"Yes, they're gang members, but they're not bad people."

Gio gaped at him for a long moment. "Are you kidding me?" he hissed, careful to keep his voice down even though they were upstairs. "That's your reasoning?"

"Have you seen Victor?" Marcus asked with a crooked smile. "His favorite thing in the world is protecting hookers from harassment. He's not dangerous."

"He's carrying two handguns and a rifle." Letting his head thump back against the door frame, Gio glared at the ceiling. How did he end up in these situations?

"You're carrying a gun."

"I'm a federal agent," Gio snapped. "For fuck's sake, these are the kind of people I arrest for a living, and you want me to trust them with my life?"

Marcus pursed his lips, staring down at Gio's hand resting on his belly. It made him uncomfortable, made him want to hide under a couple layers of baggy clothing, but if it got the hardheaded idiot thinking, then it was worth it.

"Yes." Pressing a kiss to his forehead, Marcus turned and headed downstairs. "Smells like dinner's almost done. I'm starving."

Gio gaped after him, the urge to scream welling up until he could taste it burning his lips like five alarm chili. "I hate you," he shouted down the stairs.

"Love you, too," Marcus called back.

He wanted to slam the door and barricade himself in the bedroom, but the food really did smell delicious. His stomach was reminding him that he hadn't successfully eaten anything in over a day. "And whose fault is that?" he asked it. "Jesus," he groaned, rolling his eyes at himself. "I'm losing my mind."

"You know, my sister used to talk to herself."

Gio jumped, slamming his hand on the bathroom counter as he reached for a gun that wasn't where it was supposed to be.

"They sent her to a therapist. She's better now," the smaller of the two gang members said, nimble fingers checking over Gio's gun. "You got a therapist, FBI?"

Holding his hand out for his gun, Gio glared at the other man. He wasn't used to being taller than people, and it was odd to be looking down at this wiry kid with old eyes. "Standard issue for all undercover agents in the Bureau," he snapped. "Give me my gun back."

He shrugged, handing it over and watching with a cynical smirk as Gio checked the magazine. "Everybody knows that government shrinks aren't there to fix you up," the kid said, a knife appearing out of thin air. He flicked it open and shut, his eyes roaming the room. "They throw a band-aid on the problem and keep you dancing to their tune as long as you're useful."

"And the gangs are so fucking family-friendly," Gio said, pushing past the smaller man. It was shocking how strong the kid was, barely enough skin to cover his bones but not shifting under Gio's shove.

"Nah, but we don't get to advertise as being the good guys, do we?" Flicking his knife closed, he followed Gio down the stairs. "I knew what I was getting when I joined up. All Lions do. Did they show you a cute little cartoon at orientation, FBI? Tell you about how they were going to chew you up and spit you out? Show you the garbage piles they dump the useless ones on?"

Gio skipped the last two steps, trying to drown that sharp voice out. He could see the alphas in the kitchen, both of them watching out of the corner of their eye. Neither one moved to intervene, and he would have been grateful if he could get the world to stop for two seconds so he could think.

"You think you're better off because you went with the government job? At least the Lions keep their omegas safe. How fast do you think they'll dump you if you ever get knocked up?" The kid was up in his face, his eyes glowing with hate. This close, Gio could see through the jagged mask that he wore. He was even younger than he looked. Young enough to be Mia's age, maybe. Too young to be so hard. "How far would Victor get in your beloved Bureau?" he spat.

"Dinner's ready." Victor, the big alpha who looked like a kicked puppy, slid between them with surprising agility. In the blink of an eye, the venom was gone, replaced by annoyance.

"We were talking, stupid," the kid said, glaring daggers over his shoulder as he was herded away.

"I know, Chuy, but you gotta wash your hands." The other man didn't seem to notice the way the little omega was vibrating with danger. "You can talk later."

"He's smarter than he looks," Marcus said, pressing up against Gio's back. "Are you okay?"

"Fine," Gio said, giving himself a few heartbeats to lean on Marcus's strength. "I don't like them."

"Okay," Marcus said easily. "Come eat."

"Don't patronize me."

"Okay."

"I hate you, and this place, and this whole fucking year. I demand a goddamn do-over." Gio pulled away, throwing himself into one of the chairs and glaring.

Marcus didn't say a word, his lips twitching as he loaded their plates with cheese-smothered lumps. Gio's stomach grumbled loudly in the silence, and he added another heaping spoonful.

"I was a successful agent," he said as Marcus set the plate in front of him. "I have done more undercover work than anyone else in my division. I was in line for a promotion. Now I'm here, eating cholesterol on a plate with gang bangers."

"Life is funny," Marcus agreed, sitting down to eat. "Serve yourself," he called slightly louder.

"Fuck off," Chuy shot back, peering around the bathroom door.

A few minutes later, they emerged, Victor once again herding the little omega around the room while seeming completely unaware of what he was doing. "This smells good," he said as he set two plates at the table, somehow maneuvering his partner around until his options were to sit down or climb over the table.

Completely ignoring Gio, the two gang members fell on their dinner like starving dogs. Victor and Marcus made small talk, discussing cars and the motorcycle that the pair had ridden from Jersey. Gio kept his head down, working his way through as much food as his stomach could handle, and Chuy spoke only twice. Once, he snidely informed them that the bike wasn't stolen, and near the end of the dinner, he chided Victor for getting cheese all over the front of his shirt.

"Can't go anywhere with you, you pig. Que sucio."

Gio watched through his lashes as he attacked the alpha with a napkin, complaining about how the fabric would stain. He couldn't comprehend the extreme personality shifts the kid seemed to have. It was giving him a headache.

"How about Gio and I take the first watch?" Marcus said as they were cleaning up.

"No," Gio snapped, glaring at him. There was no way he was going to fall asleep with two gang members on guard. "I'll sit watch with Victor."

"The fuck you will," Chuy said, his knife finding its way into the wood of the table as he shot to his feet.

"I can sit watch by myself," Victor said, gathering up the plates and prying the knife out of the tabletop.

Flicking another knife between his hands, the little omega glared up at him. "The last time you had to do watch by yourself, you fell asleep and they demoted us to guarding hookers."

"I like the hookers." Lumbering into the kitchen, the big alpha smiled at them. "They know the best stories."

"How about," Marcus said, taking the plates from Victor and stacking them in the sink, "Victor and I do one watch, and you two can figure out the rest."

Gio glared at him. His skin prickled with unease, and he was positive that he wasn't going to sleep a wink for fear of waking up with a slit throat. "Fine," he growled, storming up the stairs. It was childish, but he took great joy in slamming the bedroom door.

It was just after midnight when Marcus woke him. There were bags under his eyes, but he looked in surprisingly good spirits. "There are cards downstairs, if you want to play solitaire. I recommend not playing poker."

"How much did you lose?" he asked as he stood up, stretching until his back popped.

"Let's just focus on the positives," Marcus said. His lips were warm, and he tasted like chocolate. "I won back my car."

"Isn't that a relief?" Gio rolled his eyes, heading for the bathroom. "Anything unusual?"

"Besides the stray cat who brought Victor a mouse in exchange for two slices of lunch meat? Nothing."

Gio stuck his head around the door frame and raised an eyebrow.

"I have no idea," Marcus said, shrugging. "The cat appeared, Victor gave her some lunch meat, and she brought him a mouse. I felt like I was the chirpy sidekick in a princess movie."

"You don't have the curves." Drying his hands on his jeans, which were by now probably filthy, Gio dragged his feet as he headed for the door.

"Very true." Marcus pulled him close for another kiss before crawling into the bed.

From the top of the stairs, Gio could see almost all the living room and a slice of kitchen. It was a good vantage point, and if the lights hadn't turned the floor-to-ceiling windows into mirrors, he would have stayed up there. Chuy was sitting backwards on a chair in the shadow of the fireplace, the same spot Gio had been planning to watch from.

"Fuckin' idiot is afraid of the dark," he said without looking up at Gio. "Can you believe that? He used to make the hookers stand under the street lights."

"Nobody looks good under overhead lighting," Gio said, crossing his arms and leaning on the railing at the landing halfway down.

"That's what I told him. He's up in the bathroom, so you can hit the lights if you want," the wiry omega said grudgingly.

"You too good for turning off lights, now?" Gio gestured wildly, channeling his loud, effusive Italian father for one horrifying moment.

"My leg fell asleep waiting for your lazy ass to quit playing sleeping beauty," Chuy snapped.

Unable to help himself, Gio laughed. It was a rusty sound, unsteady and unfamiliar, but it was real. "You're a piece of work, calling me lazy," he said, taking the last flight of stairs two at a time and flicking the lights off until the only illumination was the moonlight.

In the time it took for his eyes to adjust, Chuy managed to conjure up not one, but two knives. The blades glowed, sharp enough to cut a swath through the shadows. Even the sarcastic little bastard looked softer in silhouette.

"Watch out for the cat," Chuy said, his knives clicking as rhythmically as any swiss timepiece. "She's a menace. I told him not to feed strays."

Gio had the perfect comeback for that, but it fled his mind when his shins hit something that hadn't been there a moment ago. Only a strong hand on his arm saved him from landing on his face, and he bit his tongue hard enough to taste blood trying not to cry out.

"I told you," Chuy said, his eyes glittering slits as he glared after the ghostly outline winding its way through the rungs of the dining chairs. "She keeps bringing things, and every time I go to close the door, she's already inside. Fucking witch's familiar."

Pressing trembling hands to his stomach to reassure himself that the bump was still there and safe, Gio let his rambles go in one ear and out the other. His chest heaved as he sucked in deep breaths, the dark squeezing all the air out of the room. The whole time, that hard, bony hand held him steady.

"Victor said you're pregnant?" Chuy said, just as Gio was starting to feel like his knees might hold him. "He's got a big mouth, but he's not usually wrong."

"Yes," Gio said. The thought felt natural, the vowels and consonants lining themselves up neatly, even though he'd barely ever said it out loud. "I'm pregnant."

"Huh. You're lucky the boss's friends are good guys. It could be worse." The hand slid away, but the outline of greasy hair and too many layers stayed close. "People like us, they don't usually get that lucky."

"Oh, so now we're twins?" Gio muttered, feeling his way to a chair. With the lights off, the forest was right there, a painting in light and shadow. It was silent and still, even the bugs having called it a night. Except for the cat, padding soundlessly across the deck, there was no movement.

"We're both dangerous," the other man said, going back to his chair. "Was that the fucking cat? I'm gonna close the door."

A pale head popped up over the arm of the couch and meowed pitifully.

"Are we sure there's not more than one cat?" Gio asked, again impressed by the depth and breadth of the Spanish curses that filled the air.

They spent the next hour in silence, watching as the cats slunk through the overgrown grass. Gio was almost certain there were at least two, possibly four, and every time he thought he knew where they were, one appeared out of nowhere. They were never conveniently visible at the same time, like some coordinated cat conspiracy. With the lights out, he couldn't read the books he'd brought, so the cats were the most interesting thing to pass the time with. It was fascinating and oddly companionable, although he felt confident that they'd both deny it.

He made a game out of trying to track the cats, and in the end, it may have saved their life. One of the cats, slightly more distinguishable from the others by a darker gray patch near one ear, was rolling around in the grass when it bolted upright and shot out of sight under the deck. In the time he'd been on watch, he'd never seen any of the cats move faster than a stroll.

Chuy must have noticed it as well because as soon as Gio got to his feet, the other man crossed the floor to look out the front window. "Nothing here," he said before ducking into the bathroom.

Gio tried not to read too much into it. Cats were always going crazy over imaginary distractions; it was probably nothing. Even so, he scanned the forest until his eyes ached. "I don't see anything," he said, right before a shadow separated itself from the trees. Light glinted on metal, the briefest flash of a machete slicing through foliage. "Son of a bitch."

"I see them," Chuy said, already halfway up the stairs. "Lock the damned door."

Keeping as much of his body behind the solid stone fireplace as possible, Gio slid the patio door closed with the toe of his boot. The lock was a heavy bolt that clicked into place like a shot in the quiet room.

"How many of them are there?" Marcus called from the second floor landing. The click and thunk of metal sliding home trickled down behind him, and he was drawn tight and pale in the moonlight.

Gio scanned the trees, his eyes tracking movement where there was none. "I don't know. Three, at least? Will the windows hold?"

"They're supposed to protect against burglars and reckless hunters, not a full scale assault," Marcus said. "I don't know what they're rated for."

"They took out an armored car in Jersey." Victor's hulking shape appeared at the top of the stairs, a head taller than Marcus and broader across the midsection. "I don't think we can stay here.”

"No shit, Sherlock. Any word from the boss?" Bristling with more weaponry than a porcupine, the smaller omega stalked down the stairs. He'd pulled a dark ski mask on, and he tossed a wad of fabric at Gio. "I hope that fits."

"Our phone doesn't have any signal," Victor said, his voice muffled as he pulled a mask over his head.

"They've got a blocker," Gio said, glancing at his cell as he untangled a dark hoodie and pulled it on. "Fuck."

"The boss was supposed to be here already. What time is it? Fucking time zone bullshit." With his back to the fireplace, Chuy scanned the forest. "What's the plan?"

Gio scanned the trees, his pulse racing. He could feel the others looking at him, the questions smothering him. "They haven't moved yet, but we can't count on that lasting much longer."

"They'll wait for Perron. He's a hands-on kind of guy," Chuy said, his voice seeping out of the shadows by the front door. Despite toting an arsenal, Gio hadn't heard him move. "There's a couple of guys watching the front door, but I bet they've got more between here and the road." He huffed. "Idiots. They think we're stupid enough to go for the motorcycle, Victor."

"It's cause it's what they'd do," Victor said, shuffling over with surprising agility until he could stare out the same window. "You and I could take them out."

In all the time that the pair had been in the house, Gio had considered Victor a hapless follower, swept along by his friend's charisma. The businesslike way that he pulled a large caliber rifle out of his jacket and started screwing on a silencer was a stark reminder that this was a dangerous criminal.

"I got the one on the left." Chuy stuck his hands inside the other man's clothing and pulled out a smaller rifle, silencer already attached.

"How many guns do you have?" Gio asked, his voice an octave higher than he'd intended.

Victor smiled at him in the dark, a flash of teeth, and patted him on the shoulder with one meaty hand. "You can never have too many guns," he said cheerfully.

"You want some ammo for that tinker toy you've got strapped to your ankle, FBI?" Chuy asked.

Gio didn't have time to answer before he was struggling to get a grip on three magazines the Hispanic omega had thrust into his hands. He stuffed them into the oversized pockets of his sweater without bothering to say thank you. If it was him—and he hated to admit that the two of them were similar—he would have hated to have his kindness acknowledged.

"You know that I'm going to have to charge you if you shoot those guys, right?" he said instead.

Someone snorted, and Chuy laughed under his breath. "Have fun with that, FBI. With the rap sheet those guys have, and the way they trashed Marcus’ apartment, I won't even have to open my mouth to say self-defense before the case is closed." The outline of the door shifted, cool night air flowing over their faces. "The law," he continued, barely a breath of sound as he held the door open barely wide enough for the barrels of their guns to slip out, "prefers to ignore gang violence."

"My name is Gio," he muttered, straining to make out anything in the dark. He could hear fabric rustling, and then nothing but deep, even breathing.

The outlines of the two forms blurred together to form one soul, breathing in and out in time. They didn't speak, but fired so closely together there was only one muffled pop as they fired, the recoil lost in a burst of movement. They slipped out the door on silent feet, even Victor moving with the grace of a dancer.

"Follow the driveway," Gio whispered, pushing Marcus ahead of him.

He was dismayed at how loud they were, their feet crunching on the gravel while the two gang members floated along with their guns on the woods. Every step, he expected to hear shouts or shots, see blood splatter across the underbrush. There was nothing, and they made it to the first line of trees without anyone dying.

It was even darker in the woods than it had been in the house, and he had to keep his eyes on the ground to make sure he didn't trip over any branches. He counted the seconds, his skin prickling with the primal urge to hide.

"Son of a bitch," Chuy hissed from ahead of him.

Gio's heart sank. The car was a mess. The windows and headlights had been broken, the glass shattered all over the interior. Even worse, the tires had been slashed, and he doubted they'd missed the opportunity to tamper with the brake lines or other hoses.

His chest clenched. The odds that they were going to make it out of this alive had dropped from just unlikely to impossible. Every plan, every move, every idea he had, all ended up with them getting shot in the woods, their bodies never to be found. His hand dropped to his stomach, and he hesitated.

A big body slammed into him, knocking him aside as the gloom exploded with light and movement. He hit the gravel hard, Victor slamming down next to him. The world spun, nothing holding still long enough to make sense.

"They have night vision," Chuy shouted over the pop of his gun firing into the trees. He was standing over Victor, his face twisted in fury in the red light of a flare burning away on the hood of the car.

Gio opened his mouth to protest, but nothing came out but a groan. Marcus was there, dragging him to his feet, and there was blood spattered on his face.

"Go," Victor said, already pushing himself off the ground. Blood dripped from his shoulder shining darkly on the gravel. He propped himself up against the passenger door, his gun already up and firing, injury ignored. "Go," he said again as a figure in night vision goggles and a red bandana tumbled out of the brush, a bullet hole between his eyebrows. "You're the ones they're after, and the boss will kill us if you get hurt."

Marcus was shaking his head, but Gio nodded. "Thank you," he said, shoving Marcus into the woods.

"We can't leave them," Marcus protested, but Gio ignored him, dragging him long until they hit the more open clearing of an overgrown path.

"We can't help them," he snapped, yanking a hand through his hair. The blood made it sticky, a welcome sting as individual strands caught and pulled. The pain was centering, helping him to focus. "Where is the nearest public place? Gas station, rest stop, mini mart, anything."

"What?" Marcus stared at him, his face pale. "There's a rest stop three miles or so away, toward the state park."

"Which way?" When he didn't answer, Gio caught him by the shoulders and shook him. "Which way is the state park?"

"West," he said finally. "The quad trails lead right to the rest stop. There's a gas station another couple miles past that, and it's shorter to take the trails than follow the road."

"Good. We'll head for that," Gio said, trying to inject confidence into his voice. "Come on."

He set a brutal pace at first, but after the second time he almost twisted his ankle on a loose stone, he had to slow down. Marcus kept glancing at him, his eyebrows crinkled with concern. He didn't have the breath to deal with it.

Periodically, they could hear shouting and crashing through the underbrush, but it was impossible to determine what direction it came from. All he could do was pick up the pace and pray.

The trail ended at the top of a hill, the rest stop spread out below them. Gio dragged Marcus to a stop, bending over to catch his breath. He was drenched in sweat and streaked with blood, barely visible hand prints layered across the middle of the hoodie from constantly reassuring himself that the baby was fine.

"Are you okay?" Marcus asked, mopping the sweat from his face with one sleeve.

It was such a stupid question that Gio didn't dignify it with an answer, slanting an unimpressed glance at the alpha. They were running through the woods from a gang of killers who wanted their heads. Otherwise, he was fine, thanks. Pass the cream.

In the harsh glare of the floodlights, the rest stop looked pretty empty, a single semi trailer parked off to one side. Nothing obvious to justify the alarm bells going off in his head. His agent instinct said that this was a trap.

From their current perch, he could see the sky lightening to the east. For the first time since they'd left the house, he pulled out his cell phone. He was surprised to find that they'd been running around in the woods for over an hour, but it was still hours from daylight.

"False dawn," he said, growling when his phone was still unable to find signal. "No luck."

Marcus nodded, reaching out to straighten his hair without seeming to realize what he was doing. "Now what?"

Gio bit his lip, staring at the sky. "We have to keep going," he said.

"I'll go first," Marcus said, pressing a kiss to his temple.

Pulling his gun out, his grip too tight, Gio nodded. "Go fast."

There was no stealthy way to get down the hill, sun-baked dust rising in a cloud as Marcus slid to the bottom. Nothing moved, and Gio didn't dare to breathe. The walk across the asphalt to the brick building that held the bathrooms was short, but there was no cover. Every step was dangerous.

He sucked in a relieved breath when Marcus made it to the cover of the buildings without incident. Scanning the area one last time, every shift of a branch in the wind, every small animal making his pulse jump, he followed.

It had seemed like such a short distance, but the trip stretched into days, weeks of sliding down the hill, the sound of sliding dirt filling his ears. Every step he made on the asphalt echoed like a shot.

By the time he made it to safety, he was shaking.

Marcus caught him when he stumbled, pulling him into the comfort of his arms. "You're okay," he whispered. "I've got you."

"Fuck you," he said, his voice cracking. "We have to keep going."

"We can take a few seconds to catch our breath."

Gio wanted to argue, but his legs were barely holding him. Even if it was just to himself, he had to admit that he was near the end of his rope. "Okay," he whispered.

They stood like that for another small eternity, the time dripping away like the faulty faucet in the nearest bathroom. Both of their hands came down to press against Gio's belly over and over, sometimes tangling together, sometimes avoiding each other's touch entirely. Eventually, the sound of the water got to him.

"We should take the chance to hydrate," he said. The blood was dry on his hands and face, flaking off in itchy patches. He tried not to think about it.

"There's a water fountain around the corner by the vending machines," Marcus said. "I haven't seen anything move."

The alarm bells were still going off in Gio's brain, the paranoia showing him every possible way that he was going to get them killed every time he blinked. "Okay," he said, shoving his fears away. "You can go first. I'll keep watch."

Marcus didn't comment on his unsteady hands as he slipped around the corner. He didn't comment when he had to pry Gio's fingers off the gun to take his turn at standing watch, either.

"Do you know how to use that?" Gio asked as he rinsed his hands in the cold water.

Raising one eyebrow, Marcus calmly ejected the magazine, cleared the barrel, then reloaded the gun. "No."

"Smart ass," Gio muttered, leaning over to clean his face. "It was a simple question." The water was sweet and clean, and it washed the taste of dust and forest and sweat out of his mouth. He drank until his head ached with the chill, and his mind felt refreshed. "Is there a pay phone here?" he asked belatedly.

Marcus was already shaking his head. "Some high schoolers knocked it over a couple years ago, and they never got around to replacing it."

"Fuck." Gio splashed his face one more time, relishing the cold. "Okay, so we head for the gas station. If we stay just inside the trees, either we'll get some signal, or someone will come along, and we can get a ride."

He didn't wait for Marcus to respond, taking his gun back and heading for the end of the building. Pressing his back against the brick, he scanned the parking lot. He wasn't expecting to see a large group of men, red bandanas glowing in the flood lamps, making their way in from the woods.

Frozen with indecision, he didn't react as Marcus dragged him out of the way as a bullet shattered the brick of the corner. He watched the other man pull a gun out of the waistband of his pants, lean around the corner, and fire twice.

"Where did you get a gun?" he asked, his thoughts moving at snail speed. Shouting in Spanish filled the air, and Marcus ducked back around the wall as the men returned fire.

"Chuy gave it to me," he said, his eyes wild.

"I'm going to kill him," Gio said, his hand flexing on his gun. He stared at it blankly for a moment, then at Marcus as he fired off another round of shots. He should have been helping, but he felt like a puppet without strings.

"Shit!" Marcus shouted as he stumbled, his legs going out from under him. There was blood splattered across the concrete.

Gio stared at it, rage welling up in him and narrowing the world to a single point. Someone had shot Marcus. His knuckles popped as his hands clenched, and then he was moving without having to consider his actions. Dragging Marcus back, leaving a smear of red on the pavement, he steadied himself with one deep breath.

Lean out, aim, fire, aim, fire, aim, fire, aim, fire, aim, fire, aim, fire, aim, fire. Breathe.

The world snapped back into focus, the enemies crumpled to the ground, not moving. He kept his gun up just to be sure, but he knew none of them were ever getting up again.

"How bad is it?" he asked Marcus.