“Tell me what happened, junior,” Ocean says for the hundredth fucking time. “Come on, put us both out of our misery. Tell your big brother who broke your heart.”

I flip him the bird and finish my beer. There are perks to sitting in Ocean’s spacious living room. Free food, free booze, and a glimpse of my little niece before she was whisked away by her mom to be fed, de-crapped and put to bed.

I love being with my brother and his little family. These good times are our reward for having survived our shitty childhood and adolescence to a happy ending, managing not to slip into drugs and abuse.

A fucking miracle. And it makes me wonder how Jason made it so far without a brother like mine.

But I’m not gonna think about him.

“Tell me it was Gary,” Ocean is saying.

Oh Christ. “Would you finally stop talking about fucking Gary!”

In the silence that follows, you could hear a damn pin drop.

Kayla, Ocean’s girl, pops her head inside, takes a wide-eyed look at us. She has her dark hair pulled into funny little pigtails and dark circles under her blue eyes.

Oh man. I rub a hand over my face. “Sorry. Did I wake up the baby girl?”

“Nah, it’s okay, she hasn’t budged. I wish I could sleep like her. Everything okay?”

“Yeah.”

She flicks Ocean one last questioning look that makes me feel like an asshole, nods and vanishes back into the private end of their apartment.

I lean back on the soft leather sofa and try not to think of Jason sprawled on mine, his dark head on my shoulder, and then naked and hard, moaning in pleasure as I—

“Look, R…” Ocean sighs and folds his arms behind his head, stretching, watching me all the while. “Sorry, okay? I thought you and Gary would hit it off. I guess I should’ve taken a hint when you said it didn’t work out between you.”

Yeah, he should have. But he’s my brother, and the look he’s giving me… I know that look. He’s worried. About me.

And it has to stop.

“Look, I’m fine, I swear. Just... trust me, okay? I’ve got this.”

Good thing the event is coming up next week. Lots to do, lots to think about.

Not that it will help much. I’m kidding myself, and yeah, I can’t lie for shit. Not to myself.

And as it turns out, to my brother neither.

“Listen, R…” Ocean shakes his head. “Will you bite my head off if I ask who the guy is? Do I know him?”

“No.”

“It’s not Jason, is it?”

Ah fuck. “And what if it is? You like the guy.”

“Jesus Christ, Raine. Are you out of your fucking mind?”

I jump to my feet. “Know what? This discussion was over ten minutes ago. Thanks for the great evening.”

“R. Wait.”

No fucking way. Can’t stay here for a second longer. I head to the entrance, grab my jacket off the coat rack. “It’s getting late. I need my beauty sleep.”

“Come on, man. Wait up.”

I shove my arms into the sleeves so violently it’s a miracle they don’t rip. “Is this the part where you tell me again not to hurt Jason?”

Because I may punch him in the face if he does.

“No, this is the part where I ask if he hurt you. Look, man, Jason’s a great guy, but…” He huffs, rakes a hand through his blue hair.

“But?”

“You gonna make me spell it out, aren’t you? Fine. He’s a hooker. A handsome guy, even if I don’t swing that way. Confident, nice. And you don’t have much experience with guys. Or sex. I think—”

“Oh shut up, Shun,” I say, disgusted. “You think I’m that fucking stupid I can’t tell sex from feelings?”

My words hang in the air between us. One word in particular.

Feelings.

Holy shit.

And yet… Does Jason feel anything for me at all? Since he walked out of my apartment, doubt has been eating at my confidence like acid. Easier to snap at Ocean than admit it, and the realization is a punch to my gut.

Everything’s wrong, and the truth is that I don’t fucking know what to do.

So I zip up my jacket and turn to go. Better than yelling at my brother over nothing.

“Not so fast.” A hand on my shoulder stops me. I stay still, breathing hard. “Look, you’re right. I’m sorry. You’re not stupid, I know that. But how the hell am I supposed to know what’s going on in your mind if you never talk to me, huh?” He squeezes my shoulder. “Come on, R, talk to me. You gonna make me beg? I’m getting too old for this. The floor would be hell on my knees.”

Sighing, I turn around to face him. “Kayla is rubbing off on you. You never had a sense of humor before, and you’re still not funny, Shun.”

He shrugs and grins. “What can I say? My girl’s the best. I can only walk in her shadow.”

And that, my friends, is funny, because Kayla is a slip of a girl and Ocean is almost as tall as me.

“Bastard. I’m still pissed at you.”

“Yeah, I know.” He rubs the back of his head and gives a sheepish smile. “I’m used to it. You were pissed off with me for fucking years.”

That’s hitting below the belt. Now I feel like a heel. I rub a hand over my mouth. “Shun—”

“Just promise me you’ll come to me with whatever is bothering you.” He nails me with his gaze, so similar to mine. “Anything at all. Whether it’s man-trouble, or if you have any doubts about what you feel, what you need, or… or this mess with Simon Gomez. Yeah? Especially that. Don’t go in half-cocked and put yourself into danger, you hear me? Promise me that.”

My turn to nod. He really means it. He really is scared for me, and that’s the last thing I want. “I promise.”

“I don’t have all the answers, but for you, brother...” He nods. “For you, I’ll turn the world upside down to find all the answers you need. That’s my promise to you.”

What can you say to that? My brother has always had my back, even when I was a total ass to him. Every time. All these years. I forget my anger and grab him in a bear hug that has him grunting.

“Thank you,” I say and hope he hears it in my voice, my gratitude for being there my whole life. “You’re the best, Shun.”

And then right on the heels of that, I think—does Jason have anybody who’d lay his life down for him, like I do? Who’s worried about him, who cares about him?

It’s not me, that’s for sure. He doesn’t want me to be that person. He made that plenty fucking clear.

Anger is what keeps me going over the next few days. Not directed at Ocean—how could it, after the way he pummeled me with brotherly love and affection the other night? He didn’t think twice about baring his soul to me, his fears, his worry.

The complete opposite of Jason, who keeps his feelings locked up inside.

Or maybe he has no feelings. Not for me, anyway. Maybe what I took for vulnerability was something else. Not a chink in the armor but an illusion.

Maybe Ocean is right. After all, it’s true: my experience with men and sex is limited, and I had to go and fall for a guy who has it in spades.

Determined to stop thinking about Jason, I dive headfirst into work. DeathMoth are rehearsing again this morning, and bemused customers stand around watching as the group launch into yet another deafening rendition of “Straight Edge” by Minor Threat and “Pay To Cum” by Bad Brains.

I swear, the names of some of those groups… Buzzcocks, anyone?

But the songs are good and angry, fitting my mood, and Dakota’s voice soars over the drums, the guitars and bass, raging against the world.

Fuck you, world, you bastard.

Suddenly, I need fresh air. I shove through the bystanders and make for the door. Outside, the cold stings my face and rasps in my lungs.

No, I won’t wonder if Jason is okay, if he’s freezing out here.

Hell.

I’ve always invested too much of myself in others. In Ocean, of course, my brother who was like a god to me—only to have the ground pulled from under my feet when I thought he’d given up on me. Also in Livvy, my childhood friend—only to have her die on me, and because it was on me.

And now in Jason.

I kick at the wall outside the shop and consider bumming a smoke from a passerby, but I gave up that shit when I came to stay with Ocean three years ago, and I’m not gonna break my streak now. When I came back, I promised myself I’d better myself, be someone who deserves a brother like Ocean, a family… a second chance.

I walk down the sidewalk, trying to work out some of my frustration, and this soul-deep sadness that’s gripped me when I realized Jason and me, we’re not meant to be.

My mistake. I open up too much, give too much of me, and for fucking what? Enough. Fuck this shit. You’d think I’ve learned nothing over the years. Jason is on to something with those thick walls around himself, if that’s what they are. I could learn a thing or two from him on how to keep my distance and lock up my heart.

I wasn’t supposed to want him. And I fought it with all I had. A big fat load of good it’s done me.

Anyway. I give the wall one last kick, shove my hands into my pockets, and head back inside. I’m supposed to be working.

I stop before I reach the door, remembering he now has the key to my apartment. Looking back, I don’t know what possessed me to shove it into the bills I gave him. A moment of madness. He probably threw it into the gutter the moment he saw it. Or didn’t even notice it, and it fell and got lost.

Better that way.

I have to trust that if he found it, he won’t use it to rob me blind. He’s not a thief. He wouldn’t… right?

Then again, I keep thinking I know who Jason Vega is, and I keep falling short of the reality. Simon Gomez is holding something over his head, something bigger than money, and I’ll bet Jason would do anything Simon told him to. If he got him hooked on drugs, then he’s Simon’s puppet.

Except Jason’s sending his people away.

Except he went against orders in that alley, and paid dearly for it.

Except he seemed honest, and I believed him.

I believed many things, and now I don’t know what’s what.

Fuck, I miss him. How do you miss someone you barely know? Someone you fucked and kissed and held, who told you two things about themselves that might as well be lies, and now you want to… To what? Live happily ever after with them?

Ocean was right to think I’m stupid, goddammit.

Lesson learned. It’s over. Whatever that was. I bet it was all in my fucking mind, anyway. Time to move on.

Soul Stain are here, Kade, Sawyer and Mariska—and they’ve added a new artist to their team. His name’s Ethan.

Since it was decided that they’d be staying for a week to work together with the Damage Control and Collateral Damage artists on new techniques, the hotel rooms were canceled, and the Soul Stain artists are staying with Rafe who now has a house and two guest rooms to spare.

Also, Soul Stain didn’t arrive alone from Chicago. They brought a fucking cheerleading team with them. And it’s mostly guys.

The guys are hot, though, so no complaints here. There’s Riot who’s built like a wrestler and has pretty gray eyes and interesting golden tats on his arms. A pity he bats for the other team, as he’s here with his girl, Paxtyn. She’s cute, I suppose, with her chocolate eyes and long black hair falling past her shoulders.

Then there’s Corey who definitely bats for my team, and it’s not his style that gives him away—although the long old-fashioned gabardines he favors and the sideburns are an interesting choice.

No, what gives Corey away is the way he’s staring at the new tattoo artist, Ethan. Dead giveaway. Guy is in love.

And that reminds me of Jason.

Like that’s a surprise. These days, everything does. For fuck’s sake. That thing with Jason was just lust, pure and simple. And then it was over.

End of the fucking story.

Anyway, it’s going smoothly—except I feel like shit. I didn’t get a decent night’s sleep all week, torn between staring at the ceiling, counting its cracks, and rolling in nightmares where Livvy is replaced with Jason and he dies, again and again.

A shadow falls over me, startling me.

“Hey, where are the restrooms?” Riot leans against the reception desk, and jeez, the man’s model-pretty, all high cheekbones and icy eyes and broad shoulders. “And is there any coffee shop nearby? My kingdom for some caffeine.”

Nice guy, too. “You can keep your kingdom. We have coffee at the back.” I point at the open door of our kitchenette. “And restrooms are over there.” I point in the other direction.

“Big space you got here. Soul Stain is tiny compared to this. This is a cool place.”

I have to agree. And the event will be great, too. The placement of the new standing banners with the logos of the shops and original designs from their portfolios, the tables with the black covers and white details, the vases with red and black roses, it all looks impressive.

Riot is helping us set everything up, together with his friends, both tattoo artists and cheerleaders. Shane gestures at me, and I come around the desk to see what he needs help with. He’s with Ethan, the new Soul Stain tattoo artist, and I head their way, curious.

Ethan’s tall like me, his coloring like Jason’s—dark hair and dark eyes. He’s a handsome guy, but like with Riot, his good looks leave me cold. Sure, I notice. I’m not blind. But it does nothing for me.

Bad sign? You betcha.

I approach the two guys. “What’s up?”

“R.” Shane lifts two T-shirts, one black with the logo of the event—a dragon, a snake and a phoenix in a circle—in white, and a red one with the logo in black. “Which one should we have the artists wear?” At my blank look, he goes on. “I thought you’d better choose. You know… you have a better sense of style.”

I look down at my worn jeans and faded gray T-shirt, my staples. “Seriously? Have you met me?” I shake my head and turn to go. “Find someone else for this. I’m not gay enough.”

Ethan chokes and starts to cough. “Wait.”

Suppressing a sigh, I turn back around. I’ve never been the most sociable of guys, and these days it’s all I can do not to glare at everyone. “Yeah?”

Shane is staring at me. He’s not Mr. Congeniality either, and I wonder now if he called me over because he sincerely believes I have better taste.

Ethan wipes a hand over his mouth, grinning. “You’re a funny guy,” he says, and yeah, sure. I’m the heart of every party.

Whatever.

“It’s just black or red,” Shane grumbles, lifting up the T-shirts. “I’m not asking you for a fucking essay. Pick one, junior.”

God, I hate when they call me that. “Black,” I say. It’s my go-to color when I pick up clothes. Black goes with black, always.

“See? Wasn’t that hard, was it?”

I could punch Shane in the face, but then he’d pummel me into the wall. Or worse, he wouldn’t do anything at all, and I’d be the biggest jerk in history.

“Who did your tattoo?” Ethan asks before I turn away once more, this time determined to go. “The band on your arm. Let me see.”

Punching Ethan isn’t a good bet, either. He’s a guest artist, and Rafe will kick me out faster than you can say idiot. But dammit, my fist is itching to.

“It’s a convict tat,” Shane says.

Ethan’s eyes go wide.

Oh man, I should have punched Shane after all. “Bullshit. It’s just an arm band. Celtic.”

“Hidden symbols in it,” Shane nods sagely. “That’s what I meant. Ocean did it for him. They’re brothers.”

“Since when are you so chatty, huh?”

Shane gives me the finger, chuckles, and ambles off to find something to do with the damn black T-shirt I picked, leaving me alone with Ethan.

He’s frowning. “Did I step on any toes? Sorry, man, hadn’t meant to.”

In the face of his disarming smile, I stand down. “Nah, it’s fine.” I rub at the inked band on my arm, and I swear the matching ink over my heart hums and itches. There are hidden symbols all right, words in fact, disguised as your typical Celtic band.

But I don’t feel like talking about it to Ethan. Or anyone here. If there was one person I’d tell all about it, had he asked… that would have been Jason. I’d ask about his tats, his scars, and I’d tell him about mine.

But he never asked. And it’s not gonna happen anyhow.

“Did you do time in prison?” Ethan asks, and God, I’m gonna go after Shane and hit him hard, I swear.

“Ignore Shane. His sense of humor is sick. Never been to prison. Now, if you’ll excuse me—”

“So Riot didn’t come for you?”

What the fuck is he talking about? “I thought Riot and company came because Corey dragged them along. You know. Because the guy has a crush on you.”

He looks startled. “Who, Corey?”

“Erm, yeah?” Oh come on… How could he miss it?

Ethan looks past me, and I turn, following his gaze to where Corey is standing together with Seth and Riot’s girl, Paxtyn, talking. He’s dressed in gray pants and a white button-down shirt, his blond hair glinting like pure gold in the overhead lights. He laughs at something Paxtyn says.

Then his head swivels our way, slowly, as if he’s felt our gazes on him.

He smiles and nods.

“I didn’t think…” Ethan jerks his gaze down to the pile of T-shirts on the table. The tips of his ears are turning red. “I mean…”

Cute. “Not your type?”

“It’s not that.”

I study the handsome Corey as his smile falls and his mouth settles into a thin line. “You’re not into men?”

Ethan chokes again. It’s a miracle I haven’t killed the guy today. “It’s…”

“Sorry, man. None of my business.” I lift my hands. “I’ll get out of your hair.”

“No, I like… men. That’s not the issue.” He frowns. “There’s another guy.”

Oh! Okay. Shit. “Better break it to Corey gently, then.”

At least Corey will know where he stands, then.

“Yeah.” He nods, and I decide it’s time for me to make myself sparse before I do any more damage.

Still… “You said you thought Riot was here for me. What did you mean?”

Ethan blinks, then looks up at me as if he’d forgotten all about me. “He’s here to check on something about an MC that’s out of line.”

I take a step back, feeling as if he just swung a sledgehammer at my chest. “Seriously? What’s Riot to do with gangs? Isn’t he a gym owner?”

I thought Rafe had said as much.

“Riot used to be a member of the Hellfire Fighters. Underground fighting club? And through them, he got an in with the Russian Mob. We were told you guys needed help. That’s all I know.”

Shit. I wonder who asked for their help, and how much they told them. If it’s about my father, or about Simon Gomez.

Or both, since they’re somehow connected. Connected to each other—and to Jason. What the hell is the plan, and how will it affect him?

Goddammit, I need to talk to Ocean.

“You talked to Dad.”

Ocean starts at the sound of my voice. He looks up at me from where he’s been flipping through an album of tattoo designs. Not his own, I notice. It’s a very different style, bolder, with thick lines and colors. “What?”

“I said, you talked to Dad and didn’t tell me about it. Just like you forgot to inform me that you invited a Russian mafia member to do… what exactly, Shun?” I slam my fists on his table, feeling like a bull in a China shop but unable to stop. “I feel this concerns me, too, don’t you think? When were you gonna tell me?”

“Whoa, slow down.” His chair screeches as he gets to his feet, eyes shadowed. “Come on, let’s take this outside.”

Seething, I follow him through the shop and out onto the busy sidewalk. Ice scrunches under my boots as we hoof it around the corner where the wind’s bite is gentler.

“So spill.” I shove my hands into my pockets—both to keep from hitting him and because it’s damn cold. “You went behind my back and made arrangements—with the fucking mafia? Didn’t it occur to you to keep me in the loop?”

Ocean whirls on me, his blue hair sticking up in all directions. “You’re one to talk. You kept your phone calls with the old man from me. You even went out and met him and almost got killed in the process.”

Fuck, he’s right. “So this is, what, payback?”

“No, R.” The heat in his gaze tells me he’s telling the truth. “It’s not fucking payback. Jesus, man. I thought Rafe told you about it. Or that we told everyone in one of the meetings.” He sighs. “You know. The ones you keep skipping.”

“What meetings? You all go out for drinks and pool. That what you mean?”

He shrugs. “Whatever.”

Hell. I kick at a soggy piece of trash that was probably a hotdog tray once. “Okay, so why don’t you fill me in now?”

“We don’t have a solid plan yet. All we know is that dear old Dad is somehow in business with Simon Gomez’s MC, because you told us so.”

My turn to nod. “Fantastic.”

“I know. Anyway, we asked Riot to check in with his connections about Simon Gomez, and it seems that, as we thought, he’s loosely connected to the Mexican mafia, but not enough to guarantee their protection.”

“So he’s fair game.”

“He is. Which is good news for us.”

“Good news, how?”

Ocean looks out, across the street, and I know he’s not checking out anything in particular. His eyes don’t track. He’s thinking. “We need to gather more info. Find out who Dad was in contact with, if it was Simon Gomez himself—and who else has power in the MC apart from Simon.”

He’s right. These are all things we should find out. But that’s not what worries me the most.

“What’s on your mind?” Ocean’s gaze is now on me.

“Jason. I need him safe.”

His gaze narrows. “We all do. Hey, R…” He rubs the back of his neck. “What I said the other day, about Jason. He’s a good guy. Never meant to make it sound differently, you know that, right? This plan isn’t just about Dad’s threats, although they have to stop, or else we’ll never find any peace, you and me. But it’s also for Jason and his people.”

“That’s the thing. Jason has been sending his people away. Something’s going down, but he won’t tell me.”

The scrutiny intensifies, and I pretend I’m not squirming underneath it. No clue what’s going on through Ocean’s head, but he’s my big brother, and I can’t help but be nervous.

“You really care for Jason,” he says, and it isn’t a question. “Does he know?”

I hesitate, then shake my head.

Ocean nods, a scowl on his face. “We don’t want innocent people harmed, and especially not Jason and his gang. We want Simon Gomez gone from his position of power, and preferably thrown behind bars. You need to convince Jason to get his ass out of that mess while the going is good.”

I shrug. “I’ve tried telling him that. He wouldn’t listen to me.”

And I fucked up. Pushed him too hard. Pushed him away.

“I’ll tell Jesse Lee to locate him, tell him. Maybe he’ll listen to him.” Ocean nods to himself. “We’ll help him get off the streets and put distance between himself and Simon’s gang before it all goes down.”

I glance back at the shop, unsettled at the thought that Jason might listen to Jesse when he won’t listen to me. Then again, Jesse was never an asshole to him like I was. “Let me know how it goes.”