Declan
Declan seta few empty beer cans on a stump, then dragged his ass back through the snow until he was a good fifty feet away. The cold made his fingers ache, and he cursed Big Paolo again for dragging him away from the sunshine.
“At least I can enjoy a little peace and quiet for once,” he grumbled.
He pulled the butt of the rifle to his shoulder, then took aim, measured his breath, and squeezed the trigger. The first can blew off to the side, skittering across the snow. Declan ejected the spent casing, then blasted the remaining cans, the bang of the gun echoing through the trees.
“Still got it,” he grinned to himself. He figured target practice every couple of days would make it clear to anyone watching that the place was protected. And a good thing, too, because both of the guns waiting had been jammed up, ready to backfire if Declan had grabbed either in an emergency.
Anyway, he had shit else to do out in the middle of the mountains. Back in Vegas, he had gotten out of the habit of shooting just as soon as he’d stopped working for Big Paolo. After growing up in a family of criminals, he’d been happy to leave a lot of the life behind. Sure, he had kept a couple of doors open, just to make sure things stayed entertaining and to put some extra cash in his pocket. He shipped a little weed when the offer was right, helped move some tequila, and of course, still enjoyed a nice game of poker.
For all the good that did him.
But shooting rifles? Throwing fists? Taking a beating? Declan had been happy as a pig in shit to leave that behind.
When he turned to the house, he spotted Sebastian, standing in front of those big windows and staring out. When Declan’s eyes landed on him, Sebastian startled, then stepped back into the shadows of the lab. Declan couldn’t help but laugh at how nervous the guy seemed during the past few days of awkwardly avoiding each other, like Declan might bite him.
“Cute kid,” he muttered to himself. For most of his life, Declan had gone for men who were older than he was. Especially when he was Seb’s age, he’d craved older guys with tattoos, worn muscles, and mean glares. As he got older himself, he’d started to find himself attracted to men like Seb, too, guys who were soft in the ways Declan was hard, who were tender to touch. It wasn’t a fantasy he had ever indulged, knowing he was likely to bring a world of hurt and pain into some innocent kid’s life, but he couldn’t deny that Seb had that look that really turned him on.
The look that made Declan think about removing Seb’s clothes, gently setting them aside, and then working that little genius over with his tongue and his hands, and feeling him come undone, one whimper at a time.
Declan adjusted his sudden erection. Wind whipped through the air, and he rubbed his biceps to warm himself, wishing he had thought to pick up a proper winter jacket. Tossing the rifle over his shoulder, he headed back to the house for the heat, shaking the other thoughts from his mind.
One thing that was clear from this job: rich people fucking pampered themselves. The groceries showed up on their own, someone cleaned the bathroom when Declan wasn’t looking, and he even woke up in the morning to some kid shoveling the driveway.
He grumbled as he stomped his boots off, then wandered back into the house, the rifle still slung over his shoulder. Most people thought men like Declan were a problem, but the guys like Sebastian’s pops, the ones running those billionaire dollar corporations—most of them were a whole new level of crooked.
Declan grabbed a bottle of beer from the fridge, then headed back into his wing of the house. There was a big sitting area, a bathroom with a massive tub and walk-in shower, and a bedroom the size of his old garage. After he deposited his rifle in its spot by the bed, he flipped on the monitors that helped keep an eye on the hundred-acre property, then went to work unpacking the boxes that had been delivered.
“Smoke grenade, ammunition, goddamn body armor…”
Declan sighed. Why the hell his contact from Big Paolo had to send that type of junk, he had no idea. If Declan hadn’t asked about the reputation of the street gang who had made the threat, it all might actually worry him. But a bunch of small-time guys on motorcycles didn’t faze Declan. The equipment was just another waste of fucking money, but at least it gave him something to play with while he was killing time.
Once he had everything sorted, he grabbed his smokes and headed back toward the yard. When he passed the kitchen, Sebastian was standing there, chewing on a sandwich while he jotted notes on a piece of paper. Declan would have just walked by, but Sebastian noticed him passing.
“Are you hungry?” he asked. “There’s an extra sandwich. It’s from a deli in the city.”
Declan turned to take the younger man in. He was wearing a slightly rumpled blue shirt, worn loose and unbuttoned over a white T-shirt. Sebastian had soft cheeks, and his green eyes were bright as the snow outside. It made Declan smile that the kid didn’t bother to brush his hair, just letting it fall over the place, and Sebastian paused to tuck a strand back while Declan stared at him.
You’d think a guy with a big fancy science lab in his house would have been uptight, but something about the way Sebastian fixed his hair tugged at Declan. He looked gentle, but in a way that made Declan fantasize about how much fun it would be to bruise his hips and paint his face and feel him come undone right between Declan’s hands.
“Declan?” Sebastian said, like a nervous mouse. “It’s roast beef.”
Declan grunted yes, then joined him at the long kitchen counter. The house looked kind of like it was from the future, with all these clean surfaces and sleek edges. Declan felt funny sitting there in his ragged flannel shirt, eating a sandwich.
He did his best to bury down the steamy fantasies Sebastian was starting to inspire. It wasn’t just that Big Paolo would have Declan’s head if he screwed the job up, although he would. Declan was too stubborn to let that stop him from having a little fun. No, he buried those desires because he knew he would feel like a piece of shit, ruining a bright kid like Sebastian. Declan’s hands were scarred and rough, and he had no business rubbing them up on a shy sweetheart.
“I saw you firing a gun earlier,” Sebastian observed.
“Yup,” Declan answered, then bit into the sandwich, practically moaning when the rich sauce landed on his tongue.
“If you do that again, could you go a little bit away from the lab? It makes it hard to concentrate on my work.”
Declan nodded. “That makes sense, sure.” He had his wing of the house, and Sebastian had his. He had no problem extending those boundaries to the acreage outside, too. “What are you working on?”
Sebastian shrugged, then turned his eyes away shyly, sending another flood of filthy thoughts through Declan’s head. “Most people find it boring…”
“I’m not most people,” Declan said with a grin, then took another bite of his sandwich.
