I watch Pan carry Wendy up to the house from under hooded eyes, careful that my expression doesn’t give anything away. Deep down, in the dark place I shove all my emotions, I recognize that I’m happy for them. If Pan doesn’t deserve the fairytale, Wendy sure as hell does. I never bonded with her like the other guys because I never bond with anyone, not even my own brother. Getting close to people is a dangerous game in my life, and one I don’t care to play, so I make sure everyone stays the fuck away.

Even still, I got a lot of respect for Wendy Darling. I might never admit it, but I hope Pan makes good on all that flowery bullshit he just spewed. Out of everyone on this beach tonight, she deserves it the most. Which is also why I agreed to come in the first place. But now that I’ve fulfilled my obligation, and Pan is no doubt already balls deep in his new fiancée and won’t know the damn difference, I’m out of here.

I don’t bother saying anything by way of goodbye. Pan’s the only one who insists I’m a part of his Lost Boy clan. The rest don’t give a shit if they ever see me again, which is fine by me. I’ve got my own crew to worry about. The Pirates aren’t anything like Pan’s boys. They’re a bunch of criminals with loose moral codes when it comes to stealing and dealing, but they’re as loyal as dogs, and that’s all I require.

Zipping up my leather jacket, I walk through the circle past the fire and ignore the invitations to stay longer as I stride up the beach to where I parked my GSXR-1000—the only thing of value I own in this world. I paid cash for her a few years ago, but everyone assumed I stole it. I didn’t bother correcting them. What’s the point? Perception is stronger than reality, and it’s not like I have a reputation as a law-abiding citizen to worry about.

I round the corner of the small building that houses the public bathrooms when I hear a deep voice behind me.

“James.”

A chill races down my spine, even as I instantly break into a sweat. It’s been a lifetime since I’ve succumbed to the call of that name, and I’m not about to let that old bastard start up his twisted shit with me again. Spinning on my booted heel, I fist the front of his shirt in one hand and wrap the other around his neck before throwing him up against the brick wall.

“Don’t you fucking call me that,” I growl, inches from his face.

The man holds his hands up. “Okay, sorry, my bad,” he says. “I just wanted to talk to you for a second, that’s all.”

Talk? Fuck him, he never wanted— The breeze changes directions, and I’m suddenly assaulted by the scents of polyester, bar soap, and gun oil. An altogether not unpleasant combination but not the tobacco, sweat, and engine grease I expected. Jesus, it’s Darling. Get a hold of yourself.

“What the hell do you want?” I don’t dare let go of him. If I do, he’ll see the way my hands tremble without something for them to hold on to. The moon is bright enough, and I’m not about to explain my demons to anyone, much less a fucking nosy cop.

“Wendy told me about Starkey,” he says. “I want to help.”

For a brief second, hope flares inside my chest. Everything I’ve tried so far to get to Starkey has failed. The entire Neverland PD is in Croc’s pocket, and until he’s satisfied I’ve done my job, they’re under strict instructions to keep my brother locked up tight.

Yeah, my brother. The one nobody knows I have.

For the millionth time, I wish I would’ve killed Croc when I was younger. But I didn’t have the stomach for murder and foolishly thought that if I could just make it to my eighteenth birthday, I’d be free. But Fred Croc deals in information. It’s how he manipulates the people around him. He’ll dig and dig until he finds what he needs to hold over your head and attach those strings to make you one of his personal puppets.

In my case, it was telling me that he finally decided to look through our files and was surprised to find out that Starkey was actually my baby brother. No one had known before then. I made sure to keep it a secret, even from the little boy with shock-white hair and a case of hero worship for the one he called Captain.

If I’m capable of feeling anything close to love for another human being, it’s that kid. So hearing that someone wants to help me get him out is like taking my first breath of air after being held under water for the past several months.

Until I remember who I’m talking to.

“You can’t help me,” I grind out. “Go back to the party, Darling.”

He narrows his eyes at me. “Don’t call me Darling. Unlike you, I don’t have an aversion to my first name. John works just fine.”

I scoff, letting him know I don’t give a shit what he wants to be called, and push off him to walk away. He grabs my arm to stop me, and once again, I react. This time I slam his chest against the wall, pinning one of his arms between us. “The only reason I’m not rearranging that pretty face of yours is out of respect for your sister. But touch me again, and I’ll consider it open season on pigs.”

He laughs, the sound vibrating through his back and into my chest from the way we’re pressed together. It seeps into my muscles and settles in my bones. I have a strange desire to hear it again, but I don’t know how to make anyone laugh; in fact, I don’t have a clue what he thinks is so funny in the first place.

“In case no one told you, I’m not a comedian, and I don’t tell jokes, so I’m not sure what you found so humorous.”

He looks over his shoulder at me with eyes the color of warm honey. The shadows from the moonlight make it impossible not to notice his strong features—high cheekbones, a straight nose, and a jawline like a straight-edge—and with his large frame and muscular build, he’s a far cry from the scrawny kid who followed me around like a damn puppy.

“It’s just that you told me not to touch you,” he says, his chest drawing in heavy breaths. “But I think you like it when I do.”

John pushes his hips back, silently directing my attention to the elephant in the room. The elephant being my hard dick pressed against his tight ass.

Jumping back like he’s holding a welding torch to my balls, I turn him around and jack him up by his throat again. His body is loose, and he gives me a crooked grin framed by his groomed goatee. Why the hell is he letting me throw him around? Three times I’ve manhandled him. As a cop, it’s not like he’s not trained in taking guys down. And if I remember right, he was into martial arts and shit, too; yet, he never so much as blocked me from treating him like my own personal rag doll.

And Jesus Christ, why do I find that hot? It’s been so long since I was turned on by anything other than porn and my right hand that I’m not sure what does it for me in the real world anymore. Apparently, I have a thing for cops. Off-duty ones. With honey-colored eyes and a deference to my authority. Fuck me.

“I don’t know what game you’re playing at, Darling, but you can stop it right the fuck now. You got no idea who you’re dealing with, you hear me? Walk away, and stay away.”

“I’ll walk away,” he says. “For now. But you’re not getting rid of me that easily. I have sources that tell me your boss is planning something big. I don’t know what it is yet, but I’m going to find out, and then I’m going to take him down. I hope you’re not around when the chips fall.”

“Same can be said to you,” I grind out.

He shrugs a broad shoulder. “Be seeing you, Hook.” Then he strolls back toward the beach like he doesn’t have a care in the world. Like he didn’t feel my erection against his ass, and like he didn’t notice me noticing the bulge in his jeans when he turned around.

I curse under my breath and stalk over to my bike. Settling onto the seat, I pull my blacked-out helmet on and turn the key. Stubborn fucking bastard. He’s going to get himself killed if he starts poking his nose into Croc’s business. Then Wendy will be upset, and I’ll have Pan’s boot permanently lodged in my ass. Great, just what I need—a babysitting job on top of everything else.

As I pull out of the beachside lot and onto the highway, I twist my right hand back and take off like a bat out of hell, trying to put as much distance between me and the man who made me feel more in two minutes than I have in the past two decades. With every mile, the tightness in my chest loosens and the coldness of apathy and detachment returns, allowing me to breathe easier.

This is my comfort zone. This is what I know, how I’ve survived. And this is how I’ll remain. No matter what John Darling and his honey-colored eyes say.