2
Drink, dinner, and a side of stitches.
Killian stepped out of his car and popped his trunk as he surveyed his surroundings, making a mental note of each parked car’s make and model. A habit he couldn’t shake regardless of how many times he had confirmed the area was secure. And after a kill, he was especially edgy. But there was one remedy that soothed him.
Nick.
He scoffed. Some poor schmuck would probably refer to this as a date. After all, he’d been randomly stopping by the same place for the last six months. That was far more of a pattern than Killian would ever dare establish. But it was the one risk he allowed himself.
He sighed, knowing better than to form ties with someone. That simply offered leverage to a bitter party, and that type of weakness was a liability in his line of work. But he wouldn’t deny himself this one gift of serenity that warmed his soul and offered a beacon of light to his otherwise dark life.
The one thing that reminded him his heart could actually skip a beat.
He shrugged out of his damaged jacket and folded it, placing it in the trunk of his car, glancing up at his surroundings while he remained in the shadows. He parked in the same spot, the one area across the street with the missing streetlight.
Killian chuckled to himself, recalling the one night he’d arrived and the bulb had been replaced, shining a too bright hide-nothing-from-onlookers beam of light onto his parking spot. He had quickly drawn his sidearm, screwed on the suppressor, and shot out the bulb with a single press of the trigger.
After three shot-out bulb replacements, it seemed the city chose to ignore this streetlamp location on their work orders.
Good. He hated wasting bullets.
He unzipped the garment bag he kept stashed in the rear for emergency purposes and withdrew another suit jacket. The material wasn’t an exact match to a keen eye, but it was close enough. He shrugged into the fresh jacket and absently tugged his cuffs as he crossed the street, stealing a peek at his watch. Just before ten…I’ve still got time. Patting the butts of his guns at his sides, he smoothed any visible lines as he buttoned up his jacket and walked toward the restaurant entrance.
Killian pushed open the door and scanned the room, spotting the regular evening staff and the handful of patrons enjoying a late-night dinner.
“Good evening, sir,” the hostess said with a smile. “I didn’t think I’d see you tonight.”
He slid his gaze to the slender brunette, his jaw locking with the spike of tension.
She quietly gasped and shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “You…you’re usually a little earlier when you stop by. I…I’m sorry.”
He schooled his features. She was staff and had been a steady fixture since he discovered this restaurant after a job six months ago. He mentally reprimanded himself. Her remembering him and his preferences was a sign of a good hostess. “Work had me in a bit of a choke hold today,” he responded, hoping to lessen the tension.
She breathed a sigh of relief and smiled, as if those few words made everything better.
People were silly sometimes, how easily they let their guard down.
The restaurant was dimly lit by sconces and chandeliers set high. The dark wood and wrought iron accents added to the rustic feel while the soft, spirited classical music in the background played in concert with the clink of silverware and dishes from the handful of restaurant customers.
She guided him to the rear where he preferred to sit, stopping at the same moment he did, likely spotting the couple sitting at his favored corner booth. After a quick glance at each side, she led him to a different table in the center of the dining area. She stopped and gave him a smile as she opened her hand, palm side up as if showcasing the table like a daytime gameshow model. “Here you go.”
“No.” He bit back the stream of protests wanting to spill from his lips. There was no way in hell he was sitting in the middle of this restaurant, exposed on all sides like a sitting duck welcoming some hunter. He hadn’t survived this long by making stupid mistakes.
“But…sir.” She inched closer and hesitated for a split second, then stepped back a moment later before uttering another word. Smart. “I’m sorry, but I can’t remove the couple from your usual booth.”
He quickly assessed his surroundings then stalked over to a different area. He favored the corner that allowed his back to the wall while facing the door, but he’d settle for something that offered limited vulnerability and sufficient visibility to the front door.
She followed, barely able to keep up with his long strides.
“This one.” He stared at her, waiting for confirmation which she quickly supplied. He slid into the small booth and straightened his jacket as he sat.
“Your server will be with you shortly,” she said, setting the menu on the table before scurrying away.
Tonight’s mess of a job threw him for a loop he couldn’t recover from, and now this bullshit with his table.
The night sprouted surprises at every corner. And he was not amused.
He pushed the menu aside and rubbed his temples, hoping to ease the building tension. This was stupid. Reckless. He should get up and walk out. Let the adrenaline rush fade on its own. But he couldn’t. Not tonight. He needed something special to calm his nerves.
He’d gone over every detail of the night, step by step, during his drive, analyzing everything and trying to pinpoint what and when something had gone wrong.
Everything had gone wrong.
The car door slam, the two henchmen disguised as transients. This monster had expected death to come calling, and the man had prepared for Armageddon with that odd industrial automated whatever-the-fuck blade dispenser he had concocted. After two years of fighting off Gutierrez’s men, it was no wonder that monster had armed himself in an unexpected fashion.
Killian would have done exactly that if there were a price on his head. He had come too close to meeting his own maker. His blood boiled at the near miss. The monsters were getting smarter…and he was getting older.
How did that saying go? Men get better with age, like fine wine. Fuck that shit. A few gray hairs did not make him old. But it certainly started to slow his recovery time. His muscles were still burning and tight from the tension thrumming through his body.
He took a deep breath. He instinctively rested his hand on one of his sidearms and breathed a sigh of relief.
He was tired of this life. Tired of the darkness that always consumed him. Tired of always looking over his shoulder. Drinking and breathing with caution. And over the last few months, he had grown tired of the loneliness.
But a life change of this magnitude required a plan. Well, everything required a plan. He was a master at improvisation, but that was only because he had run through every possible scenario in his mind and always had some sort of backup to the backup plan. Otherwise, it was the quickest way to end up in a ditch or as gator bait in the Everglades. Two options he vigilantly planned against.
He clasped his hands and rested them on the table, steeling himself to avoid any display of emotion. Emotions always resulted in weakness and he refused to harbor them.
“Good evening, sir. My name is Tracey.” She poured a glass of water and set the pitcher aside on the neighboring tray in the corner. She gave him a weak smile and readied her pen in her hand.
He clenched his jaw and stared at the glass of water, holding back the boiling anger threatening to spill over. He had to focus and corral this odd mix of tension coiling in his body.
“Where’s Nick?”
“He’s already clocked out for the evening. I’ll…”
His jaw muscles twitched. His gaze slowly slid from the glass to his server’s face.
The server cleared her throat and her lips thinned to a straight line. She tugged the collar of her shirt behind the uniform tie pressing into her throat. “I’ll be your server tonight.”
Oh, hell no.
═ ☼ ═
Nick sat at the small table in the storage area of the restaurant. He closed his eyes and sighed, resting his head in his hands. He had spent the last fifteen minutes tallying up his receipts and tips and was ready to call it a night. As much as he tried, he couldn’t push past the exhaustion any more tonight.
Sleep had evaded him the last few nights. It was a vicious cycle. On those rare nights he managed to steal some sleep, he could get through the day without issue. But on those nights when the nightmares came with a vengeance, he refused to shut his eyes again. The more tired he grew, the more the nightmares cycled…until he gave in and his body crashed, only to start the loop all over again the next day.
But there was one pleasant surprise that always gave him a sense of peace.
Ian.
Nick remembered how spellbound he had been the first time Ian had strolled into the restaurant and how everyone silenced. Conversations had quieted like a ripple in the crowd as he passed the customers in the dining area with his prowl-like gait. He exuded dominance and commanded attention by doing nothing other than simply being. He was tall, roughly six foot three, and owned his height with authority. The obviously tailor-made dark suits hugged his broad shoulders and tapered down his lean-muscled physique—a body built for function rather than for showing off.
Nick groaned, imagining the deep V cut pointing to more lickable real estate.
Ian always dressed in a dark suit with either a solid white or black shirt and one button undone at the neck. Though stylish and refined, the elegance and class of the suit did little to conceal the aura of danger that lay beneath the obvious strength of his body. An unmistakable don’t-fuck-with-me vibe emanated from Ian, but Nick couldn’t stay away—and didn’t have much of a choice considering the man usually sat at one of his tables.
He guessed Ian was in his early forties. Tiny lines edged his features and his closely cropped dark hair had a sprinkling of salt, just enough to add distinction. He was handsome, in a severe, arresting sort of way, with high cheekbones that slashed his face and hard, ice-blue eyes. The guarded, controlled anger that often reflected from his gaze and semi-permanent scowl proved life had not been kind. But it was also crystal clear Ian was the type of guy who would kick life’s ass right back in response.
He intrigued the waitstaff, and whispers always buzzed in the kitchen as the others peeked around the corners to catch a glimpse of him. Everyone wanted to know more, yet seemed to fear him.
But fear was never a factor for Nick. While others knew better than to step too closely to the mysterious man’s fire and risk getting burned by the proximity, Nick didn’t mind the possibility of getting singed. As if the brooding man’s flame summoned something deep inside his spirit, calling to him, beckoning him like a moth.
Nick remembered that first night. The man was confident, but Nick held his ground and didn’t intimidate easily.
“Good evening, sir. My name is Nick and I’ll be your server tonight.”
The man’s gaze had slowly swept along his body, sending a shiver up Nick’s spine and throughout his limbs.
That same shiver traveled Nick’s body now as he absently stared at the blank wall across from the table, recalling that first night and how the man hadn’t uttered a single word other than his order. He hadn’t needed to. He’d spoken with his eyes and body.
But something else had filled the air around them. The way the man had cocked his head and how his gaze had lingered, created an aura of intimacy in their exchange. Something that caused others to keep their distance and grant them a tiny circle of privacy. It had taken several visits until Nick had finally caved and asked the man for his name.
Nick ducked his head, hiding a smile as he remembered that night and the flutter in his stomach.
“I’d say ‘Good evening, sir’ but I’d much rather address you by your name. If you’d share that with me.”
Something had glinted in the man’s eyes, something…playful and almost teasing. But just as quickly, that glimmer had faded, locked away by his usual facade of control.
“It’s only for me. I won’t tell the others.” For some reason, Nick’s instincts had told him that was a necessary addition to his request. And life had taught him to never ignore his instincts.
The mysterious man’s jaw muscles had twitched. “Ian,” he had said with a hint of hesitation.
“Is that really your name?” Nick had dared ask, curious about the delay in his response.
Ice-blue eyes had stared into his, transmitting a rare openness that hadn’t been there before. “It’s the part of my name I’m willing to reveal to you.” Ian had looked away and swallowed heavily as some thought seemed to cross his mind. And just as quickly, that passing emotion in his expression had faded.
A flood of peace had washed over Nick that evening months ago, just as it did now recalling the memory of that encounter. He relished those tiny morsels of intimacy between them, imagining the openness was rare based on Ian’s guarded personality.
Nick sat at the small table in that storage room, reveling in the silence. He’d instinctively touched his chest during his reverie, taking a deep breath when his hand tightened around his talisman tucked safely behind his white uniform dress shirt. He rubbed his thumb along the edge, welcoming the comfort the hard metal always offered.
And for some odd reason, Ian provided that same level of ease. While in his presence, Nick felt safe, something he hadn’t felt in entirely too long.
Nick shook his head, dispelling the thoughts in his mind. He should have called in sick today. His stamina waned and he figured he wouldn’t last much longer tonight. Rubbing the back of his neck with a grimace, he glanced up when Tracey walked through the storage room door.
“Ugh, I don’t know how you do it.” She stood at his side and crossed her arms, shaking her head in disbelief. “Your guy is out there and he’s in full lion mode and I’m not sure even you can tame him tonight.”
Nick’s heart thumped quickly in his chest, sending a jolt of current through his body, recharging his muscles. He glanced up at the wall clock, biting back a smile. Ian had managed to make it in tonight with only fifteen minutes of service remaining.
“Lion mode? What did he say?”
Tracey rolled her eyes and pulled out the chair opposite him at the small table, slumping into the seat. “Not much. He asked for you, and I told him you clocked out for the night. Let’s just say, he didn’t take that well.”
“What did he do?”
“He didn’t do anything. The look in his eyes was enough to have me hauling ass back here to come get you.”
Nick bit his lip, disguising the smile that threatened to break free. Ian could be…testy. “You’re so dramatic.”
Tracey raised a dark eyebrow. “Oh c’mon. The man is walking sin, but make no mistake, he’s got a huge ‘danger’ flashing neon sign on his forehead and is probably into some really twisted shit.”
He scoffed. “So are you just going to hide out in here and avoid him?”
“I sure as hell am.” She pointed at his face and smirked. “Because you are going out there and taking care of him.”
“I’m off the clock,” he teased, knowing damn well he was itching to bolt up and out of that chair to see Ian tonight.
“I already tried telling him that. So get that sweet ass out there and flex those lion tamer muscles of yours on the man. Because he looks especially fierce tonight.”
Nick quietly chuckled as he rose from his seat. He straightened his tie and smoothed out his uniform, tucking his white shirttails into his black uniform slacks.
“He’s in my section tonight. Table seventeen.”
Nick stopped and sharply turned. “Why’s he sitting all the way over there?”
Tracey shrugged. “I’m guessing it’s because of the couple sitting at that corner table so Vicky sat him somewhere else.”
“Is Kat handling that station right now?” His mind was a little numb from the exhaustion and couldn’t remember who else on the team was reassigned and handling which sections or the lingering late-night tasks.
“Yup. And on my way back here, I heard Emily say Kat had already snuck out for the night, so I think that couple is dead in the water waiting for her. I’m not dealing with your man, but I’ll close out the couple’s ticket if you need me to pick up the slack.”
He bit back the rising annoyance. “I’ll take care of closing out the couple’s table. They’re probably upset if they’ve been waiting a while. You check on whether Kat left any other open tickets, please.” He turned and pushed through the door, heading out of the storage room and through the kitchen area. He stopped by the refrigerator and grabbed one of the bottled waters.
Nick exhaled a deep breath through puffed cheeks before finally walking out into the dining area.
═ ☼ ═
Killian stared at the sweating glass of water in front of him as if it were toxic. He took a deep breath and counted, his blunt nails digging into the palms of his hands. He was at the brink of snapping and there was no reason to subject his new server or anyone to his wrath. He was too wired after the kill and couldn’t do this tonight. Resigned, he slid out of the booth, stopping when Nick emerged from the kitchen.
Killian’s lips parted on a breath, mesmerized as he watched Nick work his way through the dining area, avoiding empty chairs and tray stations with practiced ease. His stride was fluid with masculine grace. He was tall, about six feet, but his quiet confidence and squared shoulders made him seem even taller. His strength and control were evident in the way he often held a full tray of dinners above everyone’s head and the ease with which he’d uncork a wine bottle. He was refined and polished in his impeccably starched white uniform shirt and his perfectly knotted tie. His sandy-brown hair was longer in the front and swept to the side in style. But his eyes were his most striking feature and often left Killian at a loss for words. They were pale jade green with a feathering of dark gold around his pupil and a few random, thin shards of gold and emerald flecks.
Nick’s level-headed nature made him the designated person for handling a crisis with customers or getting pulled to the kitchen to resolve a problem when the owner was away. There was a calmness to him, an air of steadiness and poise that only came from rock solid confidence. But there was something else that piqued Killian’s curiosity, something guarded. A mysterious quality that lay just beneath Nick’s problem-solving skills, sharp intellect, and coolness under pressure.
Killian’s pulse sped as Nick approached, finally making eye contact.
“I hope you weren’t leaving?” Nick said with a subtle teasing glint in his eye.
Killian settled back in the booth and held his gaze as the tension slowly eased from his limbs, a fraction more with each passing second.
Nick removed the sweating glass of water and wiped any remnants of its presence before setting the sealed bottled water in front of him. “Give me a moment and I’ll be right back.” He gave Killian a tired smile before stepping away and walking toward the couple sitting at the corner table.
A smile tugged the corner of Killian’s lips as he reached for the bottle. Nick always remembered the details and never asked “why,” regardless of how silly Killian’s quirks could be with his visits. Water, only from a new, sealed bottle, was his drink of choice. Sometimes, he’d be a little daring and have a glass of wine if it went well with the evening’s special, but only if it was uncorked in his presence, and only by Nick.
He cocked his head, observing Nick as he chatted with the couple sitting at his usual table. The man seemed upset and the woman held her hand out, trying to settle him. And all the while, Nick remained engaged, his focus and body language directed toward the customers. He nodded then stepped away, heading toward the terminal at the back wall. Within seconds, he had returned to the table and set down a black leather billfold with the check before leaving the now smiling couple to finish their evening.
Killian couldn’t take his eyes off Nick as he walked back toward him. Something was different tonight. Nick hid it well, but his exhaustion was obvious.
“Tell me you weren’t planning on leaving,” Nick said again when he stood by his booth.
“You’re here now, why would l leave?” Killian unscrewed the cap and sipped his water, peering up at him, admiring the pale green tone of Nick’s eyes.
Nick lowered his brow, his lips thinning to a straight line. “Meet me in the restroom in one minute.” He turned to walk away.
“Excuse me?” Killian stilled. He was totally on board with a quick hookup with the man, but he had observed enough in the last six months to know a one-nighter was off the table. They joked, did the small-talk thing, but a quick sneak to the bathroom was above and beyond the norm.
Nick glanced to each side and stepped closer to his booth, pitching his voice low. “You’re hurt. Meet me in the restroom in one minute.” He stepped away before Killian could respond.
Killian looked down at his hand still wrapped around the bottle of water, spotting a trickle of blood peeking out from his cuff. “Shit.” He bit back his discomfort. Everything tonight had gone to hell in a handbasket. He didn’t want to reveal anything about his pre-dinner activities or show any sign of weakness. And he certainly didn’t want to alienate the one man who piqued his interest.
He slid out of the booth, taking his water bottle with him. He casually ambled to the restrooms in the far wall of the restaurant, hyperaware of his surroundings. The restaurant was near closing time, with only the skeleton crew and two tables with patrons finishing their dessert. He stepped into the restroom, quickly checking each stall for privacy.
He swung around, immediately reaching for his sidearm when the door opened. He relaxed when Nick walked in, holding a large first-aid kit in his hand.
Nick clicked the lock behind him then set the kit on the bathroom counter. “Take your jacket off,” he said, pulling a few of the paper towels from the dispenser and setting them on the counter. He popped open the plastic lid of the kit and set out a few items. Nick glanced over his shoulder and raised an eyebrow as if challenging Killian to argue with him.
Killian scoffed and shook his head. No one ever dared make demands or use a commanding tone in his presence. Yet, here he was, hiding a smile as his dick twitched in his slacks. He paused for a moment, thinking of a quick excuse to explain his shoulder holster, before finally shrugging out of his jacket. He set it on the countertop and waited for the quiet man to ask about the two holstered guns.
“Shirt too.” Nick withdrew more items from the kit, neatly setting each in a straight line. He stopped when Killian refused to move. Nick crossed his arms and leaned his hip against the marble sink top as if begging for protest.
This was definitely a different side of the Nick he had come to know in the last few months. “You’re different tonight. Are you okay?”
There was something guarded yet inviting in the depth of those green eyes. An unspoken understanding between them as if he had responded to Killian’s exclusive welcome with one of his own, seesawing on the thin line between what was professional and personal.
“Just really tired. Now do me a favor and take off your shirt.”
“Shouldn’t dinner and a drink accompany that type of request?” he asked with a half smile. He didn’t know much about dates, relationships, and whatnots, but Nick brought out the teasing side in him. And there was nothing he wanted more than to grab Nick’s tall, lean-muscled body, throw him over the sink area, and slam his dick into that tight ass, over and over until Nick yelled his name. But Killian couldn’t risk losing this connection simply to satisfy an itch. Even if the itch burned more than a swarm of fire ants nipping every inch of his skin.
Nick pointed to the bottle of water set on the countertop. “I did. And I ordered you tonight’s special and plan to have it boxed up for you so you have dinner before we close the kitchen. You can take it with you or sit at your usual table. The couple was waiting on the check to leave. So, shirt. Off.” Nick stepped forward, hesitating for a moment before flicking his finger along two of the torn slits in the material at Killian’s arm to emphasize his reason for the striptease. “Please.”
Killian sighed, knowing he wouldn’t refuse anything Nick asked of him. He pulled off the shoulder holster and set it aside on his jacket. He yanked his shirttails out of his slacks and unbuttoned his cuffs first. He frowned as the tension seeped back into his body, but he wouldn’t deny anything this man requested. He slid off his shirt and flung it next to his jacket, cursing at another piece of ruined wardrobe.
His genes gave him his broad shoulders and lean hips, but his targeted regime honed each muscle for peak performance and speed. Endless hours working out in his home gym kept him fit, eliminating bulging muscles that potentially slowed him down or limited his mobility.
And yet, his breathing sped, waiting for any sort of a positive response from the man who consumed every fantasy he’d had in the last six months.
Nick snapped on a pair of latex gloves and assessed every cut, regardless of how insignificant it appeared. He was thorough and efficient with far too much experience in the way his fingers framed each cut before moving on to the next. He swiped sterilized pads where needed, adding antibiotic and a bandage on a couple of the more serious cuts.
Killian closed his eyes and slowly exhaled, each graze of Nick’s fingers against his skin was like an electrode jolting a current to his heart. “I think this goes above and beyond your server duties for the evening.”
“I’m off the clock,” Nick responded, not missing a beat or letting his focus stray from each cut. He pressed a fresh gauze on the gash at Killian’s hand. “This one’s the worst. You’ll need stitches.”
“I’m not going to the hospital.”
“I knew you’d say that.” Nick peeked up through his lashes. “Do you trust me?”
“You’re one of few.” Killian clamped his mouth shut, but refused to let his gaze shift from Nick’s. He had always prided himself on his level of control and couldn’t believe how easily the words had slipped from his lips.
Nick’s eyes remained pinned on him. Neither one breaking the connection.
Killian remembered walking into the restaurant for the first time after completing a job nearby. Every nerve ending of his body had been on high alert, but not in warning. He hadn’t experienced that feeling before, but something had beckoned him. He had turned in the direction he had been drawn and spotted the man weaving between tables in the dining area. He remembered how his heart had slammed against his chest.
Just as much as it did in that very moment, staring into those green eyes.
Beyond the physical, every detail of the man spoke to Killian’s soul. Nick was controlled and confident. Open yet shielded. The subtle way he cocked his head to prompt Killian to speak whenever he quieted, refusing to accept his silence as a response.
And when Killian spoke, Nick listened. He listened with every inch of his body—his attentive gaze, a casual lean closer. Everything was geared toward Killian’s next word. Even if he only chose to speak a handful of sentences on that given night.
But more often than not, it was the quiet between them he appreciated most and craved more than his next breath. A peaceful silence without the nagging worry or prickling anxiety that raised the hairs at the back of his neck. As if words were unnecessary and a hindrance to the otherwise clear and concise telegraphic exchange. A ridiculous formality they didn’t need between them, because they exchanged so much more with each glance than simple words could summarize.
Nick withdrew a small box from the kit, the movement pulling Killian from his thoughts. Nick shook his head, as if trying to dispel a thought. “I’m going to stitch it up for you. I don’t have any anesthetic but I’ve got numbing cream.”
“Don’t need it.” Killian reached for his shirt, stopping when Nick spoke.
“I can’t stitch you up if you put your shirt back on.”
Killian tossed the shirt back to its spot. Nick continued, prepping Killian’s hand and the necessary supplies for his task. Finally ready, he pierced Killian’s skin for the first stitch and quickly glanced up as if checking for a reaction, resuming his work a moment later when Killian hadn’t flinched. The precision and care were expert, and the stitchwork impeccable.
“You’ve done this before.”
Nick huffed an almost quiet laugh. “I work in a restaurant and we keep the knives very sharp.”
The quality of his work went beyond workplace emergency knowledge of stitching up a kitchen worker.
“Aren’t you going to ask?” Killian waited, but was met with silence. “About what happened or about these?” He gestured toward his shoulder holster and guns on the countertop.
Nick continued to stitch, not letting his laser focus stray from his work. “Would you have told me the truth?”
Probably not.
“That’s why I didn’t ask,” Nick said when he didn’t receive an answer.
Killian sighed. Just another reason this man drew him in. There wasn’t a doubt a million thoughts had raced through Nick’s mind the moment he had seen the guns. Or when he had spotted the cut. Or on that first night they had met months ago. Nick was perceptive. But he never pushed. Instead, it was as if every second they spent together was focused on only that precise moment in time, and every other external factor evaporated.
No expectations, no roles.
No darkness or death.
Just the two of them together in this odd bubble sheltering them from the evil that lurked nearby threatening to burst their private pocket.
“I could have kept my shirt on and just rolled up my sleeve.”
Nick’s tongue casually slid across his bottom lip before his lips curled into a small smile. “And miss all this?” he teased, glancing up and down Killian’s naked torso.
A barely there smile tugged at the corner of Killian’s mouth.
“There. All done.” Nick pulled off the gloves and rolled one into the other neatly with far too much practiced ease. He tossed them on the paper towel next to the other items he had used to sew the gash. “Make sure you keep it clean.”
Killian flattened his hand on the gloves and paper towel, stilling Nick’s movements. To Nick’s credit, he didn’t protest when Killian rolled the items and stuffed them inside his suit pocket. He did trust Nick, far more than he dared trust others. But he had issues trusting anyone else to ignore remnants of his blood, including the restaurant’s cleaning crew. He shrugged back into his shirt, carefully tucking it into his slacks with his non-bandaged hand before slipping into his holster.
Nick held his hand against his own chest, rubbing his thumb along something as he stared at Killian’s hands. A necklace? It was a habit or tic that sometimes surfaced when they casually spoke during his visits.
That simple gesture—the same habit Killian’s mother had had whenever she had been deep in thought—always awakened a flood of memories mixed with joy and pain. He missed that human connection his mother had provided. She had been his moral compass, instilling structure in his life and holding him accountable whenever he broke the rules, all while offering unconditional love.
Killian took a deep breath, closing off that side of his mind and shoving away the memories, focusing instead on the man standing before him packing the items back into the first-aid kit.
He couldn’t risk losing this link to humanity, to life. The one spark that reminded him how it felt to have a smile tug the muscles of his face.
He forced a breath through the tightness in his chest. “I’m sorry.”
Nick’s gaze snapped up to him. “Why?”
Killian grimaced and looked away. He didn’t live a life with apologies or regret. He had sought the solace of Nick’s company tonight when he had walked into the restaurant. But he hadn’t ever wanted his dark world to pollute the air between them. “For…this. It’s…” He shook he head, trying not to wonder about the thoughts racing through Nick’s mind. He lowered his brow, hesitant to voice his concerns. He remembered Nick’s comment from his earlier question. He hadn’t asked what had happened to avoid hearing a lie. “I’m worried it’ll change things between us.”
“Us?” Nick asked, trying to school his features.
Heat rose up Killian’s neck. He wasn’t used to this…whatever “this” happened to be between them. But he was certain he didn’t want to screw it up.
“Ian, you don’t scare me.”
“I scare everyone.”
“You don’t scare me.”
Killian straightened to his full height and stared at Nick, unable to tear his eyes away from the green gaze intently focused on him. He slightly bent to lean in closer and whispered, “Just don’t tell anyone.”
Nick smiled—a broad grin that brightened his entire expression.
Killian’s knees weakened with the joy aimed at him. No one had ever looked at him that way or delivered a smile so wide filled with so much happiness. Everything that had happened tonight—the near death and their odd interaction that crossed into something far more personal—was worth it just for that smile and the brisk thump it triggered in his heart.
═ ☼ ═
“Us,” Nick whispered to himself. His teeth dug into his lower lip as he tried to hide a smile. He leaned his head back into the couch and grabbed his necklace in his hand, rubbing his trusted talisman. There was something about Ian that drew him in and made his stomach do cartwheels. The stoic man appeared hard and unforgiving, a clear line establishing a boundary no one dared cross. But a glance in Nick’s direction always held warmth and an unspoken invitation in his ice-blue eyes.
Tonight was a stepping stone into something different. Something…intimate. His pulse sped at the memory. He finally had a glimpse into Ian’s hidden side and hadn’t been turned away. Nick was under no illusion Ian was a saint. His situational awareness as he scanned a room and cautiously chosen words were proof the man lived a life requiring self-preservation.
People on the right side of the law didn’t require that degree of heightened caution. Nick recognized the signs. Too well. And hadn’t been surprised by the two .45 caliber guns safely tucked at each side in Ian’s shoulder holster. He probably had a smaller pistol tucked in his boot and an array of backup weapons strapped in other places.
Places Nick wanted to discover.
Places he wanted to lick and kiss.
He pressed the palm of his hand to his groin, willing his body to calm. It had been too long since he’d felt comfortable enough to be with someone. But around Ian, a feeling of safety blanketed him like a protective cloak. Without a second of hesitation, he knew the man would be a barricade between him and the world, shielding him from any evil that came knocking at his door.
Tracey was right, an undercurrent of danger emanated from Ian, warning everyone to keep their distance or risk the repercussions. His controlled demeanor most likely carried over to his actions as well. He was too cautious to lose that control he held so dear. And Nick was certain the man would unleash a storm of fury if someone threatened him.
Nick stretched his arms across the back of the couch and propped his bare feet on the coffee table. He glanced around his dark apartment, taking comfort in the silence surrounding him. He closed his eyes and pushed a slow exhale through his lips. He just wanted peace. He wanted to stroll down the street without a care in the world. To have friends, ties…a relationship. It had been far too long since he’d felt safe enough to let his guard down.
He opened his eyes and turned his head toward the window, enjoying the way the streetlight peeked through the blinds and created a pattern of sharp lines against the wall, his only wall decoration. There was no sense taking the time to pick out a painting to hang, and personal photographs were out of the question.
With the weight of his exhaustion and the wear of two consecutive shifts, his body had almost given out tonight. But the moment he had seen that trickle of blood on Ian’s wrist, Nick’s instincts had kicked in and everything else had taken a back seat to making sure Ian received care for his wound.
Nick hadn’t counted on peeling back so many layers of the man. Literally. He sucked his bottom lip into his mouth, a moan rising in his throat as he recalled every dip and curve of muscle. He wanted to know how Ian’s hard, lean muscles felt pressed against him. How it felt to have those large hands hold him down and those full lips suck his skin.
He had guessed Ian was in his forties, but his body hadn’t gotten that message. His physique was natural, not manufactured by supplements or pushing weights in a gym. Every lean muscle was tight and sculpted in a way that probably granted him speed and flexibility. And the reality of Ian’s V cut was even more tempting than Nick’s fantasy. Nick couldn’t resist teasing him, allowing a glimmer of his old self to surface within the safety of the locked restroom and the strength of the guard he tended to.
The subtle flush of color in Ian was unexpected and fueled Nick’s desire to learn even more about the enigmatic man.
He wanted to tease.
Touch.
He wanted to know if the safety he felt in Ian’s presence would feel equally strong within his arms.
“Us,” Nick whispered again in the dark, remembering their conversation. He had discovered many things about Ian in the last few months, tiny glimpses into his psyche and nature. A voiced us was a statement. Ian didn’t waste his words. It meant the mysterious man sensed the same connection that thrummed through Nick’s body each time they shared the same space.
Nick rubbed his thumb along the edge of his talisman, his breath hiking up a notch. The hidden door to Ian’s private room had cracked opened, inviting him to accept the invitation. He wanted more, especially after witnessing the hint of want in those ice-blue eyes. He wanted that us that had been quietly promised.
He just wished life would let him.