“Is he still alive?” Syren greeted Daniel at the door to his condo with an eyebrow raised.

Daniel ignored the question, striding quickly past Syren. He stopped short when he spotted Syren’s husband lying in the middle of the room on a pile of blankets, toddler son clasped to his chest, teenaged daughter curled against him. The kids snored louder than their father.

Syren closed the door and stepped over his sleeping family, motioning Daniel to follow him into the other room. In the spacious office, Daniel remained standing against the door while Syren took a seat.

“You don’t look good.” Syren eyed him up and down. “Your prisoner being difficult?”

“What scares you?” Daniel asked.

He always felt uncomfortable when Syren Rua smiled. Maybe because he shouldn’t be that beautiful, or maybe because Daniel couldn’t help being a little mesmerized by that beauty.

“Interesting question. Should I be worried?”

“Men like us, we’ve seen and done the worst.” Daniel crossed his arms. “So what would scare a man like you? Or a man like me?”

The mellowness in Syren’s eyes melted away. Picking up a silver letter opener, he stroked it with one finger, gaze dropping to follow the movement as he spoke. “Everything I do, the people I deal with, and the strings I pull, it’s all for my family.” He dropped the letter opener onto the desk and lifted his gaze to Daniel. “The safety and happiness of who’s on the other side of that door…” He pointed past Daniel. “That keeps me up at night.”

Syren was a dangerous man. The burier of bodies and the keeper of dead men’s secrets. A title like that would keep a man up at night.

As for Daniel? “Stavros Konstantinou keeps me up at night.”

Syren sat back in his chair. Heavily.

“At first it was about revenge.”

“And now?” Syren uncapped the crystal decanter on his desk and poured liquid amber into a single glass. “What is it now?”

What was it? “Now, it is no longer just about revenge.” It was the best he could do.

“Drink up, amigo.” Syren pushed the glass of cognac in his direction.

Daniel retrieved the drink, and he downed it in one toss. “You’re not surprised.”

Syren’s lips quirked. “I am not surprised.” His eyes were full of knowing. “When do you release him?”

“I don’t.” He placed the empty glass back on Syren’s desk. “That part remains unchanged.”

From the slight narrowing of his eyes, Syren didn’t approve. Then again, he hadn’t approved of the original plan, either. Maybe he’d been onto something.

“Really.”

“My…lapse in judgment was an aberration.” One he still felt clear to his toes. “Nothing has changed.”

Syren laughed, loud and long, in his face. “Never took you for the delusional type, but hey…” He shrugged. “Good for you.”

Daniel frowned. “What does that mean?”

“It means you’re gonna learn today.”

* * *

Three days since it happened. They fed him twice a day, and so far he hadn’t seen Daniel for six meals. So three days since he’d officially lost his mind. This thing, this game, it could end no other way but badly.

He’d begged. Begged.

This want inside him, growing bigger and hotter with each day he spent as Daniel Nieto’s captive, it could never be satisfied. He understood that now. Even if Daniel walked into that room, and fucked him until kingdom come, Stavros would never be satisfied. Rational thought didn’t reside in this space where he craved his captor’s touch.

How could he let that happen? When did he let it happen?

Sometimes when he looked into Daniel’s eyes the grief was as fresh as if Stavros had committed the act mere days ago. Stavros loved Annika, yes. But he hadn’t spent decades married to her, and most importantly, she hadn’t loved him back. Daniel and Petra Nieto, they’d been in love for a lifetime. He hadn’t thought about that back then. He’d done the job. He was a goddamn mercenary, he always did the job.

Now, he wasn’t sure if it was penance, his way of begging forgiveness or mercy. But what he felt, it made no sense.

He was who Daniel thought him to be, a monster, wrecker of lives. He wore the skin of that man with no remorse. He couldn’t afford to be vulnerable to Daniel again.

He paced the small room. They’d unchained him, allowing him free movement inside the room. Every day the doctor—Boyd—visited, bringing food, flanked by three armed guards with assault rivals, wearing balaclavas to hide their faces.

Daniel had changed things up for sure, and though Stavros now had a comfortable bed and could use the bathroom without an escort, he was still a captive. He’d asked the good doctor once just how long Stavros had been in Daniel’s company.

Two weeks.

The way he felt, it could have just as easily been a lifetime.

His uncle must be frantic. With no children of his own, Stavros was the only family Christophe had left. Everyone likely thought him dead, killed off by one of the many enemies Stavros had made over the years. He’d never been one for diplomacy or restraint, and in his business, there were a lot of people who took offense to that.

Like he gave a fuck. Not then, and not even now.

A key jiggled in the lock and he stalled his pacing. Boyd had already brought him his food, maybe about an hour ago, so it wasn’t meal time yet. He waited for the doctor and his armed men to enter.

Instead Daniel did.

Oh, sweet mercy.

Their eyes met the second Daniel stepped over the threshold. Stavros recognized his captor’s smooth expression for the mask it was, hiding the furor underneath.

He wore black, which Stavros also recognized as his armor. Black shirt, opened at the collar, tucked into black slacks, and black Italian shoes. His eyes, they pinned Stavros so thoroughly that it took him a moment to shake the dizzying sensation off and find his tongue.

“Mr. Nieto, how nice of you to show up.” He smirked.

Daniel simply eyed him up and down, expressionless eyes taking in the generic white t-shirt, gray sweats and white socks that had become Stavros’ uniform. He stood at the door, hands going into his pockets as they stared at each other.

Three days. Stavros still felt Daniel’s weight on top of him, pinning him to that fucking bed. He smelled him, warm, confused lust. And he felt his touch. The hesitant slide of his tongue that quickly turned vicious with a little coaxing from Stavros. Three days, and during Daniel’s absence, even now, he felt the caress of Daniel’s rough fingertips along his jaw as if it were happening now.

All over again.

Daniel didn’t seem to have that same problem. His eyes remained blank, mouth shaped into a flat line. “Word is your people have given up looking for you.” His lips curved then, the tiniest bit, but Stavros stared at it. “They didn’t look very long, did they?”

Stavros shrugged. “I didn’t expect them to look at all, so…” That wasn’t a lie. His people knew better that to abandon their assignments to focus on him.

Daniel walked toward him slowly, eyes locked on Stavros’ face. As if he couldn’t look away. As if he didn’t want to look away. Even though his breath turned choppy and his pulse kicked up, Stavros held his ground and didn’t blink when Daniel stopped inches away from him.

“Tell me something…” He crossed his arms, elbows barely brushing Daniel’s chest. The other man’s nostrils flared at the faint contact. “Did you spend as much time with the people who contracted me to kill your wife, or am I the only special one?”

Daniel’s smile, it chilled Stavros. Goosebumps erupted along his forearms, and he ignored the urge to rub his hands over them.

“Everyone’s been dealt with. You’re the only one left.”

Shit.

His surprise must have showed, because Daniel regarded him as if he were a naïve child. “You seem to think there are lines I won’t cross, Mr. Konstantinou. And if I recall correctly, not too long ago you were also intent on killing my brother’s husband. A federal agent.” He leaned forward, breath teasing at Stavros’ cheek when he said, “Let me assure you, so you can put any doubts aside, there is nothing I will not do. And there is no life I will spare.” He pulled back to lock eyes with Stavros again. “Not even yours.”

“Do you think she would be proud of that fact?” Stavros asked him. “Do you think your Petra would want all that blood spilled in her name?”

Daniel backhanded him, a blow so hard and unexpected—he should have anticipated it, though—it knocked Stavros backward and into the wall. But before his back connected with the hard surface, Nieto was on him, hand around his throat.

“Never say her name.” Spit flew as he snarled in Stavros’ face. “You don’t deserve to say her name.”

Stavros clawed at the hand at his throat, struggling, gasping, but Daniel’s hold didn’t budge.

“Why don’t we ask her what she thinks?” Daniel roared. “Why don’t we ask her?” He shook Stavros, slamming his head back.

Fuck. He saw stars.

“We can’t ask her, because you took her from me. You took her from me.” Under the rage, under the red-hot anger, was the grief. Stavros heard it, and it called at him.

Instinctively, his body struggled at the pressure against his windpipe. But Stavros forced himself to stop, to relax into it. Into the unknown rushing up at him. Heart racing, the fear exhilarating.

“You don’t know what it’s like to have happiness,” Daniel told him in that harsh, torn-up voice as his hold abruptly loosened. “You’re always so ready to destroy what others have, because you’ve never had it. Because you want it for yourself.”

Stavros’ eyes shot open as he coughed. Those words hit him in the chest, closer to the truth that he cared to admit. “If you loved her so much, why am I not dead?” he asked.

Against him, Daniel tensed.

“If you loved her so much, why do you touch me the way you do? Why do you kiss me the way you do?”

Daniel’s fist connected with his stomach, and Stavros doubled over.

Goddamn, that hurt.

He hugged his middle and chuckled. “If you loved her so much, how come I can send you to your knees?”

Daniel grabbed him by the hair, fisted it, and hauled him upright, slamming him back against the wall.

Fuck.

Stavros couldn’t breathe. His legs were wet noodles, unable to hold him up. Daniel’s body pressed to his kept him on his feet. The other man’s eyes blazed at him when their gazes met.

“You want to die tonight?” Daniel asked. “Is that it?”

Stavros licked at the blood on his bottom lip and the cut there stung. “I want what you want. Fuck me. Kill me.” He shrugged in Daniel’s hold. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Doesn’t it?”

“No.” He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter.”

They weren’t fighting anymore. They were pressed so tight against each other, almost like an embrace, Stavros’ back to the wall, and Daniel’s hard body on him. Stavros felt every inch of him. Every ridge.

Especially the thick, promising curve of Daniel’s erection.

Jesus. Stavros touched him, a hand on the middle of his back. Daniel flinched, he felt it, saw it in the depths of his eyes. But he didn’t move away. The heat of him burned through to Stavros’ palm.

Incredibly, unbelievably, Stavros’ entire being shook. Like a nervous virgin, the way he felt. Fire stroked at his belly, hardening him. Daniel’s grip on his hair tightened and he tugged.

Stavros inhaled, taking Daniel’s musk of skin and man and lust into his lungs.

“Why doesn’t it matter?” Daniel asked in a murmur. The fingers of his other hand stroked Stavros’ chin, gliding through the blood there. “Tell me.” He pushed his fingers, tipped with blood, into Stavros’ mouth.

Mother. Fucker.

He latched on, moaning. Daniel groaned, and his lashes fluttered, hiding his eyes from Stavros. He sucked on those thick fingers, his hand on Daniel’s back curling to claw at him.

Digging in.

Holding on.

He bucked against Daniel, and the other man’s breath hitched.

“Stavros.” His fingers tunneled in and out of Stavros’ mouth, rough. Hitting the back of his throat, pressing down and making him gag. A punishment in itself.

Stavros shook his head. He didn’t want to answer questions. He wanted to suck on anything Daniel had to offer. His fingers. His mouth. His cock.

Hell, even his ass.

The fingers went away with a wet pop.

Ungh.

No. Stavros grabbed at the retreating hand, but Daniel dropped it to his side.

“Stavros.”

He gaped. It hadn’t register before, Daniel’s use of his name. On his tongue, on his voice, harsh and rugged it ripped at Stavros. He touched his hand to Daniel’s stubbled cheek.

“Because it doesn’t matter,” he said. God, his voice was husky, still loaded down with the lust that rode him so hard. “I don’t care.” Not right then.

Caught in Daniel’s gaze, Stavros watched himself trip and fall. Leaving his neck wide open, unprotected. Barriers crashing and crumbling. He might die in this place, which was a distinct possibility.

But Daniel’s breath had turned choppy, lips parted as he refused to budge.

This thing, Stavros wanted it. He ached to give in to it.

He made the first move this time.

Taking.

Slamming his mouth down on Daniel’s.

He’d been waiting, because Daniel opened immediately for Stavros, sweeping in. Those strokes, they made him quiver. Made him arch, and press closer.

Desperation.

Both of them taking even though they knew, it could never happen. It should never happen. All the lust swirling hot and thick in Stavros’ groin hardened him. And he rubbed, clutching Daniel to him.

Grinding.

But the guilt, something he didn’t recall ever experiencing before, twisted his insides. The lines he’d crossed, the things he’d done. Taking what Daniel offered up with those grunts and the wild trusts of his tongue was selfish.

Fuck. It.

Stavros sipped on him, and Daniel flowed over and into him like water.

Water.

He swallowed him down, letting Daniel cool him. Letting him soak those dark hidden places, parched and desolate.

Water.

Like that precious commodity, suddenly Daniel was everything Stavros needed. So he drank, hands dropping low to grab onto Daniel’s ass and spin them until Daniel was the one against the wall. Until Daniel was the one staring at Stavros with need in those cloudy eyes, waiting for the next move.

What they were doing, how they’d gotten to this place, the unspoken swirled around them. Thickening the air between them even more. All the reasons why the only answer to all the questions would be no.

But Daniel brushed a lock of hair from Stavros’ forehead.

So Stavros had to fucking kiss him again, shove his tongue deep enough to choke. He had to fuck his mouth and eat at him, bite and tear at this man with his teeth. Even when Daniel’s head banged against the wall, Stavros didn’t stop. Because Daniel didn’t want him to, not with the way he moaned.

Not with the way he rocked forward, pushing his erection against Stavros’ own.

Not even when he tore his mouth away, and tipped his head back, exposing his throat for Stavros to dip his head, licking at the scars around Daniel’s throat until the other man shuddered, yanking on Stavros’ hair and whispering, “Diablo. Oh, Dios.”

Stavros tore at Daniel’s shirt, taking one step back and yanking it open.

Buttons fell at his socked feet as the material came apart, exposing Daniel’s naked chest. The smile that had been forming on Stavros’ mouth froze.

Cracked.

Shattered.

She sat there, on his skin, in colorful ink. Her name tattooed all over his torso. About a dozen different sizes, a dozen different fonts. But she was there. Over his heart she shined brighter in a fancy script font. Her name, a date, followed by the words, sangre por sangre.

Blood for blood.

All inside the outline of a broken black heart.

Stavros’ bones never felt so heavy. He never felt so stripped. And he’d never wanted something he could never have more than right this second. He’d thought not having Annika had been the worst.

Wrong.

Daniel joined him in that fatalistic silence, and they stared at each other. Each man knowing…

“This can never happen.”

Stavros was the one to put it to words, but Daniel didn’t contradict him. In fact, his captor looked shell-shocked. As if he’d just caught on to the realization that he was about to cross that line, betray his wife with the man whose hands were soaked in blood he could never wash away. He’d never apologized. Had never considered the possibility that he should.

Why would he? He’d only been the messenger.

But a fresh wave of devastation crashed over Daniel’s face, and Stavros stepped forward. “Daniel—”

The bedroom door splintered open.

“Hands up! Hands up!”

Masked gunmen ran in, assault rifles pointed at both Stavros and Daniel. What the fuck? Awareness took its slow time coming as Stavros stared. Daniel didn’t move, so Stavros figured they were his men.

Until one of the five men stepped forward and pressed his gun to Daniel’s temple. “Hands the fuck up,” he spat in a distinctive Brooklyn accent. “That repeat was a courtesy, and your only warning. Next time, I’m squeezing on your ass.”

Daniel lunged, grabbing the speaker by the throat.

“Aye. Aye.”

The unmistakable pressure at the base of Stavros’ skull pissed him off, but he held himself still, hands spread wide as he waited. This is what happened when you let your thirst guide your actions. You let your guard down, and strangers just walked the fuck on in.

“Calm the fuck down, Nieto,” the man behind Stavros said. “Something tells me you want to be the one to do the honors with this one.” He thumped Stavros with the gun. “Let him go, and step back. Nice and fucking slow.”

Stavros didn’t think he would, but Daniel dropped his hand, face impassive as he faced the rest of the intruders.

“Good grip there, B,” the one with the gun on Daniel addressed him. “Impressive.”

“What is this?” Daniel asked. “Do you know what you’ve done?”

“We’re just here for the Greek.”

Stavros cocked his head. “Wait, you’re here to kidnap me from my kidnapper?” Seriously?

The man behind him chuckled. “Nah. We’re your rescuers. You’re welcome.”

Wha—”

Daniel stepped forward, a hand outstretched.

Pop. Pop.

Daniel flinched, staggered then crumpled to the floor.

“No.” Stavros dropped to his knees. Daniel watched him with heavy-lidded eyes, not saying anything as blood soaked the front of his shirt. “Fuck.” Stavros jerked his head up. “Help him,” he demanded.

“Relax.” One of the masked men yanked him upright. “He’ll be aight. You know those Nieto fuckers can’t die.”

The rest of the men chuckled.

Stavros punched the one holding him in the throat, and made a grab for the gun when the other man staggered.

Someone else sidled closer and stuck a gun in Stavros’ ribs. “Touch him again, and I’m going to forget this is a rescue mission. You fucking feel me?”

“JP, cool it.”

“I’m tired of being threatened. And death doesn’t scare me.” Stavros met each pair of eyes, the only features he could make out under the balaclavas. “So I’m gonna have to ask you to fuck off.”

“Hmm. He really is as annoying as they say.”

“Somebody patch dude up, so we can ghost this joint.”

“I’m staying,” Stavros said.

“The fuck you are.” Two of the five men flanked him. “Start walking.”

“Daniel—”

“Daniel kidnapped and tortured you, and you’re worried about him?” The one who’d pointed the gun at Daniel snickered. “Must be something ’bout that Nieto dick.”

Stavros ignored that. “Who hired you to find me?” He doubted his uncle was behind this.

“You’ll find out soon enough, just keep walking.”

Shit. He hated this entire goddamn situation. And he should be eager to get the hell out of there. But Daniel was bleeding out on the floor and Stavros wanted to go to him. “Please tell me you brought me clothes.” He tugged on the t-shirt he wore. “I’m sick of fucking t-shirt and sweats.”

“Somebody get him some clothes so he can shut the hell up.”

A bag was shoved into his hands, and Stavros got dressed right there, putting on the dark suit and matching shoes that fit perfectly while men pointed their guns at him. When they finished bandaging a silent Daniel and handcuffed him to the foot of the bed, Stavros approached him.

And he got on his knees for his captor. “So. Round two?”

“How?” Daniel asked, and Stavros knew he was asking about what just happened. If Stavros was behind the rescue.

He ignored the question, and touched Daniel instead, swiping a thumb over his cheek, over some of those pained lines then down to his lips. “I’ve never felt so fucking alive, do you know that? This time with you I’ve never felt so fucking much.”

Daniel watched him closely.

Stavros traced Daniel’s top lip. Then the bottom. “Estás loco.” You’re crazy. “And I fucking like it.”

“You swear a lot,” Daniel said roughly.

He chuckled. “I’ve got a filthy mouth.”

Daniel’s gaze dropped to Stavros’ lips.

“Maybe it will go away,” Stavros said softly. “What you feel. When I’m gone, it will go away.” He dropped his hand and stood. “I want it to go away.” For Daniel’s sake. But what Stavros felt, it wouldn’t go away. He already knew and accepted it. So he gave Daniel Nieto his back, and he walked away.

To the door.

Hand on the knob, and he stopped. Leaned against the door. Walking away from the man who’d held him captive shouldn’t be this hard. Walking away from Daniel Nieto shouldn’t be this hard.

“Round two,” Daniel said from behind him. “I look forward to it.”

Stavros smiled. He didn’t look back, but he held up two fingers, the universal sign for peace.

And a signal for the number of rounds they were up to now.

Then he went through the door.

“Let’s get the fuck out.” They did. Out the front door. Sunlight hit his face as they exited the building, blinding his vision.

Dizzying him.

He stumbled, and someone grabbed his shoulder. “Where are we?”

“Brooklyn, son.”

He looked back at the house he’d just left. A detached brownstone. Jesus. He knew he’d been back in the States, but Daniel kept him in Brooklyn this entire time?

His knees gave out.

Fuck.

He was unconscious before he hit the ground.