch my breath.
When I finally feel under control, Gunnar seems to sense that and leans back, releasing me from his grasp.
He blows out a breath as well, running his hand through his hair. It’s disheveled for the first time since I’ve met him, and I can see how he’s already trying to comb it back into place with his fingers.
“Look, Sav, I hate that piece of shit, too,” he says, making my eyes widen. I wasn’t aware that he knew Eamon, but okay. I guess I’m still the new guy here. “But that can’t happen here. I can’t have bar fights here at all, and especially not ones that might draw the attention ofhisboss.”
He emphasizes the word “his” too much. As if we aren’t both fully aware that it’s my boss, too. Gunnar probably doesn’t know that said boss is also my father, but it’s enough.
“He’ll get what’s coming to him eventually. But not here.”
Gunnar’s repeating himself, but it makes sense that he’s not sure how much of what he says is sinking in. After a few more beats, I let out another long breath and scrub a hand over my face, feeling all the lingering tension and anger drip dry out of me and soak into the floor runner.
“I’m sorry.” They’re the only words I manage to force out of my mouth right now, but they’re a start.
Gunnar studies me for a minute, then gives me a sharp nod.
