The only reason Low answered the phone was because he thought it was Renzo calling. By the time he noticed his mother’s name on the caller ID, he’d already swiped to answer.

“Yes, Mommy.” The world must be ending if she was calling him back to back in such a short span of time.

“Lowell, you home?”

“Just got in,” he told her. “What’s up?”

“I’m outside.”

That widened his eyes. In the five years he’d been living in Tucker, she’d visited twice. The day he came to view the house before leasing it, and the day he moved in. He got up from his desk in the second bedroom he’d converted to an office slash game room, and walked to the front of the house, peeking through the blinds covering the window that looked out over his driveway.

Yep, that was his mother’s car idling at the foot of the driveway. She wasn’t in the driver’s seat, though.

No, his mother had herself a personal driver. A nameless older guy with ash-blond hair, cold blue eyes and an indecipherable European accent who’d been with her for years. Like much about his mother, Low figured questioning her about him would lead to even more questions and confusion.

“Come in then.”

He watched her exit the vehicle with help from driver dude who stood like a sentry next to the car, hands folded in front of him as she made her way to the door. The way the driver stood reminded Low of Renzo’s bodyguards, face blank, feet planted some distance apart as their eyes skimmed their surroundings without their bodies moving. Always on alert.

He pulled open the door to find his mother on his doorstep, her face creased in a smile. “Mommy.”

Her arms wrapped around him and he hugged her back. She always smelled nice. To Low, she was the original BBW, everything about her bountiful. Size, stature and attitude. What she lacked in height—clocking in at five-six—she made up in presence.

He dropped his hands and stepped back so she could enter before he closed the door. “What you doing here, Mommy?”

“I come to see me son.” She smiled and he remembered the first time she’d returned to the family for a visit after abandoning them for whoever her flavor of the month was. He’d been ten and he’d walked into the house from school to find her sitting on the couch his grandmother had covered in that hard-ass plastic. She’d smiled at him and he’d stopped in his tracks.

The first time he was aware of thinking of anyone as beautiful.

Attalyn DeCoteau—she’d never taken her husband’s last name.

They called her Atta.

His mother.

She wasn’t simply beautiful. Her beauty, there was nothing subtle about it. And even now, the brown eyes that appeared green if the sunlight hit her a certain way, her small, delicately shaped nose cocooned between sky-riding cheekbones, she remained aggressively stunning.

“You want something to drink?” He turned away from her, headed to the kitchen. “I have sorrel from Tanty Ellen.”

“Yes. Thanks.”

He made them both drinks and returned to find her browsing the pictures on his wall. Photos of the family, of his school days, both in Grenada and here in the States. There were lots of images with Low and Kenton, Low and Ronna. Low and the man who’d raised him. Multiple pictures with him and the rest of the family.

Only one with his mother.

It was a black and white Polaroid. He’d been a baby in her hands as she stared at the camera wearing a long-sleeved dress, the hems kicked up by the wind.

He handed her the drink and they took their first sips in silence. There was a certain respect Atta commanded as his mother that he readily offered up. But it didn’t change the fact that she was a stranger, that she—for some reason—led a life shrouded in secrets and suspicion. It was that respect, and a healthy dose of fear, that curbed his tongue even as he itched to throw questions at her.

Who is my father?

Why do you treat me like an afterthought?

He sucked an ice cube into his mouth instead and took a seat on the sofa, waiting for her to do the same.

“How is school?” she asked when she finally sat. “You studying hard?”

“Everything is good, Mommy.” He put his drink down on the center table and leaned forward. “What’s going on?”

She shrugged. “I was driving by and I just say lemme call and see if you dey home.” She swallowed. “You need something?”

He lifted a brow. “Like what?”

“Anything.” She held his gaze. “I was with Andy and Michelle and them the other day and I took your sister shopping. You know she just buy she house.”

He did not know that. But it no longer surprised him that he was the last person to learn anything anymore. “So you figure since you took Michelle shopping, you should buy me something too.”

“I is you mother. If you need something let me know.”

Low swallowed the anger that burned his tongue and sat back. “I do need something.”

Her gaze sharpened.

“Why are you the way that you are?’ he asked her. “I need an answer to that.”

She didn’t blink. It was as if she’d expected that question.

“Why did you abandon us? Why did you cheat on Daddy?” The words just rolled off his tongue. Fuck, if only he’d know it would be this easy to voice them. “Why am an afterthought for you? How do you run a whorehouse during the week then go to church on Sunday?”

Her mouth curved at that.

“Was Daddy my father?”

She flinched. He pretended he didn’t feel both angry at, and protective of, her.

“Well.” Could’ve been the light, but her eyes seemed overly bright. “You have a lot of things on you chest, papa.”

“Best time as any to get it off.” He didn’t want to hurt her. Despite her being absent to raise him, he was brought up—as most West Indian children were—with a healthy amount of fear for their parents. Hurting her wasn’t the goal. Easing his hurt, answering the questions that went to the fundamental parts of who he was, that was the goal.

“Just tell me if Daddy is my father. Just tell me.” The words shook as he tried to calm himself.

“Lowell.” She touched his face. “You are Noel’s son. Stop worrying up you head.”

“But I can’t.” He caught her hand, staring into her eyes as he begged. “Who am I?” Tears wet his eye. “Who am I, if my own mother can’t stand to be a mother to me?”

“I wasn’t ready to be a mother,” she whispered. “It’s not about you, son. That is my failure, not yours.”

“But your failure has consequences, Mommy.” Her face was a blurry, watery mess. “Tell me who I am.”

“Only you can answer that.” She patted his cheek then made her way to the door. “I love you, Lowell. That is something you should know.”

Then she did what she’d been doing since the day he was born.

She left.

Proclaiming her love as she turned her back on him, again. The last time she walked away he’d been too young to understand what it meant. But this time around her rejection of him sliced through him like sharpest cutlass. Why couldn’t she make him understand?

He dropped onto the couch, burying his face in his hands. He shouldn’t have asked. Should have known she would never take responsibility. He snatched his phone up to call Ronna, then changed his mind and picked up his keys and wallet. His sister had her own shit to deal with. He couldn’t keep reaching out for her to help him through his.

Instead, he got into the car and started driving. Halfway to his destination, he had the presence of mind to make the phone call.

“Low.” Renzo’s dark and smooth vibrato answered midway through the first ring, and for some reason Low knew he’d made the right call.

“How-how did you know it was me?” They hadn’t exchanged numbers. He’d simply dialed the number Dax told him to call.

“I know everything about you, Low.” The smile in Renzo’s voice rang loud. “What do you need?”

That question choked him up, strangling the flippant words he’d been about to speak. No one asked him that. He hadn’t been sure what it is he was seeking, but now he knew. He was looking for somebody to ask.

“Low?” The playfulness in Renzo’s voice disappeared and he was all alert and dangerous.

“Renzo.” He couldn’t put it into words, though. He kept swallowing the emotion in his throat, fingers trembling around the steering wheel. “Ask-Ask me again. That question.” The oncoming headlights along narrow-as-fuck East Ponce de Leon blinded him. “Ask me again.”

The man he wasn’t supposed to want didn’t hesitate. “What do you need, Low?”

“I need you.” The words somehow somersaulted off his tongue. “Are you at the club?” Should have asked that first.

“Yes.” Renzo sounded strained, voice tightly controlled as if he was fighting to keep himself leashed. “Side entrance. Dax will let you in. And Low?”

“Yeah?”

“I will provide it,” Renzo told him. Calmly. “Whatever you need, you will have it.”

Lots of things he questioned tonight. He didn’t question that proclamation and it allowed him to breathe a bit easier. His painful grasp on the steering wheel eased. If he hadn’t been behind the wheel, he’d have closed his eyes to savor the feeling of the tightness that had gripped him since his mother’s visit flowing from his body. But he simply smiled. “Stay with me?” he asked. “Talk to me.”

Renzo took a breath. “The club opens tomorrow night. Did you know that?” He didn’t wait for Low to speak. “I’m handling some last minute details.”

“What’s your favorite color?”

He swore he could hear Renzo’s grin.

“Hazel.”

Low furrowed his brow. “Really?”

“It’s the color of your eyes, the mix of brown and green,” Renzo said matter-of-factly. “Depending on how the light hits, or your mood, it changes from green to light brown to gold. So hazel is my favorite color.”

“Damn.” Low chuckled. “You’re good.”

“I am. But it’s the truth.”

“Uh-huh.” He pulled into the club’s service entrance and parked. “I’m here.”

“Wait for Dax to open the doors,” Renzo instructed.

Two seconds later, the heavy doors swung open. Dax appeared and Low followed him into the building and onto a waiting elevator. A short ride later, they were at Renzo’s office. Dax opened the door and entered. Low stayed behind him, walking slowly.

“Low.” Renzo rose from behind his desk, striding past the woman who sat with her head bent over a bunch of papers. Stopping in front of him, Renzo regarded Low with a narrowed gaze. “Are you okay?”

“I wasn’t.” He shrugged. “But I’m getting there.” Because of Renzo, but he didn’t say that out loud.

Renzo touched him, a quick brush of knuckles across Low’s jaw, and smiled. “Give me a few minutes to wrap things up then I’m all yours.”

That sounded way too good.

“This is Shay Coleman,” Renzo pointed to the woman seated across from his desk. She lifted her head with a distracted smile at the mention of her name. “She’s my manager, thinks she’s my babysitter, though. Shay, this is Low.”

“Hey.” Low waved at her and her smile got bigger. She appeared to be in her late thirties, slim with tawny-brown skin, a pretty oval face, and naturally coily hair piled on top of her head in a puff.

“Hey.” She mock-glared at Renzo. “I know you’re nocturnal, but I’m not, so can we finish this please, so I can go home? My wife is waiting on me, you know?”

Definitely Trini. That accent can’t miss.

“The new bartenders are good to go,” Renzo told her. “They all check out. Same with the extra security. Dax is on top of it.”

“So we done?” Shay lifted a brow.

“We’re done, yes.” Renzo turned to Dax who stood off to the side with his arms folded. “Dax, take Shay home.” He glanced at Low then back to Dax. “And feel free to take the scenic route coming back, yeah?”

Shay snorted. Low ducked his head as heat flooded his face. He waited until the door closed behind Dax and Shay before pinning Renzo with a glare.

“What the fuck was that? Take the scenic route. Really?”

“What?” Laughter danced in Renzo’s gray eyes. When he did that, when he smiled, his eyes glittered like diamonds Low could never hope to afford. “I want as much time as I can get with you.” He stepped in closer and cupped Low’s jaw. “You’re kinda notorious for running from me.”

“I’m not.” But yeah, he kinda was.

The laughter disappeared from Renzo’s face quickly. “What’s wrong?” he asked. “When you called, you sounded off.”

“I was off, yes.” He squared his shoulders. “But I wanted to see you.” He licked his lips. “I thought you’d make me feel better and you did.”

“I’m glad I did.” Renzo opened his arms, and Low fell into them.

A hug.

A hug from Renzo Vega.

Low clutched him, face buried in Renzo’s neck, inhaling his skin—which, Jesus, smelled so damn lickable. Renzo was giving him everything he needed but never thought to voice.

“Hey.” Renzo tilted his head back and Low peered up at him. “Okay?”

“Yeah.” Low cleared his throat and stepped away from Renzo’s arms. “Why don’t you, um, give me a tour of the club?” He needed to clear his head.

From the expression on Renzo’s face, Low could tell Renzo had questions. But thankfully he didn’t ask them. He simply linked their fingers and led Low out the office and back onto the elevator which took them to the lower level of the club.

“It’s weird to see it without sweaty bodies and strobe lights.” Low spun in a circle.

Renzo grinned. “I can imagine.”

Low walked over to the bar and climbed onto one of those backless stools as Renzo stood a few feet away, just watching him with a small smile on his lips. Leaning back on his elbows, Low eyed him. He wore a charcoal sport coat over a denim-blue shirt and pants matching the coat. The shirt was buttoned all the way up to his throat, but no tie.

“You got something against ties?” Low lifted an eyebrow.

Renzo shrugged. “Don’t like ’em.”

Low could learn to dislike them, too, if he got to see Renzo like this. Sometimes he forgot Renzo was sixteen years older than him. “The only time I’ve seen you disheveled was when you got shot. Or when you’re fucking me.” He cocked his head and motioned to Renzo’s clothing. “Those suits all you wear?”

“I’m kinda partial to my birthday suit.” The smirk on Renzo face got wider until Low found himself smiling along. Renzo unbuttoned his jacket and tossed it aside then proceeded to roll up his sleeves, exposing his muscled forearms.

Damn. Was there anything sexier?

He couldn’t stop staring. The level of wanting he had for Renzo was…scary. Exhilarating too. But so damn scary. Toes at the edge of the cliff as he gazed down in search of bottom.

All he found was nothing.

And all he wanted to do was jump.

“Low.” Mere feet away, Renzo watched him, gaze shooting familiar flames that ate at Low, burning any lingering resistance to ash. “You should fuck with me,” Renzo said hoarsely. When Low lifted an eyebrow, he went on, “You told me once you can’t fuck with me. But you should. You should fuck with me.”

Oh, he damn sure was gonna fuck with him. If he wasn’t strung as tight as he was, Low would smile. As things stood now, he was afraid if he moved a muscle, he’d break. “Come.”

Renzo came to him, gaze never leaving Low’s face, standing in front of him with control straining at his features and hunger darkening his gray eyes. Low got off the stool, bringing them chest to chest with no touching.

Everything he wanted, he was going take. Everything Renzo offered, he was going to accept. He wanted to always feel the way he felt in this moment, staring into Renzo’s eyes.

“You scare me,” he whispered. Renzo’s lips parted, but Low stilled any words he’d speak with a shake of his head. “I like it.”

Renzo’s nostrils flared as his lashes lowered to shade his eyes.

Low could tell him all the ways in which Renzo made him hunger and thirst, but he chose to voice something that would say it all. One word.

“Daddy.” He’d seen the affect that word had on Renzo, like he was coming apart slowly in front of Low’s fucking eyes. It was the sexiest sight and his lover didn’t disappoint.

Renzo jolted, eyes flying wide. His mouth opened. Closed. He staggered back a step before crashing to his knees in front of Low, burying his face in Low’s belly. Low tunneled his fingers through Renzo’s hair, cupping his nape and dragging his head backward.

Renzo stared up at him, eyes burning, begging. “Low.”

“I’m about to do way more than fuck with you, Daddy.”