Miles and his boys came back a short while later. Connor noted Brad’s face was red and puffy. No wonder, with forty-five slaps. That hurt.

Brad wanted to sit down, but Miles stopped him to put a fluffy pillow on the chair.

“Thank you, Daddy,” Brad said meekly.

“You’re welcome, sweetheart.” Miles kissed him on his head.

Connor had to bite back a grin. Someone had gotten a little lesson in respect. He genuinely liked Brad. The guy was wicked smart, and his care for Charlie was endearing, but Connor had wondered about him lashing out at Miles constantly from the start. It all made much more sense now, and Connor respected Miles for taking the role Brad obviously needed so desperately.

“So, Miles, can we boss Brad around as well, tell him to make food and shit?” he asked, trying to ease the tension a little.

Miles flashed a grin. “Sadly for you, no. He obeys only me, and I take care of him, not the other way around.”

“Too bad. I’m dying for a cup of tea.” One hard rule was that there was no coffee in his house. Luckily for him, neither Noah, nor Josh or Indy cared for it. He still couldn’t stomach even the smell.

“You can make your own fucking tea,” Brad snapped.

Connor raised his eyebrows at Miles. “Sorry, dude. I only discipline him for his interactions with me and Charlie, not with anyone else,” the FBI agent said.

Connor shrugged. That actually made sense if you thought about it. “Okay, fair enough. Anyone else fancy tea?” Miles’ hand shot up, as did Charlie’s and Brad’s. Connor sent Brad a dark look. “You can make your own fucking tea.”

Brad looked shocked, until Connor burst out laughing. “Fuck, you’re too easy.”

Embarrassed, Brad joined in. Connor rose from his chair, slapped Brad playfully on his shoulder as he walked past him. “Just trying to get a feel for the rules here, bro.”

“Fuck off, man. You got your own sub to boss around, what do you need me for?” Brad replied, smiling.

The doorbell rang. Connor frowned, checked his watch. Sunday morning, 11 am. Who the hell would be stopping by now? Blake and Aaron, maybe? “You expecting your brother?” he asked Brad.

“No. They’re gone for the day,” Charlie answered instead. “He’s taking Aaron to the city.”

Connor made eye contact with Miles, who nodded. He got up, walked to Connor’s bedroom where the gun safe was. Connor had shown it to him shortly after he’d arrived, so Miles could put his gun in there when needed.

“Everyone, stay in the kitchen,” Connor said.

Josh and Indy immediately reached for each other, and Brad grabbed Charlie’s hand. Noah shot Connor a look that said he would make sure they were okay.

Connor waited till he heard Miles open the safe, then walked toward the front door, where the door bell was rung for the second time. He looked through the glass.

Dammit. Zack Waitley. Out of uniform, that at least.

He opened the door, immediately blocking it with his foot. “Good morning, Officer. How can I help you?”

“So you know who I am,” Waitley said.

“Yeah. You’re the asshole who beat Charlie to a pulp.”

“I know he’s here.”

“Yeah, so?” Connor wasn’t gonna deny it. He’d figured Zack would find out sooner or later anyway.

“I want to see him.”

“Tough shit, as he doesn’t want to see you. Was that all?”

He blinked, and the next second Waitley had drawn his gun. Connor froze to the spot, but his mind was crystal clear. “Let me inside,” Waitley demanded. “Now!”

“Don’t be this stupid,” Connor said. From the corner of his eye, he caught a movement. A few more seconds was all he needed. “Put the fucking gun down. You’ know this won’t end well.”

Waitley’s eyes narrowed, and he stepped closer. “Move aside.”

Connor dropped to the ground in one fluid move, startling Waitley.

“FBI, drop your weapon! Now!”

Fuck, Miles sounded authoritative as shit in FBI-mode, Connor thought as he rolled to the side, moving as far away from Waitley as possible.

“Drop your fucking weapon right now! Put your hands where I can see them!” Miles shouted.

Waitley paled and raised his hands, but still held on to his gun. “This is Officer Waitley, Albany PD. I’m gonna turn around. Show me your badge.”

“This is your last warning. I’m a federal agent, and I do not take orders from someone holding a gun. Put your weapon down, or I will shoot!”

Thank fuck Miles had put his vest on. The damn thing had a massive FBI logo on the front and back that would easily help identify him. That asshole Waitley would not be able to shoot him and pretend he didn’t know he was dealing with a federal agent. For a few breathtaking seconds, Waitley hesitated, but then he finally lowered the gun to the ground.

“Kick it away and keep your hands up.”

With a killing look at Connor, Waitley kicked the gun. Connor exhaled, as he slowly sat up. Holy fucking moly. That had been way too close.

“On your knees on the ground, hands behind your head,” Miles ordered.

Waitley defiantly raised his chin. “Show me your badge.”

Fuck, Connor wanted to hit him. Badly.

Miles stepped around him, still holding his gun trained on the man. “Special Agent Miles Hampton, FBI, badge number 9529537.” He reached for his badge with his other hand, threw it on the ground in front of Waitley. “Connor, get me my phone.”

Connor wasn’t too happy about leaving him with that crazy fucker, so instead he pushed the door open, shouted inside. “Brad, Miles’ phone please!”

Waitley had picked up the badge, was now studying it, his face falling. “You can get this anywhere online,” he tried.

“Sure,” Miles said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “And I assume the standard issue FBI gun and the FBI vest come with it? Give it up, asshole.”

Brad opened the door and handed Connor a phone.

“Step next to me, dial 911 and hold the phone up to my ear,” Miles told Connor.

Connor nodded. Miles was not taking any chances, and he was playing this smart. As he dialed, Brad stood in the door.

“Brad, get inside,” Miles told him. “Close the door. Charlie needs you.”

The first words clearly got Brad’s back up, but that last sentence did him in. His face softened and he nodded, doing as Miles had asked him. Thank fuck.

“Dispatch, this is FBI agent Miles Hampton, Washington DC Office. My badge number is 9529537. Request for immediate police assistance at 762 Rt 148 to arrest Albany PD Police Officer Zachary Waitley for statutory rape, aggravated assault, domestic violence, attempted kidnapping, and burglary.”

Connor didn’t even attempt to suppress his smile. Miles was listing charges for no other reason than to piss Waitley thoroughly off. Police blotter would pick this up, and Waitley’s reputation—if he had any left—was done.

“Suspect is in possession of a firearm, most likely his service weapon, and is in my custody awaiting arrest.”

Connor could hear the dispatcher say something, but couldn’t make out what.

“That’s negative, dispatch. You can reach me at this number when necessary.”

He signaled to Connor to disconnect.

“Connor, I need you to step inside for a minute, see if you can find any handcuffs. I didn’t bring mine, but maybe you can look if you have some?”

Connor knew for a fact he didn’t have any—not unless you counted the faux fur ones he used on Josh every now and then. He’d turned in his official ones when he turned in his badge. Miles wasn’t stupid. He wanted him inside for a reason, which meant Connor would trust him.

“Sure thing. Be right back.” He didn’t look back, wondering what Miles was up to. It couldn’t be good, at least, not for Waitley.

“Is Miles okay?” Brad asked as soon as Connor stepped inside. He was on the couch, holding a trembling Charlie. The tenderness Brad displayed toward that kid was amazing.

“Yeah, he’s fine. How you holding up, kid?”

Charlie nodded, cuddled closer to Brad, who kissed him on his head. “I’m okay. Is he gone?”

“No. We’re waiting for the cops to come arrest him. He’s going to jail, Charlie. There’s no way out for him now.”

Noah was in the living room as well, but Connor didn’t see Indy or Josh. “I sent them to our room to cuddle,” Noah said.

Good. Josh didn’t need to see this. He’d experienced enough violence to last him a lifetime, and it would only trigger his PTSD. “I’m gonna step back outside,” Connor said. He’d given Miles time enough to do whatever he wanted to do, he figured.

“Did you need anything?” Noah asked, curious.

“No. Miles wanted a minute alone with Waitley.”

Noah grinned. “Is he gonna be alive when you get back?”

“Probably. Minus a few teeth, maybe.”

Charlie sat up suddenly. “He’d hit him?”

“Yeah, kid. He’d beat the shit out of him if he could. That’s your man out there, protecting you,” Connor said.

“He can kill the fucker for all I care,” Brad said.

Connor nodded. His sentiments exactly, though he suspected the FBI agent wouldn’t go quite that far. He was a federal agent, after all. Still, when he stepped outside, he wasn’t surprised to find Waitley flat on the ground, Miles’ foot holding down his neck.

“Can you believe this asshole tried to escape?” Miles said.

“Oh, no,” Connor said. “I’m sorry you had to use force to restrain him.”

“Yeah, me too.”

In the distance, police sirens were closing in. Miles removed his foot, squatted down. “I need you to listen carefully, Waitley, because this is the part you need to remember. There will be charges, and there will be a lawsuit, and Charlie will testify to every little thing you did against him, including statutory rape. If you deny the charges, any of them, I will find you, and I will shove a baseball bat so far up your ass it will end up in your stomach. And I’m not talking about the handle, you feel me?” He got back up, coolly put his foot back on the man’s neck. “Glad we had that conversation.”

Connor nodded with satisfaction at the pure terror in Waitley’s eyes.

Two cops from the local Sheriff’s Department arrived, none that Connor knew. That made sense, because these were local cops, not Albany PD. They got out, their faces none too friendly. Connor spotted the body cams on them. Good, that could work in their favor. He was confident Miles would notice, too. The guy usually didn’t miss much.

“Special Agent Miles Hampton, Washington Bureau of the FBI. Thank you for coming, officers. I appreciate your assistance.”

Being professional went a long way with these guys, and Miles was smart showing them proper respect. They quickly introduced themselves.

“O’Connor. I was with the Albany PD until recently.”

He got a respectful nod. It was how they rolled, the boys in blue.

“Get him up and handcuff him for now,” the oldest cop gestured toward Waitley. His colleague dragged Waitley up. His face was looking a little worse than it had before, with dried blood on his nose and bruises starting to form on his dirtied face. He swayed as he stood, looking dazed as they handcuffed him and positioned him between them.

“So what happened? I understand he’s one of us?”

“Zachary James Waitley, he’s with Albany PD,” Miles said business-like. “Over a month ago, he beat up his boyfriend, Charlie DiAngelo. Charlie has been staying at this residence to recover. Waitley had contacted him multiple times since, but Charlie refused to see him. Waitley has been trying to find him, going so far as to pull over and threaten Charlie’s best friend. We have a dash cam video of that conversation.”

The cop nodded. “We’d like to receive that, obviously. What happened this morning?”

“Around eleven, Officer Waitley rang the doorbell,” Connor took over. “When I answered, he told me he wanted to see Charlie. I refused and informed him Charlie did not want to see him. At that point he pulled his gun and aimed it at me, demanding entrance into my home.”

“This is your home?” the cop asked.

“Yes,” Connor said, straightening his shoulders. He was not denying who he was. “I own it with my boyfriend and two friends of ours. We’re roommates.” Roommates with benefits, but he was pretty sure he should skip that part.

“I heard the commotion at the door,” Miles said. “I proceeded to procure my gun and vest, exited from the back door. Connor managed to stall him long enough for me to surprise him from the other side. At first, he refused to put down his gun, but in the end, he surrendered. However, I asked Connor to step inside, see if he could find handcuffs, when Officer Waitley tried to overpower me. We had a short struggle, but I managed to subdue him.”

Connor shot Waitley a quick look to see if he would contest it, but he kept silent. He was looking more alert, though.

The cop nodded. “Where’s his gun?”

Connor pointed. “We left it where he kicked it away, to preserve finger prints. You’ll find it’s his service weapon.”

The cop who’d been asking the question gestured to his colleague to get it. The guy used gloves to pick it up, put it in a bag. At least that was preserved. Connor felt the cops were pretty neutral at this point, not choosing a clear side.

“Where does the statutory rape charge come in?”

“Waitley has coerced Charlie into having sex with him since Charlie was fifteen,” Miles said.

For the first time, Connor noted a clear reaction on the older cop’s face, and it came pretty damn close to contempt. He quickly pulled his face back to a more neutral look, though. “Why were you at this residence?” he asked Miles.

“I was injured in a recent FBI operation and am recovering here. Connor’s roommate Indy is a friend of mine.”

“And Waitley’s boyfriend, Charlie…”

“Ex-boyfriend,” Miles interrupted him. “You don’t think he’d stay with a guy who beat him, do you?”

The cop nodded. “Okay, ex-boyfriend. Is he here? Can he corroborate this?”

Connor was sure Miles had hoped to avoid this step, but Charlie would have to testify anyway. “I’ll get him,” he said.

The cop asked more questions as Connor walked back inside. “Charlie, the cops need to speak with you for a second.”

He was pale as a sheet, but he nodded. Brad got up, too. “You’ll have to sit this one out, Brad. We don’t wanna make it more complicated than it already is. Stay inside for now, okay? I’ll take care of Charlie, I promise.”

Connor felt like a giant compared to the frail body next to him. Charlie trembled slightly, and Connor put a soft hand on his shoulder. “Stay calm, kid, okay? Simply answer the questions.”

Charlie nodded, still shaking. He walked up to the cops, Connor beside him, ignoring Waitley.

“You Charlie DiAngelo?” the same cop asked.

“Yes, sir.”

“And you were in a relationship with Officer Waitley?”

“Yes, sir. Since I was fifteen.”

It was a smart move from Charlie, immediately positioning himself as so much younger. With his small body and his young age, the cops would immediately spot the age difference. It suggested a certain mind set, one that would help Charlie. His polite deference to the cop didn’t hurt either. Kid had smarts.

“Can you tell us what happened, Charlie?” The cop’s tone was softer, kinder.

“Zack… He beat me up violently, sir, six weeks ago. Busted my eye, bruised a few ribs.”

Waitley opened his mouth to say something, but Miles shot him a look that was so deadly, he must have thought better of it. The man had not been joking about that baseball bat. And Connor would fucking hold his beer while he did it.

“I’m so sorry to hear that, Charlie.” The cop studied Charlie, seemed to gauge how seriously to take him.

“We have pictures, sir. Of what he did to me. I was afraid to go to the hospital, because he’s a cop, and he’d threatened me before. But I was examined by a medical professional, and he took pictures, sir.”

“Okay, we have enough to take him in. We’ll sort out the exact charges later. Charlie, are you prepared to come down to the station later to give your statement?”

Charlie raised his head, straightened his back almost imperceptibly. “Yes, sir. He should be held accountable for what he did to me, sir.”

The cop’s eyes softened. “Call us in a bit to set up an appointment, okay?” He turned toward the other cop. “Take him in. Read him his rights, according to the letter. We don’t want any room on this one.”

He waited till his coworker was out of earshot, turned his body cam off. “It’s a fucking sad day when we have to arrest one of our own for something like this. Fucking disgrace to the uniform.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Connor said. “Thank you for your assistance. I know this is hard.”

The cop nodded. He placed a gentle hand on Charlie’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, kid. Real sorry. You’re doing the right thing, pressing charges. Stick to ‘em, okay? Don’t let anybody pressure you into dropping ‘em.” He sighed. “My oldest son is gay. Fucking got beat up at school for that. Middle school. They’re brutal at that age.”

“What middle school does he go to?” Charlie asked.

“Trenton Park. Why?”

“Tell him to talk to Mr. Kent, the math teacher. He’ll help him find his way.”

“I think that’s who he has for math. Name sounds familiar.”

Charlie smiled. “Tell your son to find him, he’ll have his back.”

“Thank you, Charlie. I appreciate that.”

He gave Connor a strong hand shake, then turned to Miles. “Tried to escape, huh?”

Miles kept his face carefully blank. “Yes, Officer. Can you believe that?”

The cop laughed. “Oh, I totally can. I’ll make sure to mention it in my report. We need the two of you to come by the station as well for your statements. Maybe you could bring in young Charlie here, give him the mental support he needs.”

Connor dropped a soft hand on Charlie’s shoulder, knowing that’s what Miles wanted to do, but couldn’t. “Don’t worry, we’ve got his back.”