Dealing with Renzo’s wounds outside of a sterile setting was not ideal, but Low worked with what he had. With Dax holding a delirious Renzo down, Low flushed the wound with a saline solution. He didn’t have advanced paramedic training, but he did know enough to clean a wound and close it up. Thank God he hadn’t had to go searching for bullets since Dax had already removed them. That would have made an already difficult situation even more complicated. He didn’t observe any significant damage, but there was only so much he could do and he made sure to tell Dax that.

The large man simply grunted and tightened his grip on a thrashing Renzo.

Low’s hands shook every time he touched Renzo, but the why eluded him. Because he was touching Renzo? Because he was fixing up a man who’d destroyed Low’s family? Because Dax just might kill him if anything happened to Renzo?

He didn’t know, but by the time he finished sewing up both wounds, Low was a jittery, sweaty mess. Thankfully, Renzo had passed out at the first dig of the needle into his flesh. Low cleaned up the mess he’d made and got to his feet, stepping over the small mountain of bloodied gauze on the floor next to the couch.

In the bathroom, he slouched against the closed door with his eyes closed.

Deep breaths.

Fuck.

His knees knocked. He shuffled to the sink, pulling off the bloodied gloves and soaping up his hands, washing them over and over with water as hot as he could take it. He stared at his hands as Renzo’s blood swirled down the drain. Who would have thought he’d be here, using the training he’d gotten as an EMT to help Renzo, the man who kissed him like he was the most precious thing?

Low met his eyes in the mirror. They were bloodshot from him working through the night. He needed sleep. Needed to leave this place and Renzo Vega behind. He splashed water on his face then wiped his hands before leaving the bathroom.

Dax had draped a blanket over Renzo’s still form, and was kneeling at his side, stroking his hair, whispering words too soft for Low to make out.

He looked away at that sight, clearing his throat. “I need to go home.”

“And you will. When he’s all better.”

Low swung his head around to frown at him, but Dax’s attention was on Renzo. “Are you serious? I have a life to get back to.” Dax ignored him. “Dax.”

Dax got to his feet and faced Low. All that menace in his glare did nothing but anger Low even more. He fisted his hands and glared.

“Do you see that man?” Dax pointed behind him to Renzo. “I love him. I will do anything for him. You’re staying until I know for sure he’s going to be okay.”

I love him. Low tried not to hear those words, tried not to feel some type of way at someone claiming Renzo so easily. Didn’t work. “I have responsibilities.” He swallowed, trying to make Dax understand without saying the words, that he couldn’t be here. He couldn’t be close to Renzo. He couldn’t watch him bleed and hurt and ache without aching himself. He couldn’t watch Dax touch him so freely, soothing him as if he did it on the regular. “Please.”

Dax shook his head. “Change of plans.”

Low set his jaw and stomped over to the unconscious Renzo, covering the stitches with bandages to keep them clean. When he was done with that, he used alcohol pads to clean Renzo up as best he could before turning back to Dax.

“I need coffee.” He lifted an eyebrow. “Can you make that happen?”

“You can rest while I’m gone.”

“What, no. Where are you going?” The panic in his voice didn’t even embarrass him. He didn’t want to be alone with Renzo, unconscious or not.

“You want that coffee, right?” Dax’s mouth twisted. “Plus, I need to handle some business. I’ll get what you need.”

Low glanced around the huge room. “You guys don’t have coffee in the kitchen?”

Dax’s lips twitched. “This is a safe house.”

Shit. What kind of safe house was it even, if they had no food around? Low sighed. “You and your boss are fucking with my life, you know that, right?”

“Blanket and pillows over there.” Dax pointed to a pile over in the corner then tossed a phone at Low. “My number’s the only one in there. Call me if anything happens.” He held Low’s gaze. “Anything.”

“Got it.” He nodded.

“Here.” Dax held out a gun.

“Whoa.” Low backed up, hands held up. “I don’t—”

Dax just shoved the thing into Low’s grip with an impatient sound. “Nobody knows about this place. Still, I need you to be protected.” He held Low’s gaze firmly. “Unless it’s me coming through that door, point and shoot.”

Jesus. Christ. Low took the weapon.

He didn’t elaborate, but Low got the gist of what Dax didn’t say. The people who tried to kill Renzo were still out there. The last thing Low wanted was to be caught up in a fucking war with Renzo and his enemies.

But here you are.

Yep.

Dax left after repeating his warnings and instructions, and Low sat there, staring at Renzo. Dropping the pretense with no one else around to witness it. He touched Renzo’s head, smoothing his hair, tracing his jaw. The bag of supplies Dax gave him had a bunch of antibiotics in there. They had to watch Renzo for fever. This could all still turn out so bad. He was still so angry at the way Dax had ambushed him and taken him from his bed. But as he watched Renzo’s head toss back and forth, Low was glad he was there.

For now, at least.

Under the blanket, Renzo was naked except for black boxers. His shoulder was bandaged, his thigh as well, but old scars adorned his torso. An especially wicked scar spanned almost the entire length of his left side. Low touched it with the tip of an index finger. The shaking in his hands hadn’t quite disappeared.

He made himself a bed with the blankets and pillows on the floor next to the couch, the gun beside him, and settled onto it with a heavy sigh. The last place he wanted to be, with the last man he wanted to be alone with. But as the silence surrounded him, he remembered that feeling when he first spotted Renzo on the couch, covered in blood and pain. His brain reminded him of another similar scene.

Kenton in the morgue. Except it wasn’t quite the same, was it? Kenton was dead.

Tanty Ellen didn’t leave her bed for weeks. She’d collapsed in his arms when he told her what happened. Her cries still echoed in Low’s head, and the shattered look in her eyes still haunted his dreams.

Today Low saved Renzo. Guilt choked him, hot and bitter. Somewhere deep inside he had a softness, a fascination with Renzo. Somewhere deep inside, Low hurt watching Renzo hurt. He bled as he watched Renzo bleed. Somewhere deep inside he was horrified, horrified at how much he needed Renzo to be okay. How much he wanted Renzo to be back to spouting his bullshit with the smolder in his eyes that seemed to never look away from Low.

He held both hands up. All the blood was gone, but Low still saw it. He still felt the thick warmth sticking to his skin. The blood of the man who’d made it impossible for Low to keep his promise. He was supposed to hate Renzo Vega. Sometimes he thought he did. He could’ve sworn he did. But tonight he knew for sure he didn’t.

Whatever he felt. Fear, worry, lust, ache.

Hunger.

Want.

Hate didn’t make the list.

Fear tightened Low’s stomach. Having anything to do with Renzo Vega was a mistake. One he should know better than to make.

Yet here you are.

* * *

There’s only room for one of us.”

The words, uttered with cool nonchalance in halting Portuguese, made him draw his knees up tighter against his chest. The cold and rough wall behind him grazed the exposed skin of his back, and the fresh wounds from his daily lashing throbbed. Still, he shrank backward.

He was bigger. Taller. If he wanted he could probably do something, but he was weak. No food. Definitely no water. Plus the beatings. He had no strength. Not like the one staring at him with the knife clenched between tight, white-knuckled fingers. He alternated his wide-eyed gaze between that knife and the eyes of the one threatening him.

Even if he had the strength and could fight for his life in this dank and dreary cell, he wouldn’t. They were cellmates. Time didn’t matter in their confined darkness, so he only knew it had been a long time since his companion had been tossed naked into the cell as the gate locked behind him. They’d taken care of each other from that point on.

They’d whispered promises with their pinky fingers linked.

They’d cleaned each other in the aftermath of bloodied beatings, after they’d been used for the amusement and pleasure of the man who kept them in this cell. They had only each other.

Except now, they didn’t.

He didn’t put up a fight. Couldn’t. Instead he watched as his cellmate drew closer, the knife in his hand ominous, full of menace. Death should be better. Death by the hand of someone he thought cared. His cellmate lurched forward, and he threw his hands up at the last minute to protect his face. The blade sliced into his side, and he cried out at the pain.

“You promised. You promised.” The yell wasn’t really that at all, hoarse Portuguese, drenched in pain as he opened his eyes. “You—”

“Hey.” Someone touched his forehead, pushing away the hair obscuring his tilting vision. “Easy.”

That voice. Renzo blinked, everything registering at once.

His wounds.

The man kneeling next to him.

Low. Oh shit.

Dreaming about the past. Low staring down at him with something other than anger in his eyes. Things were really bad then. He closed his eyes when the room swam and sank backward onto the cushion.

“Here.”

He opened one eye, the lid trembling at the effort. Being weak was not an unfamiliar feeling, he just hadn’t experienced it in a long time. He sighed when Low held up a glass of water and positioned the straw between his lips. Renzo drank, feeling the weight of Low’s stare without meeting the other man’s gaze. He never wanted this for them. Never wanted Low to see him like this.

But he couldn’t help it.

Once Low put the glass aside, he started talking. “You’ve been unconscious for almost twenty-four hours. I cleaned your wound. Sewed you up. Wasn’t easy, but at least nothing vital was hit. The big guy, Dax, went out for a bit.”

Renzo couldn’t ignore Low’s clipped tone. The tension that came across in his voice. The anger. He opened his eyes and found Low wasn’t even looking at him. The younger man’s gaze was on his hands, the long, slim fingers nervously plucking at the edges of the blanket draped over Renzo’s naked lower half. The last time they’d seen each other, Renzo had tasted him.

His fear.

His guilt.

His fire.

“Low.”

The fingers stopped their plucking, but Low didn’t look at him. His jaw ticked as he glared down at his hands.

Moving hurt like a son of a bitch, but Renzo ate the pain, swallowing a grunt as he levered himself to a half-seated position. “Low.”

“Lie back before you fuck up my stitches.”

“Thank you.” Renzo touched him, the barest brush of his fingertip over Low’s clenched fist. “I know you don’t want to be here—”

“I was taken from my bed at knife point, so it’s not like you gave me a choice.” His anger sliced through Renzo, hurting just as much as his wounds. “I din’ have a choice.”

I’m sorry. The apology never made its way to Renzo’s lips. “You could have left,” he pointed out instead. “I’m out cold and Dax is gone.” He glanced at the door then back to Low. “You could have left.”

Low’s nostrils flared. “I’se nah like you. I can’t watch somebody hurting and not help. Even if dah person is you.” He got to his feet and started pacing in front the couch. “I just want to know, why me?”

Renzo wondered if Low realized his accent volleyed back and forth between his Grenadian dialect and the smoother American standard. From what Renzo observed, it happened when Low was agitated, angry or worked up in any way. If he had to choose, he preferred the rugged textures in the Grenadian accent. He liked to think he saw colors when Low spoke to him. Soft sands the color of corn meal and brilliant turquoise waters so clear you could see your face reflected on the ocean floor.

“Why me?” Low asked again.

Renzo tried to formulate an answer. “I do business with people I don’t like who don’t like me.”

“I don’t want to know about your business,” Low snapped.

“You asked a question.” Renzo shifted, breath hitching at the stab of pain that lanced through his arm. “I’m giving you an answer. The people I deal with are good at presenting themselves in a positive light. I have to watch my back when dealing with them because I never know who’s gunning for me.” He licked his lips, holding Low’s angry gaze. “I know you don’t like me. So I trust you. I trust that.” He pretended Low’s hatred for him didn’t hit him straight in the crumbled remains of his shattered heart.

Low watched him closely, confusion on his eyes. “You trust me to save your life.”

Since he couldn’t use his shoulders to shrug, Renzo tried to make sure the gesture could be read in his voice when he said, “I trust you to be you, whoever you think that person is.”

“That person doesn’t want to be here,” Low said sharply. “That person doesn’t want your blood on his hands and your life on his conscious. You obviously don’t give a fuck about that. I was pulled from my bed with a knife to my throat.” His words trembled. “I was blindfolded. I was afraid.” He pressed a balled fist to his chest, fire flashing in his eyes. “You violated me.”

He knew that. “I’m sorry.”

Low broke their gaze, motioning to Renzo’s shoulder. “I need to check you out. I have to watch you for infection since we didn’t do this in a sterile setting.” He walked over and bent over Renzo, tossing aside the blanket. “You in pain? You want some meds for that?”

Pain wasn’t the word for what he was feeling, but Renzo shook his head. “I’m good.”

Low frowned, but didn’t push. Instead he put on a fresh pair of gloves and went about cleaning Renzo’s wounds then covering them with fresh bandages. When he came back from washing his hands, he said, “You need some food in your belly to take the meds I found in that duffel.” He cocked his head. “That bag is a walking ER.”

Renzo cracked a smile. “A doctor friend of mine put it together.” Well, Mehkah used to be a doctor. Nowadays he was as far removed from that life as one could get.

Low’s brow lifted. “So why isn’t he here in my place?”

“He’s out of the country.” Probably getting fucked somewhere on a Thai beach. Lucky bastard.

“I have to go home soon,” Low said after a while. “I—” He swallowed. “Dax says I can’t leave until you’re back on your feet.”

“You can go. You’re not my prisoner, Low.” Renzo knew better than to try that, not if he wanted more from Low. Shit, after this he could probably kiss any thought of that goodbye. “You can go, as long as you keep this quiet. And you come back.”

Low stared at him and when Renzo didn’t break eye contact, Low made a disbelieving sound. “You’re serious.”

“I don’t play around when it comes to you, Low.” Even with his body shot full of bullets, Low came above everything else. At his declaration, Low’s lashes lowered, hiding his eyes from Renzo’s view. The tension that had been simmering below the surface, burst forth, full throttle.

“You’re supposed to be king of Atlanta, right? On top of the criminal food chain?”

Renzo smirked. “So they tell me.”

Low lifted his head and they were back watching each other. Something dark shifted in the depths of Low’s hazel eyes. “I scrubbed your blood out from under my nails tonight. It was not fun.” The tremor in his voice was barely there, but Renzo felt it, and it made his wounds throb. “You need better people to do business wid. Or more people to watch your back. Or maybe, maybe you dey in the wrong business.”

Oh, it was definitely the wrong business, but there was no escaping. Not now. He’d die in it and Renzo had long made his peace with that fact. “Would you be sorry to see me go?’ he asked. “If I die, would you be sad for me, Low?”

Low lifted his chin. “No.”

“Liar.” He grinned.

Low bristled.

Dax walked through the door.

The hulking man simply lifted an eyebrow when his gaze landed on Renzo’s face, but Renzo saw the worry and concern in Dax’s eyes.

“You’re alive.” Dax walked over and got on his knees next to Renzo, pressing a kiss to his temple, fingers delving into his hair to scrape softly against his scalp.

“Barely.” Renzo eyed the bag of food in Dax’s grip. “Something for me in there?”

“Soup for you.” Dax lifted his head, brown eyes telegraphing his concern as he eyed Renzo critically.

“Feed him,” Low said. “I need to give him some pain meds. Don’t think I can’t see you’re hurting,” he told Renzo before glancing at the door. “I need to go.”

Dax squinted as he frowned up at Low. “I told you—”

“Dax.” Renzo stopped him. “Low can leave. He’s not our prisoner.” He looked at Low from under his lashes. “Besides, he’ll be coming right back. Aren’t you, Low?”

A muscle in Low’s jaw jumped, but he didn’t reply as he turned away and headed to the bathroom. Renzo took the pain meds in silence then slurped the soup Dax spoon-fed him. He hated being laid up like this, all helpless and not in control. His shoulder seemed to hurt more than his thigh, but he was alive and Low was right there, within arms’ reach, so he couldn’t complain.

The meds made him drowsy, but before he succumbed to the fog, he turned to Dax. From the tight look in his friend’s eyes, Renzo could tell Dax had some things to share. “Tell me.”

Low walked out of the bathroom at that moment and Dax eyed him warily. “You wanna wait to do this?”

“Just watch your words,” Renzo told him. “And take him where he wants to go when I fall asleep.” He glanced at Low. “Dax will give you the address so you came come back once you’re finished with whatever.”

Dax’s disapproval came across loud and clear in his grunt, but Renzo ignored him.

“So, I’se you nurse now?” Low asked.

“I’ll take you however I can get you.” He hid a smirk when Low glowered.

“Last night I had a knife at my throat and a blindfold over my eyes and tonight I get free range to come and go as I please?” Low crossed his arms and leaned back against the closed bathroom door.

“I trust you,” Renzo told him.

Low snorted. “Yeah? Wouldn’t want to see what you do to the man you don’t trust.”

“I kill him.” Renzo tried to find a comfortable position without jostling his shoulder or his leg. Which was impossible. “That’s how I handle people I don’t trust, Low.”

Low stiffened, lips pursed, eyes condemning on Renzo’s face.

“You’re here because I trust you, because I would never hurt you.” He glanced away. “Because even though you hate me, you’re still a good man who’ll do the right thing.”

Low’s lips parted. “I haven’t done the right thing since I met you.”

He sounded lost, off balance. Renzo wanted to touch him like he’d done that night at the club, wanted to kiss him like he’d done that night too. His forehead. His nose. His lips. One taste and he missed it. He’d started missing it while Low’s tongue was still in his mouth, fingers still scratching the fuck out of Renzo’s neck.

He stared into Low’s eyes, remembering. Aching, and not because of his wounds this time. “Low.”

Low blinked, tongue sliding over his bottom lip as he looked away.

A throat cleared, and Renzo turned to find Dax’s gaze flicking between he and Low, a bemused expression of his friend’s face. “So. Ah, the club’s fucked up.”

Renzo sobered with a quickness. “How bad?”

Dax sighed. “Looks like a bomb went off.”

As much as Renzo wanted to get the hell up off the couch and hit back at whoever ambushed him, he had to bide his time. Besides, he didn’t even know who was behind it.

“Call Shay, she’ll handle clean up.” He ignored Low who was now watching the two of them with more than a little bit of curiosity. “I’ve got other business to deal with.” He had to place a call to a friend inside the GBI—Georgia Bureau of Investigation—and Low couldn’t be around for that. “Dax, take Low home. Please.”

“Are you serious right now?”

It could all be Renzo’s imagination, but Low seemed hesitant to leave. He closed his eyes on a smile. “See you later, Low.”

Low huffed, footsteps echoing as he drew closer. “The last time you said that, you got shot, and I ended up wrist deep inside you.”

Renzo’s eyes flew open. “Pity I missed that part.” He licked his lips when Low rolled his eyes. “I’m open for a repeat performance if you are.”

“Fucker.” But Low’s lips curved into the barest hint of a smile. The gesture settled in Renzo’s chest, slaying him in the process.

He’d never go to his grave without a fight, but if he had to go, he’d do it like this, staring up Low gazing down at him with worried eyes. “Dax.”

“On it.”

“Low.” Renzo couldn’t keep his eyes open anymore. “I’ll see you—”

“Rest.”

The pain meds fucked with his ability to speak, or keep his eyes open, but Renzo had no problem feeling the brush of Low’s fingers across his jaw.

No problem at all.