14
The circle of life.
Nick closed his eyes, ignoring the movie about who knew what, focusing instead on the fingers stroking his hair and the strong, muscled thighs directly beneath the pillow under his head. They had been lying on the living room couch for the last few hours, enjoying the solitude of the quiet house.
Regardless of Ian’s insistence he get more rest, Nick couldn’t stop his mind from returning to that dark place again when he lay in bed. He had tossed and turned until Ian suggested a shift in focus might help.
He smiled when Ian pulled up the edge of the blanket and tucked it snugly under his chin, returning Nick’s mind to the present warmth of the comfort of intimacy. A sigh escaped when a fingertip brushed his forehead, and then resumed stroking through his hair again. He could get used to this…really used to this.
Sleep eluded him, more than usual. The setting had changed but the visual persisted, but now he had more images to add to his self-propelled little horror movie. He couldn’t erase the image of Ian stumbling into the house, dragging part of his body along.
Or the emptiness staring back at him from those unblinking ice-blue eyes.
Thankfully, Nick had spent that day snooping around every crack and crevice of the house, inspecting everything with a keen eye. Since Ian had shown him the hidden bunker that morning, he’d assumed everything else was fair game after that. In hindsight, it was his nosiness that had saved Ian’s life. Otherwise, he never would have known about the array of medical supplies stashed in his closet and bunker—syringes, antivenin, vials of pain meds, and other medical equipment.
Ian would have died.
He would have suffocated.
Nick sat up on the couch and rubbed his eyes, hoping to push out the mental picture of Ian’s unmoving body. He stared at the man in question who returned his gaze with worry.
“You don’t sleep enough.”
Nick shrugged. He was in a perpetual state of exhaustion. Just another side effect of what his life had become.
He leaned into Ian’s warm hand pressed against his cheek, enjoying the stroke of the thumb brushing against his skin. He wanted to bury himself against that wall of muscle and just let the world crumble around them. But he figured he wouldn’t grab a full night’s sleep until Ian actually followed through on his retirement, especially after the other night.
Retirement. Did that mean Ian would live the rest of his life in this house? Could he turn his back on an adrenaline-filled life to settle down into something more monotonous and…normal?
Nick took a deep breath. Maybe Ian could. He was so busy watching over him and Dex and playing bodyguard to business associates…but who the hell guarded Ian?
“I sleep enough.”
“No, you don’t.”
Nick sighed. He wished he could do something to help things. He reached up, rubbing his talisman, something he hadn’t done in days. He straightened and swung toward Ian.
“Uh oh.” Ian raised a cautious brow. “You’ve got that look in your eye.”
“What look?” A bubble of laughter rose up Nick’s throat. Ian might have sounded worried or hesitant, but the heat in his stare sent an entirely different message.
“Like you want to do…something.” Ian inched closer, a sudden spark of playfulness coloring his features. “Tell me.”
Nick playfully shoved him back with a smile. He wanted Ian so much, but worry was one heck of a mood killer. Regardless of whatever darkness Ian claimed was a part of his soul, there was something good inside him that surfaced when they were together.
Monsters weren’t attentive.
Monsters didn’t care if you were comfortable, ate dinner, or slept enough.
Angels were guardians, protectors who watched over others even in their absence.
Ian had become Nick’s angel.
But Ian needed a guardian angel of his own to watch over him.
“I want you to have something.” Nick reached behind his neck and tinkered with the clasp of his necklace. “Come here.”
Ian followed his command as he always did, ducking his head, letting Nick slide the necklace around his neck to secure the clasp.
“I want you to have this. It’ll keep you safe.”
Ian held the talisman in his hand, lowering his brow as he turned it from one side to the other, carefully inspecting its detail. His gaze shot up to Nick like a rocket, his eyes were wild and each breath huffed in and out through his nose like a bull.
Nick stilled. Red flags waved in his head and sirens wailed.
“Where did you get this?”
Nick looked away, fidgeting with the edge of the blanket. He was sworn to secrecy and he would keep that vow until his last breath. That talisman and Angel’s promise had kept him safe all these years, there was no way in hell he’d betray that trust.
“Angel gave it to me.”
“Angel?”
Nick looked away, guarding how much he was willing to reveal. “It’ll keep you safe. It’s important to me. It was given to me as a gift when I was little. I’ve worn it every day since the day I got it, but it’s yours now.” He stared at a random spot on the floor, trying to temper his frustration. There wasn’t much he could do and this was more symbolic than anything, but he had to do something. That talisman was the one thing he held close to his heart, the one constant that had kept him sane and safe with each change in his life. And he needed Ian to be safe.
He chewed his lip as the silence between them became unsettling. He looked up when Ian slowly inched back on the couch, his movements cautious almost vulnerable.
“Ian?” He cocked his head, trying to crack the secret code of emotions racing across Ian’s face at lightning speed. He leaned forward and Ian retreated, an odd dance keeping the same margin of distance between them. He stilled when every ounce of blood drained from Ian’s face.
“Nico?”
═ ☼ ═
There’s no fucking way in hell this is happening.
Killian launched up off the couch, stormed down the hallway, and out the back door. He ran out into the backyard and didn’t stop running until he was surrounded by nothing but pitch-black darkness. He threw his head back and yelled at the stars, mocking him with each twinkle.
“Fuck!”
This isn’t happening.
He pinched the bridge of his nose, fighting the series of snapshots flipping in his mind, seeing the eighteen-year-old version of himself accompanying his father on his first official assignment, claiming it would thrust him into manhood and finally have him step into his role in the family legacy.
Killian pressed the base of his palms against his eyes, remembering his father shooting the man bound to the chair when he refused to surrender the little black book—not of conquests, but a log with times and dates documenting the comings and goings of one familia’s mafia leaders.
The dead man had been a thief who had stolen money, jewelry, and secrets from anyone and everyone. Trading them up for something better. But the thief had killed a man and stolen a small book during a mugging in a dark alley. The victim, the mafia had discovered, was an FBI agent working undercover, documenting the familia’s interactions.
Killian dropped his hands to his side and slumped his shoulders. His father had been commissioned to find the journal and tie up the loose end. And that night would stay with him forever. It didn’t matter how many years had passed or how hard he had tried to atone for that night. He couldn’t forget the whimper coming from the office closet.
A sound that still haunted him.
The closet had been dark, but the small boy’s pale golden head of hair had captured a hint of light. Killian remembered the rage that had consumed him, seeing his tiny arm in a cast, a sling holding it tight to his body like a broken wing. If Killian’s father hadn’t killed the man, Killian would have done so after seeing the child’s broken arm.
He scrubbed his hands against his closely cropped hair, recalling every vivid emotion as if he were back in that office almost twenty-seven years ago. The significance of that night with his father had been overshadowed by his instincts to protect the terrified boy.
Collateral damage. That was what his father would have claimed without hesitation before tying up another loose end. Killian had been repeatedly lectured on the dangers of leaving behind clues, fingerprints, and any form of traceable DNA. But most importantly, he had been thoroughly briefed on the greatest peril…a witness.
In that moment, Killian had remembered his mother’s comforting words, her guidance, her strength and gift to make everything right in the world, and how she had always tried to bring out the light in his soul and awaken reason in his mind. He hadn’t hesitated to take the only cherished item he had of her and place it over the child’s golden head. As if possessed by some being, speaking through him, he had used the same words his mother had told him, when he himself had been a child. “It’s magical…it’ll keep you safe.”
Killian looked down the front of his shirt now, the thick metal capturing hints of the moonlight. The talisman that once belonged to his mother, now around his neck again after nearly three decades.
Karma. Fate. Destiny.
All spiteful bitches who hated him and had united forces to steal this one shard of light and happiness in his life. They were probably all sitting at a round table, sipping wine, and cackling about the circle of life and reveling in their success to torment him.
“Ian?”
He tilted his face up to the heavens. His heart hurt. He had tried to find a balance in his life, searching for some way to shoulder the moral burden of his pre-destined role. But this? There was no coming back from this. He couldn’t bear the hate he knew would stare back at him from those jade eyes.
“Please look at me.”
He shook his head—in response, at life, at himself, and at the circumstances. Of all the people in the world who could have been in that closet that day, why did it have to be the one man who had the power to pull him from the shadows?
“Your hair is darker,” Killian whispered, not really sure why those were the first words to slip from his lips. The golden hair was the one feature he remembered. He hadn’t seen the pale, jade-colored eyes in the darkness of the closet.
“I think that happens to most kids over time.”
Killian closed his eyes when strong arms slid around his waist and Nick’s head pressed against the back of his neck.
“Come back inside.”
His eyes burned, and a foreign pain swelled in his chest when the arms around him tightened.
“Please.”
His throat constricted when Nick pressed his lips to his nape. Karma was cashing in on every single bad thing he had ever done in his life in that very moment, teasing him with a man who had every reason to harbor almost three decades of hate and pain toward him.
“No,” Killian whispered through the boulder in his throat.
“Don’t make me beg.”
Killian let out a strangled groan.
“Damn, you’re stubborn.”
He immediately felt the loss when Nick released him. He barely had a chance to react when Nick grabbed his shoulders and spun him around.
“Get in the house. Now.” Nick stepped forward, an inch away from his face. His expression hard and unyielding. “That’s not a request.” He slowly retreated, keeping his steely gaze fixed on Killian until he stormed back into the house.
As if pulled by some invisible rope binding them together, Killian took one step toward the house and then another, blindly following Nick’s path.
As he always would.
═ ☼ ═
Nick entered the house and went to the living room, retaking his seat on the couch. Ian would follow. The tone Nick had used triggered a spark in Ian’s eyes each and every time. He hoped that was still the case.
He exhaled a deep breath when the back door opened and shut.
He glanced up when the silence lingered more than necessary. Ian leaned against the far corner of the room with his arms crossed, the hesitation was obvious in his stance, and the worry even more prevalent in his expression.
“Come sit with me.” Nick patted the space on the couch at his side when Ian hadn’t moved. “Please.” Ian pushed off the wall and sat beside him, clasping his hands between his legs. The tension mounted instead of receding. Nick reached out and slid his hand in Ian’s, threading their fingers together, willing the contact to bring the familiar comfort.
“I’m sorry.” Ian winced as soon as the words escaped him in a rush. “That…wasn’t the right thing to say.” His lips thinned to a straight line. “I don’t know what is.”
Nick placed his other hand on top of their joined ones. “How about I do the talking?”
Ian nodded, his Adam’s apple bobbing with each deep swallow.
“When did you leave Chicago?” Nick asked.
“After my father died. I…” Ian’s brows knitted with a frown. “Everyone there expected me to be exactly like him and pick up where he left off. I wanted to make a few changes, but several business associates didn’t approve.”
“And you were too stubborn back then to let someone tell you what to do?” Nick teased, hoping to ease the visible tension in Ian’s body.
Ian ducked his head and huffed out a quiet laugh. “Something like that.” He glanced up, the shadow of his smile disappearing. “My father had enemies. And I refused to sit there and wait for them to knock on my door. So I left. Came to Miami. Established new business contacts and met Dex after a few years.”
Nick nodded. He couldn’t imagine Ian staying in a place where he constantly butted heads with people trying to change him or tell him what to do. “Are you wondering what happened after you left that night?” He stroked his thumb along Ian’s skin. “The night we met,” he clarified.
“Yes,” Ian croaked. “I’ve wondered about that a lot.”
Nick inched closer and rested his head on Ian’s shoulder, tightening his hold on their clasped hands. “I did what you told me to do. I counted, waited, and then ran to the neighbor’s house. She didn’t even hesitate to take me in. We moved away a few days later to a different part of Chicago. She made up some story about me being her grandson. No one knew her well enough to know she’d never had kids.”
“Was she…good to you?”
“Yes.” He peeked up at Ian. “And she had…special…friends with many talents who taught me how to defend myself. They taught me how to hide who I was and why being careful was so important.”
The tic in Ian’s jaw muscle bordered on a spasm as his scowl deepened.
“She might not have been a saint, but she was good to me and she loved me very much.” Nick reached up and rubbed his thumb between Ian’s brows, wanting to erase the worry cutting a groove in his skin. “And you know what I remembered most, in those moments when she spurred that fear in me enough to make me listen and learn every lesson?”
Ian slowly shook his head.
“I remembered my uncle. I remembered all the nasty things he had said to me during those two weeks when I stayed with him, and the promises he had made of all the different ways he was going to hurt me.”
Ian’s eyes hardened and filled with fury.
“You saved me that day, Ian. From my uncle and from your father. I would have been dead…or worse.” He swallowed heavily. “I think about that day a lot.”
The hard edge in Ian’s expression softened. He looked down at their clasped hands and frowned. “I could have…done more. I could have done…something.”
Nick huffed and shook his head. “Regardless of what you think, you were just a boy being led by your father.” He released their clasped hands and held Ian’s face, drawing his attention. “You can be quite frustrating sometimes. Listen to what I’m telling you. Really listen.”
Those ice-blue eyes stared at him—a wealth of worry and regret stirring a painful stew of remorse. His expression…almost desperate, as if his soul pleaded for a tiny shred of something to pull him from the churning emotions brewing in his spirit.
“Every single moment I was frustrated, confused, or didn’t have a clue about what to do or how I was going to come out of a situation, you were always there for me. Whether you knew it or not.” Nick released Ian’s face and reached for the metal piece now hanging from Ian’s neck. He held it up between them to punctuate his point. “It became my good luck charm. You protected me that night, whether you’ve accepted that or not.” He searched Ian’s features. “And you’ve always been there, like a guardian angel for me. That’s why I called you Angel.”
Ian’s eyes shot up to him. “I’m Angel?”
Nick smiled. “You never told me your name so I gave you one.”
Ian was quiet, more pensive than his norm before he spoke. “I remember how angry I was when I saw your arm.” Pain sliced through Nick’s heart at the agony in Ian’s pale blue eyes as he spoke, barely above a whisper. “You were so small.”
“I was an easy outlet for my uncle. After my parents died, I didn’t have any other family, so I ended up with him. But he didn’t want me there. He made that very clear.”
Ian relaxed, reaching for Nick’s hand, threading their fingers together. He stroked his thumb along Nick’s skin, sighing heavily with the contact, waiting for a long stretch of time before he spoke again. “After my father was killed on a job, I took his place and officially stepped into my role. But I changed a few things.”
Nick pulled their held hands up to his lips and pressed a kiss to Ian’s fingers, hoping to encourage him to continue. “Like what?”
“The types of assignments I accepted.” Ian glanced up at Nick and quickly looked away again. “I won’t accept a contract that includes a woman or child.” He paused for a moment, taking a deep breath. “Some people want to put a price on someone’s life for the most insignificant reasons. My father…accepted anything, regardless of the request. But I wouldn’t consider a hit on a cheating spouse or a spoiled rich kid trying to cash in on a trust fund. For me, every contract requires justification and every victim deserves some form of justice and closure.” He shrugged, almost shyly. “Makes what I do make sense in my head.”
Nick reached out again and held the talisman in his hand, rubbing his finger along the edge of the heavy metal piece. “Tell me about this?”
Ian became distant, almost as if lost in a thought or memory. “It was my mom’s.”
“She died?” Nick reached up and ran his fingers along Ian’s cheek when he nodded, knowing the contact often soothed him. “Tell me about her.”
His features softened. “You would have liked her.” A smile played on his lips. “She was the one who made sense of the world.”
“Was she sick?”
Ian shook his head, swallowing heavily. Nick gripped the back of Ian’s neck, sensing the return of the tension in the air.
“Did she die because of—”
“No.” He sandwiched one of Nick’s hands flat between both his palms. “My father would never have put my mother in danger.” Ian blew out a deep breath then another, as if summoning the strength to continue. “I remember that day, as if it were yesterday. I was a freshman. My father picked me up from school. I knew something was wrong the moment I saw him.” He took another deep breath, quieting for a while. So much so Nick thought Ian would no longer continue. “That was the first time I had ever seen my father cry. He was always so hard…unbreakable.”
Ian cleared his throat, obviously fighting back his own emotions at the memory.
“Mom liked to cook. That day, she was shopping in a bodega for a special seasoning when a man robbed the store.” Every emotion in Ian’s expression evaporated in that very moment. His upper lip twitched in a hint of a sneer. “The guy stole the money and shot both the man behind the register and my mom.” The tic of one spasm after another twitched Ian’s jaw. “Their lives were worth seventy-nine dollars in total.”
The pain in Ian’s voice stole Nick’s breath. His heart twisted, knowing the depth of this type of grief.
“We tried. But we just…couldn’t. She was the glue that held us together.”
“But…you two were together that day. What you do…what he did…is that what brought you together?”
Ian sighed heavily. “I knew my father didn’t have a regular office job. My mom tried to be the buffer, but deep down, I knew. But he never brought it home.” He stilled, staring at their hands.
Nick looked down at their hands, one of his in between both of Ian’s. His, smooth and fair like a surgeon’s while Ian’s were more tan and rough with a sprinkling of thin scars.
“After she died, my dad didn’t care anymore. He was distant, angry. He became reckless. Sometimes, he’d show up with blood on his shirt. Then one day, eleven months later, he was different. Relieved of a burden he had carried all that time. He grabbed me by the back of my neck and said…‘it’s done.’ He had found the guy and killed him.” Ian glanced up at Nick.
Nick stared into those ice-blue eyes, a question nagging him.
“Ask me. I know you have a question. Go ahead.”
“What did you feel after your father killed him?”
Ian took a deep breath, as if expecting the question but still surprised it had escaped Nick’s lips. “For the first time since my mom had died, the pain was less.”
Closure. “You and your father…started working together after that?”
Ian absently nodded. “I think he was trying to find some way to connect with me.” A ghost of a smile pulled the corner of Ian’s mouth. “My mom once said, ‘your father may be harsh and a brute, without an elegant bone in his body, but he loves us just as hard.’” He cleared his throat again and exhaled. He looked up at the ceiling and blinked, remaining silent for a few minutes, as if needing the time to gather his emotions and lock them away again in that secret place in his soul. It was obvious his mother had played a large role in his life. “He was heading out one night to work, and I was hanging out on the couch, watching TV. He looked at me and just said ‘c’mon.’ So I did.” He huffed out a soft chuckle. “I almost forgot to put my sneakers on before racing out the door with him.”
Nick threaded his fingers with Ian’s, encouraging him to continue. “You started working together after that?”
“Sort of. He took me on jobs but I sat on the sidelines. He’d tell me when to use a gun and when a knife was a better choice. He taught me about the forensics side of things and how to be careful. He told me how his father had taught him things and how he had improved on them.” Ian stopped for a moment, as if remembering those times he had mentioned. “He talked more on those nights than he ever did at home.”
Ian quieted, almost as if he was too emotionally exhausted to continue.
“I just wanted him to be proud of me,” Ian added, his tone distant. “The first night I saw him kill a man was also the first night I saved someone.”
Nick’s heart thundered in his chest. “A little boy in a closet.”
Ian looked up at him and nodded.
My guardian angel. Nick placed his palm at the side of Ian’s face, sensing a battle brewing inside the man of what to say and how best to say it. Ian closed his eyes and leaned into the caress. “We’re fine. I promise,” Nick said, repeating Ian’s words from that day in the restaurant, hoping they eased the new tension between them just as they had for him that day. “You saved me that night all those years ago. And then you did it again when you took me in and brought me here. And I know you wouldn’t hesitate to do it again.”
He reached out and firmly held Ian’s face, hoping his message pierced through Ian’s stubbornness.
“Regardless of what life has thrown at us, we’re both exactly where we were meant to be at this very moment. Together.”
Ian took a deep breath, his entire body swelling with the inhale. He leaned forward and pressed his forehead to Nick’s. “I promise, I’ll keep you safe. And I swear, you’ll make it out of this.”
“We,” Nick corrected. “We will make it out of this.” There was no question in his mind his guardian angel would do everything in his power to guard him. But what this stubborn man didn’t seem to realize was that it didn’t matter if it meant Ian wasn’t at his side.
He pressed his mouth to Ian’s, sighing when those lips softened against his in a tender kiss.
“Promise me.”
“Nick—”
“Ian,” he countered, in that same no-nonsense tone he used which always sparked something in the man’s pale blue eyes.
A hint of a smile curled the corner of Ian’s lips. “I like it when you get all hard-ass on me.”
“Good. Now promise me we’ll get through this together. None of this matters to me if you’re not there with me.” He looked away, hoping to slow the rush of emotions weakening his bravado.
He inhaled a whisper of a breath when Ian pressed a finger under his chin and tilted his face up.
“If you want me by your side, I promise to be there.”
“Yes,” Nick said on an exhale.
Ian groaned and brushed the side of his face against Nick’s, like an animal marking his mate. “I love it when you say that word.”
Nick softly chuckled, sliding his arms around Ian’s neck and pulling him into an embrace. “Kiss me so I can finally get some peaceful sleep.”
And he did.