“It’s what we do,” I replied simply.
“So you took him to your place?”
“Actually, I took him to his and then went back.”
Kieran raised an eyebrow. “I’ve seen condemned buildings that are nicer than that shithole.”
“That’s a fact.” I concurred. “But that isn’t why he ended up at my place.” I cleared my throat. “Ourplace now.”
“You moved him in?”
“Yep,” I said, popping that P.
“Maxfield,” he said as though he were some announcer on the nightly news covering a tragedy.
“You know, for a hitman who just moved in his own cup of soft serve, you sure are judgy.”
“Do you even hear the words that come out of your mouth?” Kieran wondered.
“Obviously. I think about them first and everything.”
“Listen. I don’t think it’s a good idea?—”
I cut him off with a level, cool tone. “I wouldn’t if I were you.”
His eyes flickered.
“He’s mine.One of us now. And that’s not going to change.”
After a short, tense silence, I said, “You don’t know him as well as you think.”
“But you do?” He challenged.
“I know everything I need to know,” I replied.
“Maxfield, that’s just?—”
I cut him off again. “He’s not an addict. He’s sick.”
Surprise filled Kieran’s face. It was a sight I wasn’t often treated to. I enjoyed it. Not much disrupted that RBF. Well, besides Haz.
“What?”
I went to his fridge to help myself to a beer.
“Aren’t you on meds?” he barked.
“What are you, my mom?”
He grabbed the longneck out of my hand before I could open it. “I’m your brother. Now explain.”
Oooo-weee. “I’m sorry, did you just admit we’re friends?”
“That’s not what I said.”
“Mr. I-ain’t-got-no-friends,” I mocked in a rumbly voice.
His response was sharp. “I don’t.”
