He dey by he sister.” Atta came rushing into the room, phone in her hand. She stopped, terror on her face as she met Renzo’s gaze. “He dey wid Ronna.”

Renzo froze mid-pace. “How is he?” As if he couldn’t imagine.

“Not good,” Atta whispered brokenly. “Not good.”

Of course he wasn’t. Renzo scrubbed a hand over his face. This was a fucking nightmare and it was his fault. He turned away, headed for the door and Atta grabbed his arm.

“Let me go first,” she begged.

“Absolutely not.” He shook off her hold and scowled down at her. “I let you dictate how this would go from day one, Atta. That shit stops now.” He left quickly, sending a quick text to Dax before he got into his car and drove off. He knew Ronna’s address from when he’d first compiled his file on Low. Back when he didn’t think he’d ever get a chance at knowing him.

Loving him.

There was no guarantee that if he’d told Low about Monster’s identity from the onset of their relationship that they wouldn’t still end up here. No way to know if doing that would have been better or worse, but he wished he’d taken the chance. He wished he’d been the one to tell Low.

“Thank you for showing me where your loyalties lie.”

“Fuck!” He pounded the steering wheel as he pulled up at a red light. They’d been so happy this morning. And now? He watched Low’s heart shatter in front of his fucking eyes. He watched the man he loved collapse, and not just physically. The moment Renzo told Low about Monster, he watched pieces of his lover die.

He couldn’t let that happen. The bastard who’d destroyed Renzo couldn’t be allowed to do the same to Low. But how was he supposed to fix a wound like the one he’d inflicted on Low? He could blame Atta, but there’d been no gun to his head. Low had been right. Renzo chose Atta. He’d felt indebted, so he gave her his loyalties instead.

By doing so, he could damn well have lost the best thing that ever happened to him.

He turned into the cul-de-sac where Low’s sister lived and parked behind the two cars in the driveway before hurrying up to the front door and ringing the bell. A tall, bulky man opened the door. The sister’s husband.

“I’m here for Low,” Renzo told him before the guy even asked a question.

“Are you?” He simply lifted an eyebrow.

“Is he here?”

“You the one who hurt him?” A woman asked from inside the house.

Renzo peered past the giant guarding the door, but couldn’t see anything. “I need to see Low.”

She appeared behind her husband, smooth dark brown skin matching Low’s, a heart shaped face and wide eyes that scrutinized Renzo behind thick-rimmed glasses. Curly locs flowed past her shoulders and hung down her back. Medium height, curves upon curves covered by a pink, flowery sundress.

Ronna.

Her hands were behind her back as she glared at Renzo. “You hurt my brother, Mr. Vega?”

He blinked.

She smirked. “I know who you is.” She dipped her head to the side slightly. “What did you do to my brother?” She flicked a glance to her husband still barring Renzo’s way. “Let him in, Kelly.”

The husband—Kelly—stepped back and Renzo entered the house. One step and Ronna brought her hands forward and up.

She pointed a gun at him.

He froze, chest swelling with some kind of sick pride.

“What did you do to Low?” A masculine voice asked at his right.

Low’s brother?

“Answer the man.” Ronna beckoned with her gun. A Glock, if Renzo wasn’t mistaken.

He brought his arms up slowly. “I’m unarmed.”

“So?” The man at his right snarled. “Our guns are all fully registered, and you are Renzo Vega. I think they would throw us a jump up if we shoot your ass.”

Maybe they would.

“I don’t care that Low loves you,” Ronna said quietly. “You hurt him, we hurt you. Is dat simple.”

They would protect him. Which was more than Renzo had done, right? Low had worried about them not accepting him, but they did. Renzo saw it in Ronna’s eyes. She did. So he kept his arms up when he said, “I work with your mother. She’s my business partner.”

Ronna’s gun wavered as shock filled her eyes.

The guy at Renzo’s right inhaled loudly. “Low found out?”

Renzo nodded. “He also found out that his father—your father—” He nodded to Ronna. “Was not his.”

“Wha—” Ronna blinked rapidly. “Who is—” Her body started shaking and her husband rushed to her side as she lowered the gun. “Gran-Grant—”

“No.” He quickly quelled the fear that the man who’d molested her could be Low’s father. “Not him.”

Ronna buried her face in her husband’s chest with a hiccup.

“Who is Low’s father?”

Renzo glanced over to the guy at his right, finally putting a face to the voice. Another sibling. Andy, the party promoter. If Renzo wasn’t around, they would protect Low. He couldn’t ask for anything more than that. It made it much easier for him to bleed a little, to open a vein for these strangers and tell them who he was.

What he’d done.

He ignored Andy and went to Ronna. She was the one with the phobia. The one who didn’t leave her house. But he saw strength in her eyes. He saw a kindred spirit. He saw her love for Low, so Renzo knelt in front of the couch where she sat in her husband’s lap. He took her hand in his and stared into her glasses fogged by tears.

The words were for her alone. “When I was ten years old, I was stolen from my home and sold into sexual slavery.”

They all gasped as one unit. Ronna slapped her free hand over her mouth, eyes seeming extra wide through her glasses as she tried to tug away from his hold. But she was his link to Low and he couldn’t let her go.

“Years after I got out, I found the man who’d imprisoned me.” He tried to distance himself from it, tried to keep his voice calm and even. Tried to pretend baring himself like this didn’t send hot bile straight to the back of his throat. But this was Low’s family. This was for Low. So he’d do it again and again. “He was living with a woman in Chicago.” He paused, holding Ronna’s gaze. “That woman was your mother.”

“Oh God.”

“Fuck.”

“That man, the man who stole me, hurt me, broke me…” He exhaled. “That man fathered a child with your mother.”

“No.” Ronna shook her head from side to side, her sobs of denial muffled by the hand over her mouth. “No. No.”

Something thumped behind Renzo and he looked back to find Andy had slid down to the floor, his back against the wall, a stunned expression on his face.

“I’ve always known who Low was,” Renzo told them. “It never mattered to me. I fell in love with him, I built a relationship with him, but I never told him the truth. Today, he found out.”

Ronna lurched forward then, hand swinging. Renzo didn’t duck out of the way. The slap echoed loudly in the room. Felt like fire across his face, but he didn’t blink. Didn’t flinch.

“You used him?” she spat. “You used him and you hurt him?”

Did he? Maybe he had. “I loved him,” he told her hoarsely. “I love him.”

“You destroyed him.”

No doubt about that one. He got to his feet. “I want to see him.”

Ronna stood as well, wet eyes flashing, impressive chest heaving as she glared at him. “People in hell want ice water, motherfucker. Get out.” She pointed at the front door. “Go!”

He shook his head. “Pick back up your gun,” he told her softly. “Make sure you have a full clip and use it, because I’m not leaving until I see Low.” He fisted the hands at his sides. “You will have to shoot me, Ronna. I love him and I owe him an explanation. I owe him his anger and whatever else he feels right now. I owe him and I intend to make sure he at least has the chance to tell me to fuck off from his own mouth.”

Her lips twisted. “You think I won’t shoot your ass, boy?”

“I think you would, yes.” He loved her ferocity. The fire in her defense of her brother.

“Ronna.”

Renzo whirled at the sound of Low’s voice. His lover stood halfway down the stairs, gripping the banister as he ignored Renzo and focused on his sister instead. That hurt, but really, what did Renzo expect?

“Leh he come,” Low told Ronna.

“Low.” Ronna shook her head. “You sure?”

“Is okay.” Low turned, headed back up the stairs, and Renzo hurried after him.

He walked into the only bedroom with its doors open and found Low standing at a window, staring out over the backyard where a small group of boys were playing basketball.

“Low.”

“You wanted me to tell you fuck off personally.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You said that.” Low nodded without looking at him.

“It was never about him,” Renzo told him. “I never saw him when I looked at you. All I saw was you. Just you. Always you.”

“But it doesn’t matter. I’m still his son.”

“Low. You were always his son.”

Low faced him then, eyes infinitely sad. “The difference is, now I know. I can’t forget it now. And looking at you—” His voice broke. “Looking at you, all I think about is what you went through. All I think about is that the same blood…” His lips trembled. “His blood runs through my veins.”

“No.” Renzo touched him, his face. “You’re your mother’s son.” When Low’s eyes flared, Renzo shook his head. “You don’t want to hear it, but you’re your mother’s son. You’re strong. Good. Better. Better than anything life throws at you. Don’t let him change you. Don’t let him destroy who you are.”

“Who I am?” Low cried. “I am his son, that’s who I am.”

“Yes.” Renzo wrapped his arms around Low’s shaking body. “And I love his son. I love you. The moment I saw you, Low. It didn’t matter to me who your father was. I craved your warmth, your smile, your light.”

“The father destroys you, and the son fixes you, huh?” Low snorted.

“You don’t fix me.” Renzo leaned back and grasped Low’s face in his hands. Holding his gaze, Renzo told him, “I can’t be fixed. You’re not a magic eraser wiping all the bad things away, but you soothe me. You make it easier to get through the night.” He smiled sadly. “You’re just my Low.”

Low looked away.

Panic hit Renzo in the chest. “Low.”

“I’m sorry.” But he still didn’t look at Renzo.

“Don’t be sorry.” His hands shook where he clasped Low’s face. “Don’t be sorry. It’s not your fault.” But he wanted to scream. Low was the sun dipping below the horizon, disappearing before his eyes. “Don’t be sorry.” He pressed his lips to Low’s temple. Over and over, he whispered those three words while Low remained stiff in his arms.

So close, Renzo felt the reverb of Low’s heart beating. Chest to chest, but the distance yawned wider and wider as Renzo held on, refusing to let go. Refusing to give up.

“I wanted you for so long,” he murmured at Low’s temple. “I didn’t think you’d feel the same. I didn’t think you’d love me back. But you do.”

“I do.”

“Then don’t make me let go,” he begged. “Please. I can’t let go.”

“I need space. I need time.” Low’s voice was wet, making Renzo’s eyes burn. “I need—”

To forget? “Let me help you, like you help me, babe.” He tried to imagine a day without Low. A month. A life without Low didn’t make sense. It didn’t fit. Low was his family. His home. If he no longer had Low, what did Renzo have?

Low lifted his head, meeting Renzo’s gaze with red-rimmed eyes. Hollow eyes. Defeated eyes. “If you don’t let go then I will.”

“No.”

Low dropped his hands. He stepped back. One step. It was like thunder, that footstep. Rocking Renzo to his core. Nothing hurt as bad as that fucking step backward. He brought his hands together in a praying gesture, stance unsteady, body shaking as he fought to not crumble to his knees.

“Low.”

Those hazel eyes looked straight through him, piercing his soul, hooking deep and dragging. Splitting him open. His Low wasn’t in there, not in those wounded eyes. He was gone and Renzo did that. He chased his heart away.

“I love you, Low.”

“I love you, too.” But they were just words. Empty words spoken by a hollow man. “But you wanted me to be the one to tell you to fuck off. This is me, telling you to fuck off.” He gave Renzo his back, turning once again to the window.

Renzo pressed his clasped hands to his mouth and just watched him. Until the silence settled in his chest. Until there was nothing he could do but walk away, out that bedroom, down those stairs and out the front door as Low’s siblings watched his retreat.

His surrender.