I freeze in the doorway, both of them turning to look at me. Did I make a noise? Was it a bad noise? “That would—I would be yes.” That’s not what I meant to say. The idea of it is of course a yes, but the reality seems like a bad idea, in that Hunter was being sarcastic, and they don’t really mean it, and I wish they would stop looking at me.
Beside me, Miles tips his head back with a knowing smirk that should be way less attractive than it is. I think it’s the hair. He’svery pretty. Him holding a gun on me last night somehow hasn’t detracted from that, which says more about me than I want to examine.
“Where should I put Augustus?” I blurt before anyone can respond. If we could forget any of this happened, that would be great. Amazing, even. “He’s getting heavy.”
“The coffee table, for now,” Hunter says. “Then we need to talk.”
The world’s worst sentence. Usually, people mean relationship-wise, but any instance doesn’t generally suggest that something good is about to come out. It’s like the Red Ring of Death on an Xbox. The beginning of the end.
Miles
It’snotalwayseasyto find a good position in Hunter’s home. There are so many plants everywhere that vision is obscured in random ways. The sheer number of them outside gives a good semblance of privacy, and I know that the security he has is more than adequate to alert for any unwanted visitors.
That doesn’t mean I’ll relax. Not all the threats come from outside. When Hunter and Xavier circle each other like this, neither of them sure where they stand or what to expect from the other, it always puts me on edge. The unpredictability of it—whether they’ll fight or fuck—means that I can’t let my guard down.
And then there’s Matthew, awkwardly in the middle of it and having no real idea just how significant that fact is. No one has ever been able to make space between the two of them. He hasn’t separated them, or changed what they are to each other, simply createdmore.
“I need a drink,” Hunter mutters, turning away from us and moving around the island bench to the fridge and pantry.
Instead of a glass for alcohol, he pulls out four mugs and places them beside the kettle. Without asking what anyone wants, he sets about making coffee. No one says a word about it.
Matthew fidgets, tugging on the hem on his T-shirt and shuffling his feet. “I’m just going to—” He sits at the dining table without finishing the sentence. He bites his bottom lip and starts tapping on the table. Then stops, shoving his hand into his lap.
“Where should we start, Hunter?” Xavier drawls, one hand in his pocket, hip cocked to the side. It opens his suit jacket to the white shirt underneath. The cut on his lip looks angry, though it’s not bleeding. Jericho got in a lucky hit. I’ll have to return the favour.
“I…” Hunter runs a hand through his hair. He drops the spoon he was holding in the other hand with a clatter. “I don’t know.”
There’s a lot to cover, depending on just how much they want to reveal. There’s no need to tell Matthew everything if they don’t want. Only what includes him. That begs the question: how much includes him?
“Maybe—maybe we could start with the shooting part?” Matthew asks weakly. “That doesn’t really happen to me every day. Or any day, actually. I can’t think of a single day that’s ever happened to me before. I didn’t even know that people outside of law enforcement carried guns.”
“Do you not watch the news?” I ask, raising an eyebrow. Surely someone who speaks about social media would have an idea about the world around him.
“Not even for the sports.”
As if that puts anything into perspective. The sports are the most boring part of the news. “Firearms are far more prevalent in Australia than anyone wants to believe. They’re simply hidden in the shadows. Until they aren’t, of course.”
Matthew nods, though he’s lost a little colour in his face. “They need a feel-good section.”
“Fear sells,” Xavier says simply, sliding into a dining seat diagonal from Matthew. He buttons the middle of his jacket and leans back, resting an arm along the back of the seat beside him.
“It’s not on my shopping list.”
“I imagine not.” Xavier indicates for me to take a seat opposite him, with my back to Hunter. Akin to turning from a predator, but I do as he asks. As far as I’m aware, Hunter isn’t armed right now, and he’s making enough noise to wake the dead; I’ll hear him coming.
“I own a number of lucrative businesses in Sydney.”
Hunter laughs. “Modesty, Xavier?”
Xavier’s lips twitch. “More than a number. The hotel restaurant you and Hunter were having dinner at is one of mine.”
Matthew’s lips part in surprise. “That—the whole hotel? Just that one or…?”
“All of them,” Xavier clarifies. He rests a hand on the table, and Matthew’s gaze zeroes in, lingering on the lines and the rings. Xavier, always open to appreciation, spreads his hand to give him a better view.
The hotel chain itself has a dozen or so locations around Sydney, each one extravagant and pulling in considerable profit. They aren’t my taste, personally, but the wealthy seem to like them.
“What does that have to do with being shot at? Do you have, like, a rival or something? I thought that was only in movies.”
