“Craig,” Zack said, trying to sound happy about the visit and missing by three blocks. “What brings you back?”
Fake laughter bubbled out of Craig before he flicked his gaze at Colton. “Can’t a brother pay a social call?” His voice was light. Sharp edge under all that syrup. “Heard you were keeping odd company these days.”
Not once did Zack invite him inside. Colton noticed it. Craig did too. Both of them lingered right there, polite as a funeral, but the tension was as thick as the air in a laundromat basement.
Maybe it was the way Zack’s hand curled up, gripping his own wrist. Or the way he kept one shoulder half-turned, like he might bolt any second. Slight tremor in his mate’s fingers. Not shaking, but not steady, either. Colton’s panther wanted to rip that brother to pieces.
Polite distance didn’t fool Colton for a second.
“Just finished a shift,” Zack managed, voice tight. “Usually I take a break after, but hey. Good to see you.”
Colton kept his arms folded, pretending not to listen, but there wasn’t a chance in hell he was missing a single word.
Craig flicked a lazy look over Colton, like a man sizing up a big dog chained on the porch. “New boyfriend, huh? Do I have to call you Big Daddy, or you stick with your real name?”
Colton’s lips curled. “Neither.”
“Big Daddy it is.” Craig grinned, all fake charming. “I guess you’re the reason Zack started eating food that costs more than a dollar a pound.”
Biting back a retort, Colton clenched his jaw. He didn’t trust himself to talk without threatening the piece of shit.
Zack attempted to smooth out the tension. “Craig likes to joke about my cooking.”
“Gets me free food.” Craig’s gaze never left Colton, not even for a second. “Bro’s always had a bleeding heart. Sucker for a sob story.”
The jabs were a little too obvious. Guy was determined to learn anything about Colton.
“No stories here.” Zack moved until his body blocked the rest of the view of the apartment, as if Craig would snake his way past. “Everything’s good.”
Colton caught the twitch at the corner of Zack’s mouth. Which was definitely a lie.
Craig shrugged. “So, you two fucking yet, or are we still pretending my brother’s a prude?”
Red flooded across Zack’s cheeks. “That’s none of your business!”
“Thin ice, my guy,” Colton warned, hand twitching to swipe that smugness off Craig’s face.
With razor-sharp claws.
Craig tilted his head. “He’s cute when he’s flustered.” The guy jabbed a thumb at Zack. “Never could take a joke. Never could handle the rough stuff.”
For one split second, Colton wondered if he’d be quick enough to catch Craig before he ran screaming. He wanted to find out.
“Well, we’re busy.” Zack gripped Colton’s arm, like he was stopping Colton from going full murdercat in the hallway. “Maybe talk later?”
Craig stepped back, arms wide. “Yeah, sure. Don’t want to interrupt any longer.” He winked, slow and mocking. “Hey, Big Daddy, take good care of my little bro, yeah? He’s delicate.”
Oh, the son of a bitch was asking to die a slow and painful death. Colton had never used so much restraint in his life. Even his panther yowled to kill the idiot.
Right there at the landing, before strutting off, Craig lifted two fingers to his brow in a salute. “Later, pricks.” The smugness was oily, sticking in the air long after he’d slithered down the steps.
Colton watched his every move, eyes narrowed, brain already working out the best way to dump a body if necessary. Some people were just trouble. Some people were predators. But whatever Craig was up to, he had no clue what real danger looked like. Colton would gladly enlighten him.
Silence returned as the door thudded closed. The heat and that weird, burned-rubber smell from the building’s pipes pressed in harder now, no more fresh air to cut the staleness.
Zack took two steps, then flopped on the couch. No lamps were on. Gold slashes of late light painted the rug and illuminated every scuff on the coffee table. Blues and pinks from the sunset bled through the faded blinds.
On the couch, Zack sagged into the cushions and let out a breath. His hand automatically went to his wrist, thumb working circles into the bruised skin like he didn’t know he was doing it.
