DeathMoth has just finished a song to huge applause, and Zane Madden, head tattoo artist of Damage Control, climbs on the makeshift stage to welcome everyone to the event.

It’s going well already. The turn-out was amazing from the get-go, walk-ins asking to be inked, curious passersby entering to check out the shop and the stalls selling clothes and jewelry, and our usual crowd, all too happy to attend for drinks and music and a chance to chat with their favorite artists and also those new to them. Soul Stain are gaining quite a big following for their newsletter and website.

The food I ordered is good, the drinks are cold and plenty, the Brotherhood and the Damage fellowship all look pleased. Little kids are running about between the stalls. Seriously, between them, the guys could open their own kindergarten.

Nothing major has gone wrong so far—fingers crossed nothing will—and all in all, I should be proud of putting this event together.

At least that’s what everyone has been telling me all day.

But I’m distracted.

My thoughts are torn between memories of Jason in my bed, and the dead-end of our talk. One-sided talk. I told him I care for him, that I’m worried about him, that I want to help him, that his confession changes nothing for me… and he told me to stay out of it and that he doesn’t need to worry about me, too.

Cold shower, much?

Or not? Why did he put his walls back up? What isn’t he telling me? Was he angry at me, or…

Or what? Whenever I’ve been angry at him it was a disguise for my worry. But who says it’s the same for him? He’s so hard to read, and that’s on the best of days. The sex was awesome, it was off the charts good, and he enjoyed it. Hard to argue with two loads of cum drying on my bed. He came, and he cried, and I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing.

I love him.

Turning away from the stage, I blindly make my way to the door and let myself out of the shop. I love Jason Vega. What do you make of that, huh?

I feel like I can’t breathe without him, can’t smile when he’s not around, I’m worried to death when I think he’s in danger and get hard just from the memory of him.

Textbook case. I may never have felt this way before, but I’ve seen it happen to others. In fact, I always thought it was a thing that only happens to others. I’ve always watched it, amused, kinda smug. Above it all.

Until now.

“Any news from Jason?” Jesse Lee asks me as the event finally winds down. “Ocean asked me to talk to him, but did he tell you I couldn’t find him? He’s nowhere.”

“He’s staying with me.”

Jesse’s brows lift. “No shit.”

“I offered him my couch.” Not a lie. No need to say he ended up sleeping in my bed, but I bet Jesse will put two and two together any moment now. “Thing is, whatever it is Simon Gomez is holding over him, he’s not talking.” I consider Jesse’s distraught expression and something nags at me. “Is there anything else you haven’t told us about?”

“About what?”

“Simon Gomez and Jason. Why would Simon be so interested in him? What else do you know?”

It was just a hunch and it’s not until Jesse’s eyes widen a fraction that I realize I’m right.

Shit.

“Look… It’s something Jason asked me not to tell anyone.”

“You made a police statement, didn’t you? Against Simon.” I eye him. “You left information out?”

“It didn’t seem important.”

“What didn’t seem important? How would you know?”

“Whoa, buddy.” Jesse’s green eyes flash. He puts a hand out to stop me and I realize with a start I’ve cornered him against his stall. “I said, Jason asked me not to talk about it, okay? Just… back off.”

I lift my hands and step back. The barely suppressed panic in Jesse’s eyes reminds me so much of Jason it’s eerie.

And then I remember Jesse was in Jason’s gang. He went through similar experiences. He got attacked by Simon Gomez, and…

“Wait a minute. Simon attacked you, but why?”

“He wanted me to join his MC. I didn’t feel like it.”

“So he attacked you one night, and then he just left you alone?”

“No, I…” He rubs a hand over his short hair, gaze going distant. “I left town. Went to a group home for a while.”

“And then you came back, and…? Simon left you alone?”

He frowns. “Yeah. Soon after, Zane found me, took me in as apprentice.”

“Why would Simon go through all that trouble to recruit you and then just let you go?”

He frowns harder. “I thought he just gave up.”

We both consider the possibility for a moment.

“No way,” I say.

“No,” Jesse says quietly. “The guy gets obsessed. He wouldn’t just let me know. That’s just what I wanted to believe. But then why?”

“What did Jason tell you not to tell anyone? I bet you…” I consider my shitty finances, “fifty dollars that it has something to do with Simon’s interest in Jason.”

“I can’t break my word to him.” He shakes his head. “You’ll have to ask him.”

“Damn right I will. And if meanwhile something happens to him, it’s on you.”

“Not fucking fair.”

“Life generally isn’t.”

“Dammit, Raine.” Jesse huffs and sits down on the table. From the corner of my eye I catch Ocean approaching and glare at him.

He backs away.

“Long before the night of the attack,” Jesse says, voice like sandpaper, “Jason told me that he and Simon had some history. I think… I think he settled for me because Jason refused him. He could, back then, when our pimp Kaia protected us, and Jason was her favorite. Rumors ran rampant that he was her son, but I doubt it. In any case… Jason refused him, and he turned to me, because I’d been away long and didn’t really belong to Jason’s gang.”

“But something changed afterward.”

“Kaia got sick. She died. Jason’s gang was left without protection.”

And then Jesse left the streets, and Simon got exactly what he wanted: Jason. Still, why? Even if Simon Gomez is gay and wants Jason as his prize, something doesn’t add up.

“What sort of history did Simon have with Jason?”

He grimaces. “They’re related. As in family. Jason said Simon Gomez claims to be a distant cousin.”

My head is starting to pound, the tension from my shoulders making me hunch over. “Cousin? You shitting me?”

“Hey, you asked.” He jabs a finger at me as he pushes off the table, his green eyes stormy. “And this had better be important. I don’t enjoy breaking promises to my friends.”

Is it important? Hard to tell, but something in my gut tells me this whole story is key to how Jason’s thinking works, to whatever is binding him to Simon Gomez. A scary cousin Jason refused, who then went after Jesse, and then…?

I watch Jesse Lee go, the solution to the puzzle just out of reach, and wonder if he’s managed to free himself from the ghosts of his past.

And I vow to help Jason break free, too.

No use lying to myself that after work I’ll stay for the party, despite what I promised my brother, or that I’ll head straight home. I can’t focus on anything but Jason—and meeting up with Jason is the last thing I should do. I know from experience I shouldn’t push too much. That he needs time to process things, and that I should let him come to me. I shouldn’t go look for him on the street—and yet I couldn’t stop if my life depended on it.

I have to see him. The black pit of fear in my stomach has only grown bigger since I talked to Jesse. Losing him—to Simon Gomez, to drugs, to violence—is not an option. Keeping him safe—and alive—is my number one priority.

I’ll do whatever it takes to show him that I’m here to stay, that there are ways out of hell if he’ll only trust me.

How long can I wait for him to come to me? To open up, little by little, giving in inch by inch?

Forever, if need be.

But we don’t have that kind of time, not anymore.

So I cruise through town, too restless for anything else, checking Jason’s older haunts just in case. Of course he’s not there, and when I think I recognize one of his buddies, a slender blond guy, he vanishes into an alley and is gone.

Or maybe I’m imagining things. I thought Jason had sent everyone in his gang away by now.

Suddenly I panic that he’s at home, and I’m out here, looking for him. Which is stupid. He does have the apartment key. Even if he is home, he’s warm and sheltered.

Doesn’t stop me from stepping on the gas to get home sooner, though.

And of course he isn’t there when I arrive. No sign of him having passed by, either. My bed is the mess of sheets we left this morning.

Was it only this morning? Shit. Feels like a month. When I pull the sheets off the bed, I find the stains of his cum on the undersheet, and it makes me grin.

Then I remember the tears in his eyes and sit down on the bare mattress, sadness washing over me in a cold wave.

I told him I knew what I was getting into. But do I? Every day feels like a challenge. Could it be more complicated? Saving him from a brutal life won’t be enough, even if we manage to get Simon off his back. Those dark eyes have seen too much. His scarred skin tells a long story of pain and despair. How do I save him from that?

I think of the therapist I saw for the first two years I spent here, at Ocean’s insistence. She’s really nice. Most of the Brotherhood and Damage guys have been her clients. She could help Jason.

Damn. I let the sheets fall to the floor and rub both hands over my face. Am I nuts? Is there a future for us? Is there an ‘us’? The odds seem impossible, and yet I can’t let go of hope. No fucking way. I don’t expect a picket fence and green lawns and China tea sets.

With a sigh, I fall back on the bed and stare up at the ceiling. I just want Jason with me. Every day and every night. For our whole lives. Is that too much to ask? Isn’t that what everyone wants—someone they care for to spend their lives with?

The only question is, does he care for me?

I wish I knew.

In the dark, pleasure rushes through me, a streak of fire from my balls to my back, making my muscles clench. Sparkles light up behind my lids. Warmth floods my body, tingles running down my legs and up my spine.

My dick throbs, and that’s when I feel it. Heat, pressure, and I gasp when a wicked tongue licks the underside of my dick.

Oh fuck. I’m naked somehow, at least from the waist down, and someone’s hot mouth is on me, sucking and licking. It’s blowing my mind. Strong hands are on my thighs, spreading them wider, and then the heat flows down to my balls.

Warm breath and rough tongue torturing them until they’re tight and achy, and then that clever mouth returns to my cock, and wow…

I can’t even recognize the tortured moan leaving my mouth. Light scrape of teeth, another swipe of tongue, and that goddamn suction, it’s driving me crazy. Scent of cinnamon and spice, and when I put down my hand, I find a tousled head of silky hair.

“Yeah…” My mind’s spinning. I bury my fingers in the short strands, needing to hold on to something, and groan as he sucks harder. “Shit. Jase…”

Orgasm hits me like a freight train. One moment I’m gripping his hair and rocking into his mouth, and the next I’m arching right off the bed, coming so hard my dick might as well be spewing liquid fire.

Dammit. I don’t think my muscles will ever unclench again.

When my senses return, and my heart stops pounding in my ears, I take stock. I’m in bed. I’m pretty sure I’m awake, sated and wrung out. That was no wet dream.

I can see his shadowy outline, I can hear him breathing in the dark, still there, between my legs. It’s a harsh, unsettling sound that sets my teeth on edge and slowly dissolves my post-orgasmic lassitude.

“Jase?” I whisper, pretty sure it’s him, but fuck, I can’t see him properly.

Then he starts to cough, and blindly I reach for the bedside lamp, blinking starbursts from my eyes at the sudden flood of light.

“When did you come in?” I reach for him, but he doesn’t react, even as his cough subsides. Those beautiful dark eyes are staring somewhere past me. “Jason.”

“I worked late.” Even his voice is leaden.

I squint at him. “Worked.”

“Yeah, that thing you do for a living? To get money to eat?”

“Jase, dammit… You should stop.”

“What, eating?” He leans forward, his gaze finally turned on me, and his lips turn up in a smirk as he crawls over me. “You liked me eating you up, though, didn’t you?”

He’s shed his jacket, and he’s only wearing a silver tank top, his jacket discarded beside him. The tank top is ripped in places, and it molds to his strong chest, leaving little to the imagination. Taut muscles, tattoos, scars… all there to see, and he doesn’t seem to notice, or care.

His eyes are lined in black pencil, cat-like and mesmerizing. He knows it, too. He bends to my ear, and whispers, “You like it when I wear eyeliner, admit it.”

“I admit it.”

“It makes you hard.”

“Oh yeah.” And I’ll bet he can feel my cock thickening again. But then I notice something else. I lift a hand to his face. “You’re hurt.”

He jerks back, wipes the back of his hand over his brow. It comes away streaked with blood. “Nah, I’m good.”

“Jase—”

He rolls off the bed. “Gonna catch some shut-eye, if that’s okay with you.”

What the hell? “Wait.”

But he’s already walking out of the room, his jacket in one hand, the sleeves trailing on the floor.

I can’t get the blood on his face out of my mind. What happened? Did a client hit him? Was it Simon?

I catch up with him inside the living room. He’s standing still as if he’s forgotten what he’s doing here. It scares the fuck out of me.

“Hey, look.” Don’t push, Raine. Don’t you fucking push him before he’s ready. “Have you had dinner? I’ve got some pulled pork and slaw, and I swear it’s delicious.”

He looks sideways at me, and presses a hand to his stomach, but not before I hear it growl. I wonder if he ate all day, but I shut my mouth and wait.

He glances at the kitchen, and I can see indecision and hunger warring in his gaze, and fuck… his pride won’t let him say anything, will it?

“Come on.” I take his hand, and he lets me lead him to the kitchen, turning the lights on over the counter. I leave him at the small table and start taking the food out as he takes a seat. “I make a mean pulled pork sandwich. Just wait and see. Pickles?”

“Uh. Yeah.”

A quick glance shows him sitting there stiffly, his mouth pressed in a line, those normally expressive eyes blank.

Even when I put the plate in front of him and pull two beers from the fridge, he barely looks up. He murmurs a quick thanks and inhales the food, then gulps down the beer before I even manage to finish half of mine.

“Sandwich was that good, huh?” I ask, trying to break the ice.

“Yeah. I’m gonna turn in.”

He’s distracted, distant. Cold. Something’s seriously off. I mean, this is the guy who undressed me and sucked me off in the dark, and now he’s barely speaking to me.

“Okay. Good night.”

He makes no move to get up, though. He’s sitting there, hands in his lap, staring at nothing. A thin line of blood has run from his eyebrow down to his cheek, and is that a new bruise on his neck?

Probably realizing I’m staring at him, he finally moves, planting his hands on the table and pushing to his feet.

But his face pales, and he sinks back down, a hand pressed to his side.

Holy fucking shit. I jump to my feet. “Jase! What’s wrong?”

I’m by his side and peeling off his tank top before he has a chance to speak. His whole side is black and blue. That’s the imprint of a goddamn boot on his pale skin.

He tries to shove me away, his expression blank. “I’m okay.”

“The hell you are. Who did this? Who…?” That look in his eyes. “Simon Gomez.”

“Let go, Raine.” He fights me as I try to check what other injuries he’s hiding—and I find a seeping cut on his hip. “Stop.”

“Need to clean this out.” I stand up, not sure if he’ll bolt the moment I duck into the bathroom to grab the first aid kit. “Come.”

He resists at first, then sighs and leans on me to get up. How didn’t I realize he was so hurt before? I was right, he’s too damn proud to ask for help. He’s unsteady on his feet, and I hope it’s just the food and warmth doing a number on him, and not that he’s badly injured.

I prop him against the bathroom wall, fish out the kit, and then lead him back to the bedroom where I pull off his tank top and finally get a good look at him in bright light.

At his ink, his bruises, and fuck, his scars.

I try not to stare, but as I trace the new hurts—more boot imprint and bruises, another wound on the thigh where someone clearly cut through his pants and flesh with a sharp blade—I catalogue everything and my skin crawls.

These aren’t self-harm scars, like I thought they might be. They’re high on his forearms, and on his chest and back. Clustered together, parallel as if a beast raked its claws over him.

He isn’t the one who put them there, no way. They were carefully done. Deep. Intentional. White and old.

I swab disinfectant over the cuts, and he doesn’t even hiss or flinch. But when I sit down beside him and clean up the cut in his brow, he shivers.

I turn his face toward me. “Talk to me. I’m not gonna run away from this. From you. Okay? What happened today?”

He rubs listlessly at his arm. No, the inside of his elbow, at a small bruise there. “What do you think?”

Fuck, fuck… If I find Simon Gomez, I’m gonna make him choke on his own fucking dick. “Did he inject you? With drugs?”

He nods, two spots of red on his cheekbones. His eyes are too bright. “Look, if you want me to leave, I’ll understand.”

That cuts through the red haze of fury. “What? Why would I?”

He stops rubbing at the inside of his elbow and swallows hard. “Soon he’ll crook his little finger, and I’ll jump like a circus dog. He’ll say fetch and I’ll run. That high…” His chin drops to his chest. “I’m no good.”

God, he’s out to break my fucking heart to pieces. I slip an arm around his back. “You’re an amazing person, Jason Vega. And I’m fucking in love with you.”

It’s as if someone cut off the strings holding him upright. He falls against me with a groan, and I gather him in my arms.

“What are we doing?” he whispers.

“I don’t know.” I kiss the top of his spiky head. “But I don’t wanna stop. I can’t. I need you, Jase.”

His arms are around me, his face buried against my chest. “You’re breaking me.”

“You’re not broken. Be with me.”

He lets out a huff of a breath, like laughter, or a sob. “Are you asking me to be boyfriends again?”

“You bet. Again. And again, until you say yes.” I close my eyes and rest my chin on top of his soft hair. “Say yes.”

But he doesn’t. Instead he says, “Simon Gomez won’t let me go.”

“Why? What does he want from you?”

“We have… history.” He spits the word like it’s snakes and scorpions. “He wanted me to join him, and I refused. I thought I could refuse, back then. I didn’t realize how far he’d go. I knew when he assaulted Jesse Lee. It was to get back at me, to punish me. He trasfered his obsession to Jesse, and I realized he wouldn’t let him go.”

“What did you do?”

I know it before he says it. “To let Jesse Lee go, not to harm him or his friends, Simon Gomez asked for something in exchange.”

“What?”

“Me.”

I close my eyes. I knew it. “Dammit, Jase…”

“It had to be me. It’s me he’d wanted all along. It was that, or hurt everyone I cared about.”

I frown as his words sink in. “Wait—”

“Raine.” He lifts his head, straightens and I open my eyes to look at him. “This is a one-man war. I can’t win against Simon and his army. And I’m not taking you down with me.”

“The hell you say. You’re not alone. I have your back. And I’m not alone, either. We’ll beat Simon together.”

His eyes widen. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Trust me.”

“Stay out of it, Raine. Nobody else gets hurt because of me.”

I grab his arms. “Stop trying to fight him alone.” And I frown, since the words might as well apply to me, and my attempts to fight my father. “There’s strength in numbers. Let me help you. Let us help you. Don’t go back to him. Don’t go back out. Stay here.”

“You can’t win against him.” He’s shaking and raw fear shadows his eyes. “He’s got the Mexican mafia at his back. He’s got guns and men and money, and no compunction about using it all.”

“I said trust me. We know people, too, we have connections. We’ll take the bastard down. I promise it’s possible.”

I see the moment cautious hope enters his gaze. It lights up the dark like a flame. “You’re serious about this.”

“Like never before in my life.”