“I imagine this was not the way you expected your day to end.” There was a certain level of respect Daniel experienced as he stared down at the man before him. Plastic zip ties around his wrists bound behind the back of the chair. Ropes kept his would-be killer’s ankles together.

Hector the Hitman they called him in certain circles. Average height and build, shaggy dark brown hair that covered his ears and reached his collar, now soaked with sweat and blood. Hector’s eyes, they were narrowed and trained on Daniel as a thin trail of blood trickled down from his left temple and onto the gray tape over his mouth.

“Always make sure your prey isn’t expecting your arrival,” Daniel murmured. “They should never see you coming.” He smiled when Hector’s nostrils flared. “I hope you got hazard pay.”

Over in the corner, Toro snorted.

Hector grunted, the sound muffled by the tape. He wriggled his shoulders, struggling against his bonds, eyes flashing, signaling his anger. Daniel suspected all that was for show, because Hector had to know…

His death was a sure thing.

Daniel didn’t have to do anything more than sit back and wait for Hector to make his move. He’d shadowed Daniel from LA to Atlanta without knowing Toro was on his tail. Until it was too late. Together Daniel and Toro had turned the tables on the gun-for-fire, overpowering him, knocking him out, and bringing him here, to the abandoned house in the middle of Atlanta.

A place he could conduct this business in peace, offered up by Syren Rua. The Brazilian was all kinds of helpful, wasn’t he? Daniel suspected Syren had been the one to give Stavros the folder on Toro and Levi. The manipulations should anger him, but he didn’t have the strength for that.

All night he’d been here, keeping Hector awake with his blade. The constant flow of blood kept his head clear of the fog of doubt and emptiness he felt since walking away from Stavros. He’d planned to deal with Felipe once he finished with Hector. Except someone beat him to the punch.

Stavros beat him to the punch. The text had arrived via Toro’s phone from Syren. An image of Felipe’s severed head and the five words: “the Greek sends his regards.”

Felipe had needed to be handled. In truth, Daniel kept putting it off, putting it for last because of who Felipe was. Stavros spared him that, but Daniel didn’t know how he truly felt about it. All he knew was that his connections to Petra were fading. All he had now were memories and her name on his body.

Felipe had been a threat.

Stavros is also a threat.

Except the kind of threat Stavros posed…Daniel welcomed it. He ached for it. He couldn’t have it, though. That realization had him lurching forward, grabbing Hector by the throat.

To his credit, Hector didn’t just sit there, immobile. He struggled. At least, he tried putting up a fight. Of course, he didn’t know how much Daniel liked that.

“Shh.” Daniel squeezed the man’s throat until his eyes bulged. “Shh.” He kept his tone gentle as he plunged the knife into Hector’s side.

Hector tensed. Eyes widening, body shuddering.

Muffled sounds rumbled behind his covered mouth.

“Easy. Easy.” Daniel curved his mouth as he stared down at him. “This is a kindness, Hector.” He pulled the knife out slowly and straightened. “You lucked out, so accept it.”

Hector’s body shook. His throat worked. Blood soaked his side, dripping down his pale, naked skin before sliding under the waistband of his jeans, the only piece of clothing Daniel allowed him to keep.

Daniel surveyed his handiwork, gloved fingers gripping the knife he held to his side. Hector’s blood coated the blade, dripping small dots onto the floor next to Daniel’s feet. The sight of blood loosened the tight grip on his chest, but not by much.

That brick sitting in his stomach wouldn’t ever go away, not unless he gave up, gave in, and embraced what he struggled so hard to accept.

He needed Stavros.

The choking sounds Hector made commanded Daniel’s attention, so he refocused. “You have a few minutes left,” Daniel told him. “Don’t fight. Let it happen, because it will.” Somehow it seemed he also spoke those words to himself. He had fought, hadn’t he?

Fought.

Denied.

Ran.

But those feelings, they remained with him still.

Footsteps pounded down the stairs. “Tío, we have company,” Toro barked.

Daniel didn’t flinch, nor did he look away from Hector. “How many?”

“One.” Toro didn’t sound pleased at all.

Gaze locked on Hector’s, Daniel asked, “Who?”

Toro’s reply came after a few heartbeats. “Konstantinou.”

Somehow the name landed on Daniel’s shoulders like the sharpest blow, loosening his grip on the knife. It clattered to his feet as he jerked his head back to meet Toro’s censorious gaze.

His nephew didn’t approve.

Petra most certainly would not have approved.

Nobody smart enough, who knew exactly the kind of man Stavros was and what he’d done, would approve.

But the cold knot in his chest from moments ago? It was now fire-hot, a gasoline soaked blaze already thawing…

Melting.

“Tráemelo.” Bring him to me.

Toro’s eyes narrowed and he stood halfway down the stairs, searching Daniel’s face before he jerked a tight nod and turned away, climbing back up the way he’d come.

He’d come. Why? How had he known where Daniel would be? Syren, most likely.

Questions he’d ask later. Now, he stood silently.

Waiting.

Hector’s muffled wheezing echoed. Death was taking a mighty long time to come for that one. Maybe Daniel should put him out of his misery. He picked up the knife he’d dropped and took a step toward the slumped figure in the chair.

The stairs creaked.

Daniel froze.

Silence suddenly. Even Hector’s agonized sounds faded quickly. With his back to the entrance, Daniel felt him.

Like the sun on his nape.

Like the weight of Stavros’ body pressed to his.

Like the sweep of Stavros’ hand down his back.

Daniel felt him everywhere.

Steady footfalls echoed. Hector’s eyelids fluttered open and as Daniel watched, his gaze followed those footsteps.

“Stranger.”

Much like a rock dropped into an otherwise calm pond, Stavros’ voice rippled over Daniel’s skin. In all the ways this could be deemed wrong and a betrayal—in all the ways that this connection forced him to choose between past and present, her and him—it was una necesidad.

Breath and water and touch.

Necessary.

It was life.

His fingers flexed around the hilt of the knife and he turned to his left, toward the sound of that voice.

Stavros stood there, shoulders against the wall. Dressed in a white shirt under a dark unbuttoned sports jacket along with dark pants and shoes. No belt, shirt tucked into his waistband. Hands in his pockets. Ankles crossed.

Deceptively calm gaze on Daniel.

Something happened when they got in the same room. When their eyes met. When they breathed the same air. A dangerously potent something.

“Why did you come?” He’d stopped caring about his damaged voice, but this time the extra raw quality made Daniel hide a flinch.

It didn’t appear that Stavros blinked, but his mouth curved. It wasn’t a smile, though. There was a hardness in that gesture, a coldness in his eyes that would have likely sent a lesser, weaker man searching for the exits.

“You fucked up by walking away from me,” Stavros told him.

The deceivingly soft words arched between the two of them, cutting out Toro who stood like a quiet sentry at the bottom of the stairs, and the bound man off to the side, bleeding out.

Stavros pushed away from the wall and walked over slowly. So relaxed. Hands still in his pockets, gaze as hot as a cattle brand on Daniel’s face. “But I fucked up more,” he said when they stood chest to chest. “Letting you think distance between us was an option.”

“Toro,” Daniel bit out. “Leave us.” He didn’t check to see if his nephew moved. Instead Daniel grabbed Stavros by the throat, gloved hand slick with Hector’s blood digging into him as he drove Stavros backward.

One step.

Two.

Three, and he slammed Stavros into the wall he’d been leaning against earlier.

His lover chuckled, eyelids lowered.

Daniel inhaled him, that scent of Stavros that stayed in his nostrils. Drugging.

“Diablo.” He breathed the name across Stavros’ lips, and it lit up the other man’s eyes. Softening his features. Damn him. Damn them.

“Did you miss me?” Stavros gripped Daniel’s hair, holding him just as tight. Despite Daniel’s hand at his throat, Stavros bent forward until their foreheads were pressed together.

The question, it sounded innocent. Nonchalant. But those four words ripped a response from Daniel. “Sí.” The low pained, guttural truth burned his throat. Seared his tongue. Still, he tightened his fingers around Stavros’ throat and spoke them again. “Sí.”

The smile on Stavros face wrinkled the corners of his eyes, and curved his mouth wider. Happiness and relief. They brightened him, putting a shine on the dark and dangerous that were barely concealed in the hard lines of his body and the rough calluses of his fingertips.

“Then don’t fucking try to leave me again.”

Daniel kissed him, hard and fast, sinking his tongue deep enough to taste that shine. Delving beyond that for the taste he craved. He didn’t want the polish or the shine. He wanted the darkness. The danger. And he got it. Hot and slick on his tongue, rocking him backward. Stavros held on to him by his hair, pulling so hard as they battled the way they always did.

Chest to chest, heads angled, and mouths fused as they came together with greedy swipes. Daniel forgot the man dying mere feet away. He forgot disapproving Toro. And he accepted the guilt.

He accepted it now, because there was no other way.

No going back.

They were connected, he and Stavros. Connected by blood, by death. By guilt and betrayal too. But also by this crazy unexplainable and emotional need they had to be near each other. Touch each other. Taste each other.

Daniel tasted him now. All of him, aching to get closer, to put his bruises back on Stavros’ skin. He tore his mouth away, throat tight, chest heaving. Stavros’ open-mouthed pants blasted him.

As he watched, Stavros sucked his wet and swollen bottom lip into his mouth, drowsy gaze lifting past Daniel’s right shoulder.

“Who’s the dying dude with the judgmental eyes?”

Daniel glanced over his shoulder to find Hector’s head had rolled to the right, and he was watching them with slitted eyes. “Hector the Hitman.”

“Ah.” Stavros lifted an eyebrow. “You’re taking your time with him?”

“I was.” Daniel released Stavros’ throat and stroked his cheek, leaving smudges of blood behind. “But something more important came up.” He peeled away the glove, dropping it to the floor as he brought two fingers to Stavros’ mouth. “Wet it.”

Before he finished speaking, Stavros had swallowed his fingers, eyes closed, moaning. Daniel stroked his other hand down Stavros’ front, past his chest and torso, stopping only to unbutton Stavros’ pants and yank the zipper down.

His lover was aroused already. But he grew harder in Daniel’s grasp, crown slick with warm pre-cum that flowed freely. Flowing for Daniel. With that knowledge came immense power. Stavros sucked his fingers hard, and in turn Daniel stroked him.

Rough enough for Stavros to groan, the sound echoing around his soaked digits, making Daniel’s entire being vibrate. He removed his fingers with a pop then brought them to his own mouth, sucking off Stavros’ taste while holding the other man’s lust-filled stare.

They were going there, to whatever lay past the point of just sex. To whatever resided on the other side of casual. Burning normal to ash. Stavros’ taste spread through Daniel’s bloodstream and he smiled.

It wasn’t that much of a revelation at all, to realize he’d set himself on fire to keep Stavros Konstantinou warm.

With one hand, he tugged down Stavros’ pants and underwear to just past mid-thigh. His other hand, the one with fingers slick with saliva, he brought it down and around, between ass cheeks. Stroking the tight hole waiting, already yearning for him.

He caught Stavros by the chin.

And he pressed in.

Stavros’ sharp inhalation echoed and his lashes fluttered but he didn’t close his eyes. No. He rose on tiptoe. Lips parted. Jaw flexing. He went up on his toes and then he came back down.

Slowly.

Opening just enough for Daniel’s fingers to push in.

Agonizing.

The way he immediately molded around Daniel.

Soul shattering.

The trust he gave Daniel. His life. His body. His pleasure. He trusted Daniel with it.

Daniel held all of it close, probing, delving into the molten heat of Stavros. Knuckles deep. Transfixed by the reckless perfection of it. By the simple abandon that played across Stavros’ face as he took what Daniel gave.

Out. Then in.

Daniel gave them pleasure. Stavros’ was apparent, but in that moment Daniel got his from watching Stavros. The telling lines of his body as he rose and fell around Daniel’s fingers. The guttural needy sounds that rumbled in his throat.

Through it all Stavros watched him, gaze just as greedy as the body that sucked at Daniel’s fingers.

“Diablo.” Daniel’s voice cracked. “Is this penance? Is this your penance? Because you treat me like fire. And your touch—” He swallowed, hooking the fingers inside Stavros.

His lover’s hips jerked hard, cock pressing into Daniel’s hip. “Daniel.” Stavros’ voice vibrated in time with his body.

“Your touch kills me,” Daniel confessed through the thickness in his throat. “It’s the sweetest murder, and I want it again and again.” Fingers crooked, he went deep in search of that knot.

Stroking it.

“God.” Stavros fisted Daniel’s shirt, yanking him closer than they already were. His eyes rolled back in his head, and his head followed, banging against the wall. “I don’t— Please.” His throat convulsed. “Daniel. Please.”

Knuckles pressed to his prostate, Daniel gave Stavros his release.

“Fuck!”

And his commitment.

As hot cum poured into his palm, and tight muscles squeezed his fingers, Daniel swept back into his mouth.

Taking him again.

Tasting him again.

Gentler than before, but not too soft, and when Stavros’ body eased up on the shaking, Daniel pulled out of him and slid down his body.

“Daniel.” Stavros caught his nape, staring down at him.

Daniel pressed his lips to the inside of Stavros’ right knee, resting his forehead against his lover for a moment as he breathed. It wasn’t easier to do that, of course not. But it wasn’t as difficult as it once was. It didn’t ache so badly.

Trembling fingers tunneled through his hair, and under his lips tremors still made Stavros shudder.

“Soy todo tuyo,” he whispered the words into Stavros’ skin. He hooked an arm around Stavros’ thigh and lifted his head, meeting those eyes. They waited for him. “Yo soy tuyo y tú eres mío.”

I am yours and you are mine.

Stavros’ eyes, they blazed. “You leave me speechless every time I see you like this.” His gaze darkened suddenly. “I need your gun.”

Daniel lifted an eyebrow.

“Time to put Hector out of his misery.” He grinned. “I don’t think he enjoyed our show.”

“Where’s your gun?”

Stavros scowled. “Toro took it.”

Daniel pulled his own piece from his waistband and held it up. He didn’t look away from that man, his lover, when Stavros pulled the trigger.

“You want to get up?” Mouth curved, Stavros said, “I’m sure your nephew will be here in a second to make sure I didn’t shoot you.”

“No.”

Of course, Toro chose that moment to come racing in. “Tío!” He skidded to a halt at the bottom of the stairs. “Fuck, Tío. Really?”

Stavros chuckled.

“Put your gun away, Toro. We’ve got a body to deal with.”