Sinner, Savior

Avril Ashton

Book two in the Brooklyn Sinners series.

Gun runner Pablo Castillo has cemented his reputation in the gun trade as callous and cold-

hearted. Personal feelings no longer matter, not with everyone out to make him a sacrifice on
their way to the top. He remains untouchable, until a meeting with a rival gang leader and a new
deal brings him face-to-face with temptation.

Dev is the right hand to a sadistic bastard out for blood and glory. He hides his true feelings

of distaste for his boss, not the least of his many secrets. He could’ve sworn those secrets
were safe, but after meeting Pablo he’s not so sure. The two men come together in a heated
affair neither can deny, battling themselves, each other and a deadly enemy bent on spilling
blood. Pablo and Dev will have to stick together or walk away from a love neither man
expected to find. The choice should be simple. It never is.

S

INNER

, S

AVIOR

Avril Ashton

Dedication

For you, the reader. Thank you for reading and reaching out. Nothing makes me happier…

Well, except cake, but that’s a whole other story.

Chapter One

Pablo Castillo strode through the doors of the damn near deserted Lindenwood Diner with

his lips curled into a smirk. An hour and a half late to a meeting he set up, but he couldn’t
appear too enthusiastic to those bastards. Couldn’t make them think he wanted or even needed
the business they were so eager to provide.

And eager they were.
The two men sitting with their heads together in the corner booth broke off their

conversation, attention zeroing in on him.

Pablo smiled.
The older of the two men, Jeffery York, eyed him with open hostility in those shifty eyes.

Pablo shrugged off York’s anger and focused on the man with him. Considerably younger.
Longish dark hair, bit of a scruff, and tanned skin. As if he spent too much time in the sun.

Movement in his periphery made Pablo shake his head. Of course York would bring his

goons.

Who in turn brought their guns.
“This is how you do business, Castillo? Making people wait for you?” York motioned and

two men appeared on either side of Pablo.

He raised his hands, turning around slowly. Impersonal hands patted him down. Someone

kicked the insides of his legs to spread them. Pablo held his tongue, keeping his temper in
check while York’s men went through their routine.

When they finished, one of them tapped him on the shoulder, indicating permission for Pablo

to approach York and Pablo murmured a sarcastic, “Thanks.” He slid into the booth opposite
York and his man.

A new face.
“Who’s the pretty face?” Pablo sat back, draping his right arm over the booth divider. Sure,

anyone looking in from the outside would see three men having an amiable conversation over
breakfast, but looks were deceiving.

Pablo didn’t do casual, and especially with Jeffery York, he didn’t do amiable.
“I don’t like having my time wasted, Castillo.” Salt-and-pepper hair gelled down to his scalp,

York grasped a knife, his knuckles ashen, and took his sweet time spreading butter over his
dark toast. The man next to him didn’t speak once, sipping from a white coffee cup, eyes alert
and centered on Pablo.

He should feel flattered by the attention, but all he wanted was a name. “I don’t know what

you think this is, York, but I don’t do business with people I don’t know. Introduce me to pretty
boy over here, or I’m walking.”

Not a bluff. York was the one in need of weapons. The weapons Pablo had.
The knife in York’s hand clattered onto his plate, loud in the tense silence of the diner. “You

dare to show your face almost two hours late and make demands?” Though he kept his voice
low, the words rumbled between them as York’s eyes narrowed to slits. “You dare to—”

“I dare whatever the fuck I want.” Pablo leaned forward, elbows on the table.
Pretty boy shifted.
“You know full well who runs this, despite your posturing. You called for this meeting, which

means you need me. I don’t need you or your fucking business.” Through his rant Pablo kept his
face impassive, his moves controlled. “Either introduce me to pretty boy over there,” he jerked
his chin in the direction of Mr. Silent, “or I walk.” He sat back. “You choose.”

“There’s a third option.” York picked up the knife. Gray eyes greedy with barely contained

bloodlust, he said, “I have two guns trained on you. I could just do myself and a whole lot of
people a solid and shoot you where you sit.” He smiled and Pablo couldn’t help but shudder. He
imagined a snake would look like that doing the same thing. “Someone would surely thank me
for ending you.”

“You could do that.” Pablo paused as if gathering his thoughts. “I ever tell you about my

Aunt Marisol’s boyfriend, Benny?” He raised an eyebrow. When no answer was forthcoming he
continued. “Big guy. Huge. One palm as big as my head.” He chuckled. “Had a problem with his
sister. Her husband kept beating on her. Nasty business that.” He shook his head. “I mean,
some shit men just don’t do. Hitting a woman is one of those.”

Pretty boy’s censorious gaze was hot on Pablo’s skin.
“Anyway, long story short. Benny came to me, wanted me to do something. I had to, they

lived in my neighborhood. Some say the husband left the wife and ran away with someone else.
Some say he’s on a beach somewhere in the Caribbean. No one knows where he is, but Benny
now owes me a favor.” He allowed a self-satisfied smile to spread. “By the way, have you seen
the guy who cooks here? Big guy. Huge. One palm as big as my head? Heard he was called in
this morning when the other cook got sick. How’s your eggs, York?”

Red blotches covered York’s otherwise pale face and neck. He coughed and sputtered,

covering his mouth with a napkin he clutched tightly. Pretty boy made a sound—could’ve been a
laugh—into his coffee cup and Pablo turned his gaze to him, but their third wheel didn’t meet his
eyes.

“Let’s dispense with the size comparisons and get on with business,” Pablo said. “Besides, it

goes without saying that mine is bigger.” He slapped his palms down flat on the table, rattling
the dishes.

A gun cocked.
Pablo turned his head, into the barrel of pretty boy’s .45.
Well. Well. Pablo met those eyes, dark blue if he wasn’t mistaken. Clear and steady. Quick

draw. He really shouldn’t like that the way he did. Or those full pink lips. Holding pretty boy’s
gaze, he spoke to York. “Last time I saw you, Zander was glued to your side. Skipping to your
command. Who is this motherfucker?”

York took his time, dabbing at the corners of his mouth and resting the napkin on the table

before he spoke. “Zander is no longer part of my inner circle. Dev here has been with me for a
long time, just in a lower capacity.”

“So what, he’s been promoted?”
“Yes.”
Huh. Pablo winked at pretty boy, a.k.a. Dev. “All right. That works for now.” He sat back,

crossed his arms over his chest. “You have thirty seconds to tell me what you want and why I
should give it to you.”

York nodded at Dev, who produced a slip of paper he held out to Pablo. He eyed it for a

second before taking it from long, slender fingers. Seriously, one only had to listen to his inner
monologue to know he’d been fucking his palm for too damn long. Long, slender fingers.

He read down the list of weapons, each one driving home the sudden sense of déjà vu. He’d

seen this list before. The same list of weapons, only that had been five years ago. Jesus
Christ. His vision darkened, his past threatening to drag him under, and he tightened his grasp
on the thin piece of paper.

He’s back. Aware of the gaze of York and his crew, Pablo forced a whistle. “Someone’s

looking to start World War Three, I see.”

“My client wants them in three days.”
Client? Pablo furrowed his brow. Did York even know who he was dealing with? “I know you

think I’m made of awesome, but even I can’t have all this to you in three days.” Of course he
could, he simply wouldn’t. “I can have half tomorrow.” He got to his feet and shoved the paper
into the front pocket of his jeans. “I’ll have my people contact you.”

“You’ll deal with Dev on this one.”
Pablo narrowed his eyes. “Attempting to pawn off the help on me already?” He didn’t want

to deal with Dev. His gut, that thing he’d relied on for so long, churned. Warning him to stay far
away from that pretty boy and his long, slender fingers.

“Dev is more than capable, Castillo.” York sipped his water. “He’ll call you for updates.”
He really wanted to call off the deal right then, but he needed to find York’s client more. He

could’ve asked York straight out, but that would tip off said client and possibly give York more
ammo against Pablo. So instead of telling York to fuck off and take his pretty boy with him,
Pablo remained silent and walked out the diner, cursing himself all the way.

He sat in the passenger side of the Land Rover, staring out into nothing.
“Pablo, you good?” Mateo, his driver, touched his shoulder.
The other two men in the backseat echoed Mateo’s concerns. “Yeah, boss. You good?”
“What the fuck did I say?” he lashed out. “Don’t call me boss.” He didn’t feel like their boss.

He wasn’t. The man who’d held that honor gave it up, walked away into the sunset with
someone else. Taking whatever softness Pablo thought he had inside with him.

“Drive.” He issued the command and Mateo did as all onboard fell silent.
He didn’t like being called boss, having always called his best friend that for so long. But

Angelo was gone, granting leadership of Los Pescadores and their gun-running operation to
Pablo. In a blink Pablo went from being Angelo’s right-hand man to the one in charge and even
though he’d asked for it, sometimes he questioned the costs.

Those moments were few and far between, but they still got to him in unguarded moments.

In a business like his, there was no room for heart, no room for weakness, no room for
questions. Only the day-to-day struggle to keep his territory safe and his ass bulletproof.

The transition of power was seen by many as open season and in the space of three

months, there’d been three attempts on his life.

Motherfuckers weren’t even subtle with their shit.
Which brought him back to the present.
“I want someone watching York’s man Dev at all times. I want to know everything he does

and everywhere he goes. And find out where the hell he came from.” Gotta go on the offense,
way better than defense every damn time.

* * * * *

“What you got, Phelps?” Pablo raised an eyebrow at one of the cops he had on his payroll.

“Anything interesting?”

Dressed in a gray suit, ill-fitting and wrinkled, Detective Phelps sat opposite Pablo on the

hotel bed, a half-naked Piper Espinoza—a rather ambitious gangster groupie—sprawled in his
lap. “I don’t think it’s all that interesting.” Phelps held up the folder. “Devon McGhee is your
typical street kid. Grew up on Staten Island. In and out of juvie, in and out of Riker’s. Never
long stints though.”

Pablo grabbed the folder and stood. “I’ll be the judge of what’s interesting. In the meantime,

I’m sure you and Piper would like some alone time.” He walked out as Piper dropped to her
knees between the detective’s legs, the man’s aroused groans following Pablo out the door.

In the confines of his vehicle, Pablo read Devon McGhee’s file. His eyes were described as

blue, but Pablo knew for a fact they were more the color of a cloudless summer sky right
before darkness fell. Dev was twenty-eight, younger than Pablo by five years. Even though he’d
graduated high school, Dev never went on to college. Instead he’d spent sixteen months on the
Island for assault.

He beat a man in a Chelsea bar with his bare hands.
A brawler. With those pretty fucking fingers. What a waste.
Considering how Dev grew up, Pablo didn’t doubt the man had to fight all his life. The file

said Dev’s mother was a crackhead who died when he was two, leaving him to the State with
no siblings and an unknown father.

No wonder he ended up working with Jeffery York.
Pablo stared at Dev’s mug shot, into his defiant eyes, his body stirring.
Palms sweating.
Eighteen months, five days. The last time he’d allowed himself to feel something other than

the anger and pain Angelo left him with. The last time he’d allowed himself the luxury of
fantasies. Of feeling. Of wanting.

None of it mattered because in the end, he’d never give in. He’d learned and yes, he could

close his eyes and slake his hungers on the very available man he used in Philadelphia, but it
wasn’t the same. He’d put off going to Philly, going to Levi for a long while, because all he did
was go through the motions. Levi was discreet and always ready, but Pablo couldn’t bear it. To
be on top of someone and hesitant to open his eyes else he’d lose the illusion that the man
below him was the one he’d wanted for so long. The one he ached for even now, all this time
later.

He picked up his phone from on top the dashboard and dialed the number one of his men

had scrawled onto a notepad. Dev had already called twice to check on the merchandise and
twice Pablo made one of his men answer the call.

“This is Dev.”
The deep drawl reached low in Pablo’s belly, heating his groin. Ignoring his body’s steady

throbbing, he spoke into the phone. “Pretty boy, tell your boss his order is here.”

“Mr. Castillo.”
Seriously, how could the fucker sound like he was addressing Pablo’s father and still have

him leaking? “That’s me. Tell your boss—”

“I’ll be doing the pickup. Just tell me when and where.”
No. No. No. That simply would not do. Pablo curled his hand into a fist. “I don’t have the

patience or the inclination to deal with rookies,” he sneered.

“I think you’ll find I’m more than qualified.” Dev paused. “York is out of town. I’m in charge

and I can assure you I’m fully experienced, ready for anything you attempt to throw my way.”

That sounded like a threat.
“Yeah?” Pablo gripped his crotch through his jeans, squeezing himself to the point of pain. A

shudder ripped through his body, jerking him upright. He screwed his eyes shut, tight enough to
see tiny stars. “Tomorrow evening, seven thirty at my warehouse on Williams Avenue. I take it
you know where it is?” His erection softened and he breathed deeply, silently.

Thank fuck.
“I know where it is.”
“Good. Make sure you’re ready.” He started the car and drove out of the hotel parking lot.
“For what?”
“For what I’m about to throw your way.”

* * * * *

Anticipation clawed at Dev’s insides. Nerves had him sweating, enough to dampen the

underarms of his t-shirt. He sat in the back of the Jeep Cherokee, his .45 heavy against the
small of his back.

Pablo Castillo was unpredictable and slippery as hell. The man could easily kill them all, take

the money Dev carried and keep the guns. His reputation preceded him, a reputation Dev
thought mighty impressive, not that he’d acknowledge it out loud.

Their driver maneuvered over the pot-holed streets of Brooklyn, inching them ever closer to

their destination.

Dev wiped his palms on his thighs. Fuck. He’d been through many sticky situations. Stared

down the barrel of a gun or two, fought a thug or two, but nothing scared him like that
searching gaze of Pablo Castillo.

In that diner, inches away from him, Dev had ached to duck under the table. Run and hide.

Make up some excuse to leave the meeting. Pablo wanted to know who he was and not once
had he considered himself in danger until that moment.

Until Pablo asked who he was.
Pretty boy.
Fucking name had him overheating.
It shouldn’t be that easy to get under his skin. “Fuck.”
“You okay, Dev?” The driver pulled up in front of a warehouse and Dev peered out with a

grunt.

The place looked deserted and no other traffic moved on the one-way street. The phone in

his lap rang, vibrating on his fucking hard-on. God. He snatched it up and wouldn’t you know, it
was the intriguing bastard.

“Yeah.”
“You and your men gonna sit out there all night?” The tone was tight. “I’ve got plans, pretty

boy.”

Dev hung up and exited the Jeep. He shoved his phone into his pocket as he walked up to

the large door of the warehouse. Next to him, Van and Shorty remained silent but alert.

The warehouse doors opened from the inside, steel grating against concrete. Van and

Shorty entered the dark place first, Dev a step behind. He pulled his gun, held it at the ready,
safety off, finger on the trigger. Once they were all three inside the building, the door closed
behind them. Almost drowning out the sounds of about a million and one guns cocking around
them.

Almost.
Masked men surrounded Dev and his men on silent feet, none speaking. He took a small

step back, lowering his right hand for the box cutter strapped to his belt loop.

Cold steel pressed to his nape. Warm breath brushed his ear and Dev had to fight a

shudder.

“Whoa there, pretty boy,” Pablo Castillo murmured against his ear. “I’ll take the gun.” He

reached in front, prying the weapon from Dev’s frozen fingers.

Thump. Thump. Thump. His heartbeat echoed in his ear, loud and annoying. He opened his

mouth, but Castillo spoke again.

“And this beauty right here.” Warm fingers grazed Dev’s hip, tugging on the waist of his

jeans as Castillo removed the box cutter.

Dev squeezed his eyes closed, swallowing a gulp.
“Wave goodbye to your men, Devon McGhee.” Castillo shifted and something dark dropped

over Dev’s head, covering his face. He jumped into action then, spinning around, striking out
with his fist, but only connected with empty air.

“Wondered how long it would take you to fight.” Castillo chuckled at his nape, gun in the

small of Dev’s back. “Let’s move. One foot in front of the other, Devon.”

Dev did as commanded.
“Good boy, and if you continue to cooperate, your men may live to see another sunrise.

Wouldn’t that be awesome?”

A cool breeze washed over Dev’s naked arms and a car door opened to his left. He turned

in that direction.

“Yes. We’re going on a little trip, you and I.” Castillo helped him up into what he thought was

an SUV and buckled him in. “Safety first.”

Was it just Dev or did Castillo sound as if he was off his fucking rocker?
He waited until the vehicle pulled away before he asked, “Where are you taking me?”
“I’d table those questions if I were you,” Castillo said. “This here is my show and I gotta tell

you, Dev, I’ve got questions.”

Dev licked his lips, sweat trickling down his face under the hood. “What does that have to do

with me?”

“Something tells me, pretty boy, you have answers.”
Dev kept silent, mind racing. This had to be about more than buying guns. Had York sent

him into a trap, gift wrapped for Castillo? The tales of the bad blood between the two men
weren’t exaggerated, not if that scene at the diner was anything to go by, so why was York
insisting on getting the guns only from Castillo, and why was Castillo agreeing?

He had questions, he said. Did he mean to interrogate Dev, find out about York’s

operations?

Dev curled his fists, handcuffed in his lap. I can do this. He’d known this would happen of

course, he just hadn’t figured the torturer would be someone he had a hard-on for.

And would he survive?
He swallowed, refusing to think of all he had to lose. One for the team. He could take one

for the team.

The vehicle rolled to a stop, the sound of the tires crunching gravel reaching his ears. Panic

and dread coiled his stomach tight, sweat icing his skin, but he held himself still and alert.

Next to him, Castillo moved, his body heat disappearing as a door slammed.
Dev’s door jerked open, the cool blast of air chilling. He locked his jaw and waited.
“Come on, pretty boy.” Castillo grabbed his arm, hauling him unceremoniously out the

vehicle. Dev stumbled, Castillo’s hold tightened, and he cursed himself for that show of
weakness.

He trudged alongside Castillo, moving from the gravel to something smoother. Small sounds

broke the stillness, a creak here, a lap of water there. The gentle breeze brought the scent of
salt to his nose and Dev stopped.

“We’re near the water?” Jesus. Why were they—
“Give the man a medal,” Castillo spoke at his back. “Walk on, Dev, you don’t have my

permission to stop.” That fucking gun grazed his nape. “Or talk.”

Castillo pushed him forward and Dev gritted his teeth to keep from lashing out at the man, to

demand he tell him what the hell his plan was.

“Watch your step.”
He lifted his leg high, Castillo’s hold on his arm helping him keep his balance as he climbed

down a few stairs.

“Duck.”
He did, warmth already seeping through his clothes. They were back inside somewhere, but

why was he rocking back and forth?

A palm in the middle of his chest pushed him backward and he fell into a chair with a low

gasp, silently mourning the loss of Castillo’s touch.

“Welcome to my boat.”
The hood over his head was ripped away and Dev blinked at the sudden brightness. He

darted a quick glance around the area, barely big enough to accommodate two. Pablo Castillo
sat opposite him, clothed in a black t-shirt and jeans, his relaxed body language definitely
misleading.

Light glinted off Pablo’s shaved head and Dev made out the full, red lips tattooed on the

right side of Pablo’s neck. For one quick and selfish minute he allowed himself to enjoy the sight
of those wide shoulders and the dark caramel skin, so tempting to touch.

He met the other man’s gaze. “Why am I here?” York knew a lot of things about Castillo,

Dev did too, yet he’d had no idea Pablo owned a boat. He’d be willing to bet no one else did,
and tonight he’d lose his life. Dumped overboard to feed the Goddamn fishes.

Totally fucked.
“Tell me, Dev.” Castillo crossed his legs, one booted foot swinging close to Dev’s knee.

“How long before anyone realizes you’re missing? If they ever do. And would they care?”

There was something in Castillo’s eyes, a glint, a flash, that told Dev the man was dead

serious. He had violence on his mind and Dev would be the recipient.

He shifted on his chair. “You brought me here, wherever here is,” Dev looked around

pointedly, “to kill me? Couldn’t you do this back at your warehouse?”

Castillo nodded. “I could have, but I take my jollies wherever I can find them.” He leaned

forward, indexes steepled under his chin. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed your deflection. Would
anyone miss Devon McGhee? Would they mourn you?”

Dev shrugged. “Seems you know enough about me to know the answer to that.” He planted

both feet flat on the floor and tilted his head up, exposing his throat. The hardest thing he’d ever
done in a long while, but he refused to show any fear. “Care to get on with it? No one will miss
me, no one will care.” Images flashed in his mind, his memories making a liar out of him, but he
banished them as his jaw clenched. “Do what you came here to do.”

A soft laugh echoed in the enclosed space, rich and husky, startling the hairs on Dev’s arms

and nape upright. Fucking man’s laugh had his cock throbbing. He didn’t usually go for men like
Pablo Castillo, but everything was all fucked up. On the verge of dying and his body was
betraying him. Lusting after a straight man with a sadistic streak.

So not cool.
Castillo moved, the thick air parted and Dev didn’t budge. Didn’t open his eyes. Soft footfalls

neared him, rough fingers gripped his nape and he snapped his eyes open, breath leaving him
in a rush.

Pablo Castillo stared down at him, nose inches away, breath heating his jaw. “I’d never

make it that easy for you. Or predictable.” The corners of his mouth tipped up, hard heat
flooding his eyes.

Dev’s stomach dipped. He held his breath, refusing to breathe. Or blink. That couldn’t be…

he didn’t just see what he thought he did in Castillo’s dark eyes.

“My bullets never announce themselves, Dev.” Castillo’s attention dropped to Dev’s mouth.

“You’ll live, for now.” He moved away, sat back down, and eyed Dev like an experiment.

How the hell did he find himself in this kind of shit? Dev’s cock ached, his zipper bruising. He

wanted to shift, reposition himself for comfort, but that would draw Castillo’s attention.

Jesus.
He did not see want in those deep, dark eyes.
He did not see lust.
Nor attraction.
Right?
All he wanted was to pick up a damn cache of weapons, instead here he sat, handcuffed

and in dire need of a hand job. Not that he’d be letting his guard down, not for a second. He
didn’t trust Castillo.

Which made wanting him all the more fucked.
“Who’s your boss’s new client?” Castillo asked. His tone was subdued yet controlled. “The

one preparing for Armageddon with all those weapons.”

Dev blinked, blanking his features. He cleared his mind, silently ordering his body to behave.

“No idea.”

“See, I think you do know.” Castillo stroked the barrel of his gun with two fingers and Dev

couldn’t tear his gaze away from that caress.

He felt that touch down his spine. Soft yet harsh.

God. A sound gurgled in his throat and Castillo’s gaze snapped to his, locking in. Darkening

and leaving no doubts as to his thoughts.

Dev swallowed. Remember your plans. Remember the game.
“York tried to kill me twice, did you know that?”
Dev watched Castillo’s lips move, their words not registering until a few heartbeats later.

“He must have had his reasons.”

“Don’t they all?”
He swore he saw mirth in Castillo’s eyes.
This was turning out nowhere near how he expected. For one, all the things he’d known

about Castillo, all he’d read about the man, not once had he heard he was into men. And
wouldn’t you know, Dev had to find out firsthand just how dangerous Juan Pablo Castillo really
was.

“I’ve been looking for a man,” Castillo said.
Dev widened his gaze. Looking for a man?
“I think he’s York’s client and I want to know his name.” He dropped to his knees, moving

until he sat back on his haunches in front of Dev. His scent, subtle but engaging, reached Dev’s
nose.

And his groin.
Castillo put the gun next to his feet and held up a small silver key, then circled Dev’s wrists.
Heat everywhere.
Dev bit the inside of his cheek, tasting blood as he stared at Castillo’s bent head. The man

removed the handcuffs and placed them on the floor. Dev massaged his wrists, rotating them
slowly.

The pad of one of Castillo’s fingers slid over his skin, rough and welcomed. Dev allowed it

for a moment then shifted away. Let’s not forget who you are and who he is.

Castillo gripped his hand, hard fingers tight and bruising. “I want the name of that client,

Dev. And you’ll give it to me.”

I’ll give it to you, all right. Shit. Head. Game, his disciplined inner self barked.
“Why would I do that?” he asked.
Castillo’s eyes narrowed. “Because I’m allowing you to live. I’m taking pity on your fucking

life and giving you permission to live another day.”

Oh this motherfucker is out of his mind. Dev kicked out, catching Castillo in the middle of

his chest with the toe of his boot. The gun skidded across the floor as the other man dropped
backward and Dev launched himself on top of him. They toppled onto the floor, grappling,
Castillo swinging punches, Dev dodging them as he grabbed Castillo by the throat.

A blow landed on his side and Dev sucked in a breath but he tightened his hold on Castillo.

The other man’s eyes promised death, nothing Dev didn’t already know. If he was dying tonight,
he was going to taste that bastard.

He pressed his lower half into Castillo. There’d be no mistaking his erection against his

zipper.

Castillo stopped moving, the pulse under Dev’s hold beating wildly.
“I don’t want your fucking pity,” Dev rasped. Those eyes darkened, pupils dilated and he

dipped his head, lips hovering over Castillo’s. “I want what you want, only you’re not man

enough to ask.”

“You have to the count of three to get off me.” Even as he arched his back, hard-on

brushing Dev’s thigh, Dev’s arm across his throat, Castillo’s voice remained passive, his face
relaxed. Only his eyes spoke of danger and the promise of rough sex.

Dev brushed his mouth across Castillo’s lips. “Three.”
Castillo’s lips parted and Dev dove in, plunging deep, groaning at the taste of heat and

cinnamon spice. Castillo widened his thighs, fingers digging into Dev’s hip. Dev bucked, grinding
on Castillo’s impressive bulge as their teeth banged and tongues lashed against each other.

The unpredictable bastard was blowing his mind, writhing on him, making him itch and

shudder. It’d been too damn long since he had this, another man under him, between his thighs,
melting on his tongue.

Dumb luck to find what he needed in one as dangerous and totally off-limits as Juan Pablo

Castillo.

Dev’s cock leaked, soaking the front of his boxers. He wanted to reach between their

straining bodies and cup himself, take Castillo in hand and bring them off, watch all control
leave Castillo’s eyes. He wanted to stay where he was more, lapping at Castillo, drinking down
his growls as their tongues clashed and dueled and their pants clouded his ears.

Castillo’s fingers dipped under Dev’s shirt, calloused fingers skating down his spine, nails

sinking into his skin. Marking him.

Fuck. Dev shuddered and tore his mouth away. He stared down at Castillo. The other man’s

nostrils were flared, his wet lips red and bruised, glassy eyes narrowed to slits.

Major fuckup, this. On too many levels to count.
Castillo licked his lips and Dev rocked into the vee of his body, their hard-ons creating that

sweet yet frustrating friction.

“Bad idea, pretty boy.” Castillo’s breath fanned Dev’s chin.
Dev nodded, but neither man broke eye contact. “Bad.”
Yet Castillo’s fingers continued their journey down his spine and Dev’s hold at his throat had

long turned to a caress, his thumb dipping into the hollow there, toying with the thin silver chain
around Castillo’s neck. He was taller than Castillo, but in their current position everything
aligned just right. Plastered to each other’s bodies, Dev felt every throb, every twitch of
Castillo’s cock in his own groin.

He had only to slide down a bit, taking Castillo’s jeans with him, to get a mouthful of what

felt like a really promising cock. His mouth watered at the thought. It’d been forever since he’d
indulged. Since he dropped to his knees in front of another man. He missed that vulnerability.
That control. That taste.

He wanted it back.
“You gonna move?” Castillo lifted a brow.
“Should I?”
Castillo granted him a curt nod. “You should.”
His cool dismissal hollowed Dev’s gut and he stilled the mad scramble to get off Castillo.

Instead he took his time, rolling off the other man and crouching by his side with a bored
expression on his face. This was why he stayed the hell away from this shit. Nothing good could
come from them hooking up, scratching their itch.

Everything was at stake.
Everything.
He repositioned his erection, breath whistling out between his teeth at the sensation of his

own fingers on his aroused flesh. His eyes rolled back in his head.

“Put this back on.”
A dark cloth landed on his shoulder. Dev snatched it up, stared. The hood. Castillo wanted

him to put back on the hood. That son of a bitch. He glared up at Castillo, completely ignoring
the gun the other man had retrieved and now trained on him.

“Really?”
“Excuse me, does your tongue down my throat wipe away the fact that your boss tried to kill

me? Twice?” Castillo motioned with the gun for Dev to get on his feet and he did, eyes shooting
daggers.

“You, pretty boy, will find out the name of that client York’s stockpiling weapons for.”
“Why would I spy on my boss for you?” Dev fingered the hood and frowned at Castillo. Did

he think Dev would just go along with his stupid plan?

Castillo grabbed the hood and pulled it over Dev’s head. “You’ll do it because if you don’t, I’ll

kill you. Talented tongue or no.”

Dev’s skin crawled in reaction to those chilling words, spoken so casually. As the two rode

back to wherever Castillo planned to let him off, seated side by side in silence, the fucking hood
obscuring his vision, Dev couldn’t shake the feeling that the worst thing he could possibly do
was underestimate Juan Pablo Castillo.

Chapter Two

Kissing Dev had to be one of his biggest mistakes.
Pablo stared unseeing out the window of his office. The intoxicating scent of a welcome

summer rain filled the air, but he couldn’t enjoy it.

He was back on that boat, under Dev, and loving every second of the other man’s heavy

weight. Every swipe of his tongue. Nothing good could come of his dallying with one of York’s
men, not when Pablo had that bastard in his crosshairs for trying to take him out.

York had to be taught a lesson—there were some people in this world you fucked with and

some you don’t.

Pablo resided squarely in the don’t column.
But Dev. That kiss. It’d been two days and he sure as hell couldn’t forget it, not the taste of

Dev or the scent of him.

I need to get laid.
His neglected libido had to be the only explanation for his acting like a lovesick fool. For

allowing himself to be taken down by the enemy. Because Dev was the enemy, those firm lips
and talented tongue notwithstanding.

Pablo shifted in his chair to ease the pressure in his groin. He’d gone to great lengths to

safeguard himself and to get where he was, a little thing like a hard-on for one of York’s men
sure as fuck wasn’t allowed to ruin that.

Not by a long shot.
He’d settle some things with his men and finally take that long-neglected trip to Philly to see

Levi, get his dick spit-shined and a tight hole to sink into. He had no doubts by the time he got
back to Brooklyn, he’d have gotten over wanting to fuck pretty boy Dev.

A knock sounded on the door and he looked up as Mateo and Freddo entered.
“Any news?” He lifted an eyebrow as the men sat on the couch opposite him.
Mateo spoke first, his dark-brown hair falling into his eyes when he nodded. “We think it’s

him, but we still can’t be one hundred percent sure. He covers his tracks well.”

Freddo grunted in agreement. “Yeah, slippery bastard.”
“Has to be him.” Pablo got up and began pacing. “He’s stayed pretty much under our radar,

but his choice of guns always gave him away.” He’d been on a personal quest to find his
mother’s murderer for years and after all the frustration and anger, after debating whether to
give up or not, he may have lucked out. He’d stake his life that York’s new client was the man
he’d been searching for.

Mateo looked up at him. “Sounds like he’s preparing for something big though, with that

amount of ammo. And the AR-15s, man…”

“Yeah.” Pablo was intimately familiar with the assault rifles and the damage they did. “We

need to find him.”

“But how?” Freddo asked. “Did you get anything from York’s man the other day?”
Pablo shrugged. “Nothing useful, but I did promise to kill him if he didn’t find out the client’s

identity.”

“That could work.” Freddo chuckled and Mateo joined in.
“It sure could.” Pablo sat back down at his desk. “Keep asking around, see if this

mysterious client has approached anyone else to act as go-between for guns.” He fired up his
computer then looked over his shoulder. “I’m leaving for Philly in a few hours, gotta see a man
about some stuff.”

“Need some men?”
“Just one,” he answered Mateo. “No big entourage. We’re trying for a quick in and out.” In

more ways than one. “By the way, who’s on York’s man, Dev?”

“Marcus and Fitch,” Freddo said. “They already checked in for the day, said nothing’s

moving.”

Pablo turned back to the computer. “I want to know the minute anything does move, got it?”
A chorus of “got it, boss” rang out as the men left the room and closed the door behind

them. Pablo grimaced, swallowing the urge to yell at them for directly disobeying his orders and
calling him boss. That word sat heavily on his chest as he composed an email, reaching out for
help.

He needed answers and in order to do that he had to resurrect ghosts.
He hurriedly sent the email off, fingertips ice cold, and stared at the tiny, translucent trails of

water as they crawled along the window pane. He’d be the first to acknowledge he had a
shitload of demons waiting to be exorcised, but he’d start with the easiest.

Pretty boy Dev.
A quick fuck from the very talented Levi would remove any lingering traces of Dev from

Pablo’s skin and head. He was sure of it.

Many hours later, balls wrung dry, Levi’s scratches still raw on his skin, Pablo stood under a

scalding shower in a nondescript Philadelphia hotel, Dev’s face dancing behind his closed eyes,
regretting that promise.

* * * * *

Dev stood in York’s office, surrounded by his men, and tried not to fidget. Despite having

recalled the entire Pablo Castillo incident for York over the phone—minus the kissing bits, of
course—York still insisted on Dev reliving that damn night over again.

“Did he say why he wanted to know the name of my client?” York sat back in his chair with

a blank expression, eyes dead, and a finger pressed to his temple.

Dev shrugged. “He said he was looking for a man and he thought your client might be that

man.”

“That son of a bitch is crossing the fucking line!” York jerked upright, the blue shirt he wore

stretching tight over his meaty arms and stomach. “It’s bad enough I have to deal exclusively
with him on this shit, now he’s accosting my men?” He grabbed his glass of whiskey and
downed it with one swallow. “He’s gone too far.”

“I think he’s only retaliating because you tried to off him twice already this year.” Dev

regretted the words as soon as he spoke them, especially when York turned those snake eyes
on him, but he’d already stepped in it so he continued. “Why is the name of this client such a big
secret?”

The room fell silent. No one dared to breathe. Dev tried to clean up his mistake in a hurry.

“I’m just saying, is this client so important for us to chance a war with Castillo and his crew?”

“Are you questioning my leadership?” York asked softly.

The hairs on Dev’s nape stood up. He shook his head, mutely.
“My decisions?”
“No, boss. I’m just saying—”
“Leave us!”
The other men scrambled out the room, leaving Dev alone with York. Dev stood silent,

hands behind his back, and waited as York poured himself another shot of whiskey.

He’d witnessed York’s cruelty up close and personal too many times to count and so far

he’d been lucky enough to escape having to deal with that side of the man before him, but
something told Dev his time was nearly up.

“I’ve been in this business many years,” York finally addressed Dev. “I’ve dealt with men like

Castillo, men who’ve been biding their time behind the scenes, waiting to show the world what
they can do.” He poured himself another drink and raised the glass, bringing the dark liquid to
his lips.

Dev kept his mouth shut and his gaze on York.
“The problem with men like Castillo is they never realize they weren’t made for this shit, else

they would’ve been up front and calling the shots from the get-go. Instead of having to wait for
someone else to get up and leave, or die off.” He narrowed his eyes. “You understand where
I’m going with this?”

Dev nodded, but he didn’t and neither did York. Underestimating Pablo Castillo would get

them both killed, and Dev kinda liked being above ground.

“He has to learn he can’t just kidnap one of my men and hold him at gunpoint.” York shook

his glass, attention appearing far away as he stared into the swirling liquid. “I can’t make a
move on him now, he still has to deliver the second half of that list, but once he does, it’s open
season. And it’s going to be up close and personal, no misses this time. I’ll finally get rid of that
bastard once for all.”

Dev smiled while his stomach churned. “Up close and personal, sir?”
York nodded. “Yeah, he’s got a bitch he keeps hidden somewhere in Philly, every few

months he goes down there.” York grinned. “I’ve been keeping tabs on him, and all I have to do
is find out her identity and lure him down there.”

Pablo had a woman hidden away. Dev ignored the twinge of pain that brought to his chest

and nodded enthusiastically. “What makes you so sure she’s not a random chick?” He hoped
she was, but he knew better. Despite what he hoped, despite that kiss, Pablo was straight.

And taken.
“Like I said, he goes down there every few months. Hell, he’s down there now. Van tailed

him halfway.” York slammed his glass down on the table, whiskey sloshing over the rim, and
stood. “Only thing that makes a man drive all that way then turn around and come back the very
next day is pussy. Must be good pussy too. Either way, we’ll be watching and the next time he
heads back down that way, we’ll take him out for good.” He slapped Dev on the shoulder. “Hell,
I might even let you pull the trigger.”

Dev joined him in chuckling. It shouldn’t matter what plans York had for Castillo, the two men

had apparently been at each other’s throats far longer than Dev had been around. What did he
care if they killed each other?

He didn’t care.
He couldn’t.

His phone went off, startling him. Dev unclipped it from his hip and checked the caller ID as

York looked on. “It’s Castillo.”

York grinned. “Answer it.”
He did. “This is Dev.”
“Pretty boy, your shit is ready. Come get it.”
Dev swallowed. That voice really touched him in places he’d rather it didn’t. “Let me guess,

same place as the last time?”

Castillo chuckled. “Look at you, making a funny. Yes, it’s the same place.”
“When is pickup?”
“I’m out of town now, so tomorrow evening. Don’t be late.” He hung up.
Dev tightened his hold on the phone. “The stuff’s ready,” he told York. “Pickup tomorrow.”
“All right, I’ll send extra men with you.” York turned to the door and opened it. “We’ll do it his

way, for now.”

“Yes sir.” Dev walked past him, stepped through the doorway, but a hand on his shoulder

halted him.

“Just so we’re clear, Dev, the next time you question me in front of my men I will kill you.”
Talk about fucking chills. Dev didn’t turn around to meet York’s eyes, he simply mumbled a

quick, “Yes sir. Sorry, sir,” and hightailed it out of there.

He didn’t breathe until he made it to his tiny apartment above Mitch’s Pool Hall, ten minutes

away from York’s place. He stripped off his clothes and collapsed on the bed, face first.

His head hurt like a mother and he desperately needed to get up, get showered and go

looking for someone to ease the ache in his balls, but he didn’t have the luxury. Working for
Jeffery York seriously put a hurting on Dev’s sex life. He couldn’t take the chance of someone
recognizing him as one of York’s men and snitching on him, so it’d been his palm and fingers for
far longer than he cared to count.

Tangling with Pablo Castillo really brought home how deprived, how thirsty he was. And now

he couldn’t picture himself on his knees for anyone but that arrogant bastard. That couldn’t
happen, so once again he was back to self-service.

He rolled onto his back, eyes closed as he pinched his nipples to the point of pain. Behind

his closed eyelids, his fingers, his touch, morphed into Pablo Castillo’s. A low whine left his lips
as calloused fingers teased him, nails scraping his nipples, pinching him until his hips thrust
upward and his body arched. Until his dripping cock painted his lower belly with sticky liquid.

The heaviness in his balls and limbs grew and grew, skin tight, sensitive, as two fingers slid

over his lips and dipped into his mouth. Dev suckled them with a moan, his ass clenching. When
his fingers were good and wet, Castillo removed them and brought them to Dev’s ass, pushing
in without preamble.

Dev’s legs shook with the pain and the pleasure, the pressure along his passage welcomed.

He pulled out then murmured at the emptiness inside him. He needed to be filled so bad. So
bad.

“Please. Please.”
He rammed back in and his eyes flew open.
“God. Fuck.” He bowed his head, curving his digits until they brushed his knot.
“Mmm. Fuu—” His ass burned and his chest hurt. Dev fucked himself, bottom lip caught

between his teeth. This was so familiar now, but it wasn’t enough anymore. Not when dark
eyes danced behind his eyelids, when Pablo’s face and his smell was everywhere. And as the
orgasm burst from his balls and seed splattered on his stomach, he called out that name and
his eyes watered.

In the aftermath, he used his t-shirt to clean himself off then curled into a ball in the middle of

his bed. It was at times like this that the loneliness hit him hardest. When he missed the family
he wasn’t supposed to have.

He’d had no idea how things would change. They had, drastically, in a matter of hours, and

the end of the road he traveled looked nothing like the way he’d imagined it at the beginning.

It all had to be worth it, right?
The stark emptiness, the cruelty he witnessed day in and day out, they had to be worth it.

Losing his heart to the worst possible man.

It has to be worth it.

* * * * *

Pablo stood off to the side, watching Dev from the corner of his eye as the other man

inspected his merchandise. They didn’t speak to each other, but Pablo couldn’t help but be
aware of everything Dev did.

He swore he could smell the other man from where he stood and fought himself on splitting

his attention between Dev’s lips and his ass in those dark, well-worn jeans. Dev was dressed in
a simple white crew neck t-shirt and jeans with work boots, but Pablo wanted to stare at him all
day.

Fuck. His dick was hard, betraying him to anyone curious enough to look closer. He had to

get Dev out of there. “What’s the holdup? I can assure you it’s all there, everything on that list.”

Dev glanced over his shoulder and their gazes clashed. Pablo’s chest tightened, his palms

itched.

He couldn’t look away.
“It’s my job to make sure it’s all there, Castillo.” Dev raised an eyebrow. “I’m sure you

understand?”

He understood nothing. Pablo narrowed his eyes, but Mateo spoke up from beside him.
“He said it’s all there, therefore it’s all there. Hurry the fuck up.”
Dev swung around. “Excuse me? Did you just—”
“Pretty boy,” Pablo interrupted him quickly. When Dev met his eyes, Pablo said harshly,

“Take your shit and go.”

Dev took a step forward and Pablo’s men drew their weapons. Dev’s men did as well, but

Dev didn’t act as if he noticed. He held Pablo’s gaze until they stood inches away. Pablo did his
best to not get caught in those blue eyes, to not drown in them but their intensity sliced through
him like the sharpest fucking blade.

“I need to talk to you,” Dev said.
Pablo’s dick jerked, but he shrugged. “So talk.”
Dev shook his head. “Private.”
“Is that an order?” He raised an eyebrow. What the hell was Dev thinking?
“It’s whatever gets you and me somewhere private,” Dev grated. “Now.”

God. He watched as the pupils dilated in Dev’s eyes, as the pulse in his throat sped up. He

turned around and headed for his office in the back of the warehouse. It had a door, thank fuck.
“Watch the rest of them,” he threw over his shoulder.

“Boss, you sure?”
He ignored Mateo’s question and practically ran the few feet to the office. Stepping inside,

he waited until Dev followed before closing and bolting the door. They stared each other down,
Pablo aching to pull Dev into his arms.

“This wasn’t a good move, Dev.”
Dev blinked in slow motion. “I heard you have a woman in Philly, is that true?”
Well, there went any more trips to Philly. Pablo walked around Dev and over to his desk.

“I’m afraid York’s informant is sorely mistaken.”

Dev’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “So you don’t have someone in Philly?”
Pablo reached out a hand then let it fall before it came in contact with Dev. “I had someone,

but not in the sense you think.” He had no idea why he felt compelled to explain his shit to Dev.
“I had a very discreet and very male someone.”

Something flashed in Dev’s eyes. “Had?”
“As of now. Had.” Pablo nodded.
Dev fisted his hands at his sides. “Are you going to pretend it didn’t happen?”
Didn’t need to be any kind of genius to figure out what “it” was. “No.” Pablo shook his head.

“Are you?”

Dev’s lips parted. His tongue peeked out then darted back inside.
Pablo moaned.
“Dev,” he murmured. Dev’s blue gaze flew from his mouth to his eyes. Pablo crooked a

finger. “Come closer.”

Dev shuffled forward until his knees brushed Pablo’s and his heat sank into Pablo’s bones.

Pablo touched him, knuckles dragging across his jawline. Dev shuddered, his eyelids fluttered
but his eyes remained open.

“Dev,” Pablo whispered his name. “I want to kiss you, but I can’t.” A frown creased Dev’s

brow and Pablo grinned. “Your lips, they’re a dead giveaway. Everyone will know.” He brushed
his thumb over Dev’s moist bottom lip and the other man whined low in his throat. “I will kiss you
and everyone will know. These gorgeous lips will give us away, Dev.”

“I—” Dev stepped back and pulled his t-shirt over his head. His smooth chest rose and fell

with each labored breath. “Kiss me.”

Shit! Pablo yanked him close, mouth closing over a nipple.
“Ah.” Dev gripped his arms, grinding his dick into Pablo’s groin.
Pablo licked Dev’s nipple, groaning at the taste. He held Dev tight, afraid he’d escape, as he

kissed his way across his muscular chest, biting, nipping. Dev’s hushed moans filled his ears.
Pablo sank his fingers into Dev’s ass as he licked the hollow in his neck. Dev cupped his nape,
fingertips hot, body shaking.

Pablo ground against him, inhaling Dev’s aroused heat. That trip to Philly had indeed been

his last; he couldn’t even get it up without thinking about Dev. He lifted his head, met Dev’s
heavy-lidded gaze.

“Dev.”

Dev cupped Pablo’s groin, squeezing as he hissed.
“Let me touch you.” Dev begged so prettily, so drunkenly.
Pablo nodded. They tore at his belt buckle, unzipping him and freeing his prick to Dev’s

hungry eyes. Pablo reciprocated, unzipping Dev. He fisted them both and brought them
together, sliding across each other. Dev’s flared head was wet, slippery with pre-cum and
Pablo swiped his thumb over it then brought it to his mouth.

“Castillo.” Dev bucked in his hand.
“Yeah.” Pablo leaned back, practically sitting on his desk, and Dev moved forward, hips

canted, cocks rubbing. “Yeah.” He cupped Dev’s ass, urging him on, harder, faster as their hips
worked.

God. His men were only feet away, Dev’s men too, but Pablo couldn’t stop. Not until he saw

Dev spill, not until he heard him cry out in release. He pulled Dev tighter into him, sinking his
teeth into first one then the other nipple as Dev bit his lip.

The sexiest whimpers still escaped from Dev, and Pablo found he loved it, those sounds. He

released Dev’s nipple and kissed his way across his collarbone and neck to his mouth.

“Come for me,” he whispered against Dev’s mouth. “Come on me.”
“Fuck!” Dev’s fingers on Pablo’s upper arms turned painful as his hips sped up. “I can’t—”
“Do it,” Pablo urged and Dev did.
Thick ropes of semen splattered onto Pablo’s chest and stomach. Hot and sticky.
“Oh fuck. Oh fuck!” Pablo came, splashing his seed onto Dev’s lower stomach and pubes.

He squeezed his eyes shut, toes curling at the rush of release. Dev shifted off him and Pablo
opened his eyes in time to watch his dark head dip.

Dev’s wet tongue slid over Pablo’s abs and stomach, licking up his seed.
“Damn, fucking hot!” Pablo grabbed the back of Dev’s head, holding him in place as the

other man licked him clean then looked up at him.

Dev licked his lips and Pablo tightened his hold on him. “I want to kiss you so fucking bad.”
Dev’s face darkened in pleasure, more so than before. “Next time?”
Pablo had no idea how they’d manage it, but… “Yes. Next time. Definitely.”
Dev straightened and buckled up his jeans. “I should go.”
He didn’t look as if he wanted to.
Pablo touched the pad of his index finger to Dev’s bottom lip. “You should, but this isn’t

over.” He leaned over and kissed Dev, right there on the lips.

Too quick. Fleeting. Then he moved away, fixing his clothes as Dev made himself

presentable again. Once they were both ready, they stood, staring at each other. Pablo
cupped Dev’s jaw.

“Go ahead. I’ll stay behind for a couple minutes.”
Dev turned his head, pressed his mouth into Pablo’s palm and then he was striding across

the room.

“Hey,” Pablo called out softly.
Dev stopped with his hand on the doorknob and looked over his shoulder.
“Next time I get to use that mouth the way I want to.”
Dev blushed. Pablo’s prick jumped.

“Deal.” Dev opened the door and disappeared.

* * * * *

All thoughts of Dev and that kiss moved to the back of Pablo’s mind the next day as he and

his men gathered new information about York’s mysterious client. He had Phelps run the half-
dozen or so aliases he knew his prey used all those years ago and one came back active.

Diego Martinez.
An obscure name his prey used for a few months in the early nineties. Pablo had been still

wet behind the ears, but he’d listened and filed shit away. All these years later that bastard
was back in his backyard, in his territory, attempting to circumvent the certain death he had
coming by using York as his go-between.

York, fool that he was, most likely had no clue. He was easily goaded, operating on

emotion, something their business had no room for. He’d probably grasped the opportunity to
go after Pablo without ever questioning who he was getting in bed with.

Would serve him right if he got his ass gutted, but Pablo really hoped he’d be the one to do

it.

He sat in a chair inside a dark room in the Motel 6 on Utica Avenue, waiting for Phelps,

who’d called for a meeting, saying he had more news. He’d questioned Angelo when he got his
hooks into Phelps, a detective in the 72nd Precinct, but Pablo had to admit that had been a
very smart move. Phelps was damn indispensable.

Angelo had had a sixth sense about those things, quick to spot a man’s weakness, quicker

still to exploit it. Use it to his advantage. To Los P’s advantage. Pablo admired him for that.
He’d respected him and trusted him blindly. He still couldn’t pinpoint when that had turned to
wanting. To loving.

But it had.
He grunted into the stillness. It had turned to something else quickly and while he hadn’t

known Angelo was gay, Pablo hoped his friend and boss wouldn’t dismiss his feelings.

I didn’t have a chance though.
After sensing a definite shift in Angelo’s mood and behavior, he’d followed his friend one

night, straight to Queens and into the arms of another man. A cop, no less. One doing his
damnedest to shut down Los P and put Angelo and his entire crew behind bars.

The anger as he watched Angelo and that cop kiss was tangible, but something else even

overrode that. From their first touch, from the way those two men held and kissed each other,
he’d known he stood no chance with Angelo.

He swallowed and shifted in the chair. They were in love, Angelo and his cop. And the pain

of his own heart shattering had been excruciating as he stood outside the window like a sick
voyeur watching all that emotion.

All the things he’d hoped for were being displayed before his eyes, except someone else

was in his place.

Took awhile to pull himself together, to regain his composure and be in the same room with

Angelo without wanting to call him traitor, and bastard, and all other hurtful things. He hadn’t,
it’d been business as usual, until Angelo dropped his bomb.

He wanted out, away from Los P, Brooklyn and Pablo. He walked away from it all for his

cop, disappearing to God knows where, gifting Pablo Los P as a consolation prize. The crack

in Pablo’s chest remained, the pain still there. He didn’t expect it to ever leave, but it was
becoming more bearable.

Almost two years and after Angelo made initial contact to say he was alive and safe, they’d

never spoken again.

That could soon change, after the email Pablo sent to his very connected silent partner,

Syren Rua. The Brazilian had his fingers in everything, had eyes and ears everywhere, and
money to burn. If there was anyone to help him find his prey it would be Syren Rua, but dealing
with him meant Angelo might also get involved. It wasn’t a guarantee, but Pablo wasn’t holding
his breath on Rua keeping his request to himself.

Pablo grunted and checked his watch’s illuminated face. Phelps should be there within five

minutes. Hopefully he had something good that would give them a better understanding of
where Pablo’s mother’s killer was now.

He’d gone over their meeting a million times in his head. Did the murderer still look the same,

full beard more white than black? Eyes still hard and emotionless, head still shaved clean?
They’d stood just about the same height, Pablo stockier, the last time they’d seen each other
face-to-face. When Pablo had given him that scar across his throat.

Been a long time. Had he bulked up? Probably not. He’d always been a survivalist, so he’d

most likely kept himself trim, hidden in whatever underground hole he’d fallen into. Last time
Pablo tracked him, he’d been somewhere in New Mexico.

He’d known that bastard would show his face again, to taunt him if nothing else. He was

doing a good job too. Visions of his mother soaked in blood, skin peeled off her body, kept him
up the past few nights. A fifteen-year-old shouldn’t have to see that, shouldn’t have to watch the
life leave his mother’s eyes. The madman had kept her alive, stripping and stabbing her to
maximize blood loss, but she’d been alive for it all.

And while Pablo held her and screamed until he couldn’t anymore, she’d used her last breath

to apologize to him.

Apologies for leaving him behind, for bringing a madman into their lives, for the mess she’d

made on their white kitchen floor.

Pablo rubbed his burning eyes as his cell went off. “Yeah.”
“Boss, he’s on his way up.”
He decided against chastising the new guy, Reggie, for that damn word and sighed instead.

“Thanks.” He hung up and his phone rang again.

“What?”
“This is Dev.”
Fuck. He squeezed the phone as his heart jack hammered. “Dev.” Shit, he was purring!
“The name of York’s client is Diego Martinez.” Dev spoke in a rush, taking an audible breath

at the end.

Pablo smiled. He hadn’t really expected the other man to snitch on his boss, and he didn’t

bother telling him he’d already learned the identity of York’s client. “What exactly did you have
to do to get that info?” Because he knew York wasn’t going to just offer.

“Nothing I don’t already do.”
He raised an eyebrow at the forced nonchalance in Dev’s voice. “Is that so? What is it you

do?” York was all kinds of sick and twisted. What did he have Dev doing? Pablo jerked upright.
“Are you sharing his bed?” He grimaced at the bitter taste that thought left in his mouth.

“No.” Dev chuckled. “That’s one thing I don’t do.”
God. Relief flooded Pablo’s chest. “When do I see you again?” He lowered his voice. “We

have unfinished business, I believe.”

“I don’t stay at York’s compound, so I’m free at night.” Dev paused. “Name the time and the

place.”

Pablo’s groin stirred as he rattled off the address on West 25th in Coney Island. Finally, that

fucking place would come in handy. He hadn’t understood its use when Angelo handed him the
keys with a cryptic, “you’ll understand when you need to use it”.

Dev repeated the address. “I’ll be there,” he whispered, hanging up as keys jiggled in the

lock of the hotel room.

Pablo pocketed the phone and remained seated as Phelps came through the door and

locked it behind him before flicking on the light.

“You have something for me?” he asked the cop.
“Yeah.” Phelps sat on the edge of the bed, pulling out a couple sheets of paper from inside

his black coat. “Your boy Martinez is doing legit work in New Mexico as a landscaper.” He held
out the papers. “He did his taxes for the past five years and except for a speeding ticket, he’s
stayed out of trouble.”

Pablo scanned the papers. “New Mexico.” The last place they’d tangled. “This is good,

Phelps, but he isn’t there now. I can feel it.” That bastard was close.

“He’s off the radar after he got the speeding ticket.” Phelps shrugged.
“When did he get the ticket?” Pablo scanned the ticket printout Phelps handed him,

calculating silently in his head. “That’s roughly a month ago, and this area is near the main
thoroughfare heading out of state.” He crumpled the papers into a ball. “He’s in Brooklyn and I
want him found. Run the license plate on the ticket.”

“Did. Nothing came up.”
“Then earn your fucking keep, Phelps. Find him!” Frustration wasn’t helping, but Pablo really

wanted to pound on someone’s face.

“I can’t find someone who doesn’t want to be found, you know that.” Phelps rose from the

bed and made for the door. “He’s good at staying off the grid when he wants to and I think you
know that too. Seems the only way you’ll find him is when he decides to step out of the
shadows.” He walked out the room, closing the door softly, his words bouncing around inside
Pablo’s skull.

Damn cop was right. His prey would leave Pablo twisting in the wind until he saw fit to make

his appearance. That did not work for Pablo, not at all. The power wasn’t in his hands and that
needed to change, ASAP.

Hopefully Syren Rua could work his particular brand of coercion or whatever the hell he did,

and find some answers. Otherwise, Pablo stood in the same position he’d been in all those
years ago, watching his mother’s killer disappear from his grasp once again, helpless to do a
damn thing to stop him.

He exited the hotel room, quickly heading downstairs to the lobby and out the front door

where Reggie and Mateo waited. He’d always wondered if there were other people out there
who’d been hurt like he had, who’d been touched by the killer’s cold hands, but no matter how
he scoured the newspapers and internet for a crime similar to his mother’s, there’d been
nothing. A sick part of him had hoped he’d kill again, just so Pablo would know where he was,

what city he was in.

Sick.
A movement caught his eye as he walked toward the SUV parked on the opposite side of

the busy street—Phelps’ car as the detective drove out from the motel’s back lot. A fucking
Jaguar on a cop’s salary.

Pablo shook his head. Lucky for that idiot cop his wife came with money, so no one looked

too closely at his finances.

He reached the SUV and walked around to the front passenger side. He stretched his hand

out to the door handle then found himself flying through the air, his ears ringing.

Fuck! He picked his face up off the pavement, bones aching, coughing as acrid smoke

clogged his nose and throat.

What the hell? Pablo looked around, barely making out shapes through the thick, black

smoke.

Something blew up.
God. He struggled to his knees, warm liquid dripping into his mouth. He ignored it, searching

for familiar faces. Where were Mateo and Reggie?

He yelled, or tried to. He couldn’t hear himself.
A hand grasped his shoulder, pulled him up. He twisted around, striking out.
Mateo.
He grabbed his friend’s arms. “What’s—” He coughed and tried again. “What happened?”

He looked around as the dark smoke thinned. Shredded metal littered the streets and his
hearing appeared to be improving because he could make out screams and car alarms.

“Boss, come.” Mateo dragged him forward, but Pablo resisted.
“What the fuck happened, Mateo? Where’s Reggie?”
“Boss.” Mateo’s expression went beyond worried. He looked scared as hell.
Pablo tightened his hold on Mateo. “What?”
“Reggie is in the car, boss.” Mateo looked around again. “We gotta leave, cops will be here

soon.”

“What blew up, Mateo?”
The harsh smoke burned his nose and mouth, he could taste it mixing with the blood on his

face.

“Not what, boss. Who.”
Pablo opened his mouth.
“Phelps.” Mateo yanked him forward, and Pablo allowed it as Mateo pushed him into the

SUV.

Reggie was pulling off before the door closed behind him.
Pablo doubled over, coughing up his lung.
Someone blew up Phelps.
Looked as if Pablo’s prey was finally stepping out of the shadows.

Chapter Three

“You think you can fucking go behind my back? Help yourself to whatever you want and I

wouldn’t notice?”

Dev held his breath, sweaty palms clasped behind his back, as he fought for calm. For

nonchalance. It wasn’t as if he didn’t know and hadn’t witnessed York’s brutality before, but this
was new.

Click.
Another empty chamber.
Fucking Russian Roulette.
The man on the floor between York’s knees shook like a Goddamn leaf, his body bathed in

sweat and tears and snot.

Everyone knew what going behind York’s back meant. What double-crossing him meant.

Who’d be foolish enough to do so?

Me, of course. And the man on his knees, whimpering.
The trick was to expect eyes and ears on you at all times, and still not get caught.
Not so easy if the scene before him was anything to go by.
York had called the men into his office, all five of them, then proceeded to give a speech on

trust and dishonor. All through the two minutes and six seconds of that torture, Dev was sure
his ass was found out and he’d die a very violent and gruesome death. His life was already
flashing before his eyes, all the regrets and do-overs lost.

Then York had plopped down in his chair and ordered Shorty to kneel.
Turned out Shorty had dipped into the supply of coke intended for some of York’s buyers.
Idiot.
Despite the bulk and girth of the men in the room, no one moved a muscle. Hell, Dev didn’t

think anyone dared to breathe the second York pulled out the gun and barked at Shorty to open
his mouth.

He’d inserted one bullet into the gun.
“No one fucks with my shit!” York’s eyes were wild, crazy, but his voice and grip on the gun

was steady. “I’ve been too lax, I see. You’ve all decided to fuck with me, well that’s going to
change.”

The sounds Shorty made. Man. Dev’s skin crawled. On his knees, the man’s eyes bulged,

red with pure terror. His lips were stretched wide over the gun’s muzzle and barrel. A macabre
sex act Dev wondered if York even noticed.

“Reputation is everything in this business,” York said clearly. “What does it say about me

that I can’t control my own men?” He shook his head. “This will not do, not at all.”

Dev locked his muscles, tensing even more when York shifted forward.
“Wider.”
York ordered and Shorty obeyed. He’d long since pissed himself and the strong stench of it

hit Dev full on.

He wrinkled his nose and nearly missed the slight movement of York’s fingers on the trigger.

The gun went off with a pop.

Shorty’s head jerked and he toppled over, eyes wide as he lay on his back on the gray

carpet. Those eyes were trained on Dev, condemning in their lifeless state.

He ignored it, turning his attention to York quickly. Never take your eyes off York.
“Let this be a motherfucking lesson.” York sat back, gun still in his hand. He brought it up,

resting it casually against his temple. “I shouldn’t have to remind you what I do to people who
cross me, who go against my vision.” He gestured with his free hand to the body on the floor.
“This idiot was fool enough to think I wouldn’t know, to think I wouldn’t react. Well, now he
knows.” He chuckled to himself. “Now he knows.”

He fell silent.
No one spoke.
The phone on York’s desk rang, startlingly loud in the room. He picked it up on the second

ring with a barked, “What?”

Dev heard the voice on the other end of the line from where he stood, but he couldn’t make

out words. He watched York’s face for a clue, but none were forthcoming. York responded to
the caller with a few grunts and “uh-huhs” then disconnected and sat there, staring into space.

Though he was curious to find out what that call was about, Dev sure as hell wasn’t about to

ask.

Next to him, Van did. “Is everything all right, boss?”
Dev expected York to lash out, but instead the other man got to his feet and headed for the

door. “It depends. There’s been some kind of explosion in Brooklyn. A cop’s been blown to
bits.” He grinned. “The icing, though, is the identity of one of the people on the scene.”

“Who?” Van asked.
“Castillo was seen driving away amid the chaos.” York opened his office door and stood on

the threshold. “That’s from one of my spies. Don’t know if it’s public knowledge about Castillo
yet. If it’s not,” his eyes gleamed, “I’ll have to think on how this bit of information best works to
my benefit.” The glow in his eyes didn’t dull when he cast his gaze to the body on the floor.
“Get rid of that.” He disappeared out the door.

Dev thought York leaving the room would help him breathe easier, but the news about Pablo

turned that belief into a lie. His chest hurt.

He needed to see Castillo, make sure the other man was okay. As to why he should care,

Dev had no answers yet. But it was still light outside, still hours before they were supposed to
meet up at some Coney Island address. He couldn’t risk calling Castillo, not with York on high
alert.

I just have to wait.
Suddenly that seemed the hardest thing he’d ever done.
“Come on, guys.” He stepped forward, addressing the men in the room. “You heard the

boss man. Let’s deal with this bastard.” Maybe the task of getting himself involved in the
disposing of a dead body would take his mind off Pablo Castillo.

As he and the men rolled up Shorty in York’s expensive carpet, he snorted softly. Taking his

mind off Castillo was an impossible task. One he had no hope of completing.

* * * * *

His palms hurt.

Pablo elbowed the button for PH2 and avoided looking at his image in the mirrored panel. It

took a shouting match between him, Reggie and Mateo for them to allow him out of their sight.
He finally won by reminding them he was the boss. He ran things.

What did that mean exactly?
What did he run?
He watched a cop get blown to fucking bits, in broad daylight, on a busy Brooklyn street.
He had no doubt who was behind it. No doubt Phelps’ death was a message to him.
So what do I run?
What am I in charge of?
The boys in blue would come calling soon, of that he was sure. The death of a cop? After

the shit that went down in East New York recently, his being in the vicinity of Phelps’ death
didn’t help. Surveillance inside the hotel was down, of course, taken care of in advance of his
meeting with Phelps. But he had no control over those from nearby stores and traffic cams.

The cops would know he’d been around at the time the car got blown up. They’d want to

make him pay.

Fuck!
He should be conferring with his lawyers. Settling on a plan of action. But instead he was

here in a secret penthouse in Coney Island, waiting for Dev.

He exited the elevator and let himself into the penthouse. The place was dark and humid, the

musk tickling his nose. He’d only stepped foot in there once before, the day after Angelo “died”.
His curiosity got the better of him and he had to see what the place was and what Angelo’s
cryptic message meant.

Evidence of them, Angelo and his cop, were everywhere. In the air, in the shower and in the

bedroom. A pair of discarded boxers, unused condoms, half-used lube. He’d stood in the
doorway to the bedroom and stared at the wide bed, fists clenched so tight his muscles
creaked. Anger so hot and so bright it nearly drove him to his knees.

He’d looked around him, at the place they shared and loved in secret, then turned and

walked out. He’d never been back.

Until now.
Pablo didn’t bother turning on the lights to check if they were still on. He didn’t know how

and he frankly didn’t care to, but it appeared the building’s bills were being paid.

Angelo had known he’d come.
He headed up the stairs, taking them two at a time. He needed a shower, needed to wash

away the past few hours. In the bedroom at the top of the stairs, he turned on the light then
opened one of the massive windows, allowing the cool breeze from Coney Island to filter
through. He eyed the duffle bag he’d dropped the moment he stepped into the room. He’d
brought along a change of clothes and party favors for tonight’s festivities. Lube and condoms.

Tonight he was getting up in pretty boy’s ass, losing himself in a quick fuck to clear his head,

get himself back on track. A gauntlet had been thrown down, the ball was now in his court.
Hopefully by tomorrow he’d hear back from Syren, maybe finally get a bead on the slippery
bastard who killed his mother.

But now, he stared down at his body dispassionately. His entire body ached, and blood

stained his jeans. He undressed and walked naked into the shower, using the soap he’d bought

to wash himself.

He felt as if he were floating, as if he were dream walking. The happenings of the past

couple hours notwithstanding, he never thought he’d be here, preparing for a lover.

He scowled up at the showerhead as he soaped his stomach. Not a lover. He didn’t have

lovers. Dev wasn’t a lover, he was simply an employee of one of Pablo’s enemies whom Pablo
wanted to fuck.

Badly.
And he’d do so tonight. Work Dev out of his system then move on to more important things,

like finally getting his mother’s killer off the streets.

Priority numero uno.
Done with his shower, Pablo stepped out with a shudder. The cool breeze scattered goose

bumps over his skin. Water dropped from his body and pooled at his feet on the exposed tiles,
but he ignored it and opened the mirrored medicine cabinet.

He poked around the bottles of painkillers and Vaseline in search of a disposable razor. He’d

forgotten to get himself shaped up and his beard was coming in hot and heavy. No razors, but a
folded piece of paper tucked in between a box of bandages and a bottle of peroxide caught his
attention. He picked it up and slowly opened it after closing the cabinet.

Pablo stared.
It was a drawing. A very good drawing of him.
Angelo’s cop.
His eyes were closed, his face relaxed as if he were sleeping. The curls on his head were a

mess, every strand drawn with exquisite detail. The cop’s lashes touched his cheek, curved and
shadowed perfectly. His parted lips were full.

The paper in his hand shook and Pablo blinked.
A fat drop of water landed on the drawing, on the tip of the cop’s nose.
Pablo blinked again.
Another drop of water.
The shaking grew stronger and he clenched his fist, crumbling the sketch in the lower right

corner. There was a thickness in his throat, one that didn’t budge no matter how much and how
often he swallowed.

Angelo drew this. Pablo knew it. In his heart. In his gut. The person who drew that picture

loved his subject. It was shown with every stroke of that fucking pencil.

Every shade, every crooked line was a touch. A caress.
A kiss.
All the things he’d longed for in silence. In darkness. While he berated himself for feeling the

way he did about his best friend, for wanting someone he knew, knew, wasn’t gay, Angelo was
here. Making love to someone else.

A man.
A cop.
The anger and betrayal choked him and he tore at the paper, shredding it, eyes burning.
It wasn’t fair. None of it. Angelo got to have his happy ever after and what did Pablo get?

More pain than he knew what to do with. More anger drowning him, and no one to trust. No one
to love.

The man he loved, loved someone else. Chose someone else. Died for someone else. And

he was alone, fighting to keep his head above water and his heart still beating. But hardest yet
was waking up to a life without the man he’d called his best friend.

He did his best to understand in the beginning, but here and now, faced with this, with the

evidence of all he’d lost, he didn’t think he’d ever be able to move on. He’d definitely never be
able to trust again, not that he ever did.

Angelo had the dubious honor of being the only man he’d trusted.
Look how well that turned out.
He’d never allow anyone the luxury of hurting him, of cutting him as deeply as Angelo had.
He held his fist up, over his head, staring into the mirror as he opened his palm and allowed

the confetti to fall. On him. All on him. A reminder of just how easy it was to destroy something,
someone you love.

He met his eyes in the mirror and cringed at the weakness.
“Motherfucker!” He punched the mirror and glass shattered all over the sink, sending his

image shimmering out of focus and pain shooting up his arm.

He stared silently as blood dripped off his cut hand into the sink and onto the floor.
What was a little bit more blood, a little bit more pain, heaped onto the mountain he already

carried with him, inside him?

His cell phone blasted the theme song for ESPN’s SportsCenter from the bedroom and he

twisted away from the wrecked mirror, entering the room and grabbing the phone from the bed
with his uninjured hand.

A text message from Dev. He was a block away.
Pablo quickly composed a reply with one hand, giving him instructions on the back entrance

and the code to the gate. He wasn’t too worried about trusting Dev with info like that, the man
had a lot to lose as well, but he’d change the code before he left. Just in case.

He pulled on a pair of jeans then went downstairs. He flicked on the light switch then ran his

bleeding hand over his head with a grimace. He really needed a shave, but that would have to
wait. He stood on the balcony, looking out over the amusement park as loud screams of
happiness reached his ears and the sticky-sweet aroma of cotton candy and hot dogs made his
stomach rumble.

He couldn’t recall the last time he ate, but food would have to take a backseat to the

upcoming activities. He planned to lose himself in Dev tonight.

A knock came on the penthouse door and he swung around, taking his time as he made his

way across the room. He unlocked the door and pulled it open. Dev’s eyes were somber,
concern etched into his features as his gaze roamed Pablo’s face.

“Fuck! What happened?” Dev pushed his way in and grabbed Pablo’s wrecked hand.

“You’re bleeding.”

Pablo frowned and yanked his hand away. “What?”
Dev gestured. “I—You’re bleeding. There’s blood on your head and neck—” He lifted his

hand and Pablo flinched away.

Dev blinked. “I heard about what happened.” He licked his lips and Pablo’s body clenched.

“York knows and he’s looking for any way to exploit it.”

His lips were moving, but Pablo couldn’t fully process what Dev was saying. The plain white

tee he wore hugged the muscles in his forearms and the distressed jeans were snug, covering
shit Pablo suddenly salivated to see.

“Hey.” Fingers cupped his jaw, warm and rough. “Castillo, you okay?”
What the fuck was with all the concern? Pablo couldn’t bear it. He yanked Dev’s hand away

from his skin and pushed him up against the locked door. Satisfaction settled in his gut, hot and
addicting when Dev’s eyes widened and those Goddamn lips parted.

Dev’s movements stilled.
“If you want to talk, this ain’t the place.” He watched as his breath rustled the hair brushing

Dev’s forehead. “I want your mouth for something else,” he rasped. “Wrapped around my dick.”

Dev’s throat worked. His pupils dilated and Pablo rubbed against him, swallowing a moan.

His prick ached with the contact but it wasn’t enough. Visions of Dev on his knees, mouth
stretched wide around him, eyes bulging, sped up his hips.

Shit. He indulged in one last sweet grind before pulling away. Dev’s cheeks were flushed,

eyes over-bright as his chest heaved. Pablo kept his gaze on him and palmed his own crotch.

“Get on your fucking knees.”
Dev clenched his fists and opened his mouth as if to speak, but probably thought better of it

because he dropped to his knees, hands fumbling with Pablo’s zipper before releasing it and
exposing his heavy cock.

Pablo circled his shaft and stroked as Dev stared up at him, teeth worrying his bottom lip.

No time for second thoughts or pretty words. Pablo grabbed Dev’s hair and jerked his head
back with one hand, the other he used to slap his dripping cock across Dev’s right cheek. Pre-
cum clung to his chin and lower lip and scented the air.

“Open.”
Dev did, gaze on Pablo as he slammed in with no finesse.
“Umph.”
“Wider.” He gritted his teeth, steeling himself against the heat and honest-to-God delicious

wetness of Dev’s mouth as he fucked him. Dev’s head snapped back with each thrust, his body
rocked and his fingers dug into Pablo’s hips as he searched for balance.

“Hands down, behind your back,” Pablo barked.
Dev did as ordered, fingers clasped behind his back as Pablo rode his face with heavy

grunts. He took Pablo in as if he’d been born to do so, his mouth a suction that soon had Pablo
trembling and biting the inside of his cheek. Orgasm tightened his balls and Pablo pulled away,
squeezing the base of his cock.

“Drape yourself over the back of the couch.” He didn’t wait for Dev to respond, instead he

fished the condom and tube of travel-sized lube from his jeans pocket. He kicked off his pants
and suited up, lubing the condom with a generous amount. When he finally looked up, Dev was
in position, naked from the waist down, plump ass in the air.

He didn’t look at Pablo and Pablo didn’t care. He approached on silent feet and pressed the

heel of one hand to the back of Dev’s neck. The other man’s ass tipped higher.

Yes.
Pablo lined himself up and eased his way in. Below him Dev didn’t move, he barely

breathed, as Pablo pushed in.

His crown disappeared into the heat and tightness and he hissed in a breath.

“Fuck, pretty boy.” Dev was Goddamn tight, virgin territory tight. And hot. Too goddamn hot.

He sank all the way in then froze.

Dev made a strangled sound.
Pablo pulled out then thrust in. Hard. Dev whimpered, his ass contracted and fuck if Pablo

didn’t ache to come, to flood Dev’s insides.

But he wore a condom. And he wanted to fuck. He grabbed Dev’s nape and pounded into

him, over and over, his grunts getting louder and deeper. That ass like fucking magic, taking
him to the edge in a heartbeat and leaving him hovering.

“Take me,” he demanded in a hoarse whisper. “All of me.” He urged Dev’s upper body lower

over the couch, his ass higher, and canted his hips, searching for that spot.

Dev’s body quivered. Sounds drifting to Pablo, please and more, muted by the blood roaring

in his ears. He grasped Dev’s hips and pulled him back onto him, rising on his toes as he fucked
himself deeper.

Dev jerked, his passage clenching, but he’d gone quiet. Pablo eased up on the thrusting and

covered Dev’s back with his front as he leaned over to get a look at the other man’s face.

Dev’s eyes were closed, his color bright red as he used the heel of his palm to stifle his

cries.

“Fuck no!” Pablo yanked Dev’s hand away with a snarl. “I want those fucking sounds.” He

reared back and plunged in, stars blasting in front of his eyes in incandescent colors. “Give
them to me,” he growled. He snapped his hips forward with each word, burying himself deeper,
burrowing deeper into Dev. “They’re mine. Cry for me. Scream for me.”

And Dev did, body shuddering, his seed scenting the air as he shouted and begged.
Please.
More.
And yes.
Pablo’s vision dimmed, the clasp of Dev’s muscles bringing him down. He spilled into the

condom, tasting blood, smelling it. Reveling in that shit. He moved within Dev until his legs got a
bit steadier, until his hands quit with the trembling, then he pulled out, securing the condom as
he trekked to the bathroom down the hall on rubbery legs.

He ignored that needy sound he heard from Dev, that sound that said he needed more.

There would be no more. He disposed of the condom and washed his face, getting rid of the
streaks of blood across his cheek and forehead.

One quick fuck, that was what he needed and what he got. He dried his hand on the paper

towel and walked back into the living room. Dev would understand.

It was only sex.
Nothing more.
Nothing—
Dev was gone. The hauntingly empty room echoing Pablo’s thoughts back at him.
Only sex.
He held up both his hands in front of his face, watched them tremble.
Liar.

* * * * *

“Let me do the talking.”
Pablo squinted at Peter Heppner, his lawyer. “Let you do the talking? Why?”
Heppner rolled his eyes and slapped his briefcase down on the interrogation room table.

“Umm…because you have no tact? Because you’ll antagonize them into locking your ass up and
throwing away the key?”

“Listen. I don’t give a flying fuck about these guys and what they think of me, you get that,

right?”

Eyes on the papers he held, Heppner shrugged. “Well, that’s good. Hope it helps you sleep,

because the entire NYPD thinks you killed one of their own. And they’re bending over backward
to put your ass behind bars.” He finally looked up with somber eyes. “If not six feet under.”

Like that scared him even a little. “Tell those fuckers to take a number.”
“Yes, well.” Heppner sighed. “I’m afraid we’ll have our work cut out for us. An anonymous

caller said they saw you kneeling beside Detective Phelps’ car minutes before the explosion.”

“What do you mean we?” Pablo leaned forward, palms flat on the cold table. “I pay you a

shitload of money to make stuff like this go away, Heppner. Earn your keep.” Goddamn
lawyers, always with the righteous bullshit.

“Did you not hear me?” Heppner stared at him. “Someone says they saw you—”
Pablo slashed a hand through the air. “I heard you.”
“So…”
“Obviously I’m innocent.” Pablo smiled. “And someone is setting me up.” Three guesses on

who that someone was. York really was beginning to get on his nerves.

His lawyer snorted. “Obviously.”
“Listen, Phelps worked for me.” The other man’s eyes widened and Pablo wanted to laugh.

He’d surprised the lawyer who’d worked for Los P for years. “He was helping me with
something, no way would I kill him. Besides the man was damn indispensable. I kept him in
money and pussy and he kept me in the loop on all the goings-on around here.”

“Pablo, are you sure about this?”
He frowned. “Sure about what?”
“About going up against the NYPD. I don’t think you’ll win.”
“I’m not trying to win anything. Just make sure no one knows about my dealings with Phelps

and get me bail.” He brushed his shoulders off. “I’ll do the rest.”

He ended up spending a way-too-long night in a cold cage with a cellmate who reeked of

warmed-over whiskey, cigarettes and stale sex. The ADA procured a search warrant for his
house and the gang headquarters on Fifty-Third. Something about looking for plastic explosives.

He wished them happy searching.
The next morning when they opened his cell and waved him out, he managed, barely, not to

smirk. Of course, he schooled his features and showed the appropriate amount of respect
when he yanked open the precinct door and got blinded by the media cameras.

Another cop killer. Another Hispanic cop killer like that one over in East New York. He heard

the whisperings, but didn’t allow it to move him. He understood the hate-filled words, they were
justified. His actions brought Phelps to where he was at that place and time. And while he
wouldn’t shed any tears over the crooked cop, he would be making sure his killer didn’t get the
chance to hurt another family.

After showing his face at Fifty-Third to let everyone know he was okay, he headed over to

his townhouse. Ignoring the mess the cops made of his place, he bee-lined for the shower,
scrubbing away the filth of his brief stay with the NYPD.

Not too long ago, Angelo was the one in the hot seat with the press and New York’s finest

and Pablo had been on the streets, barely holding it together as he worried for his friend. He’d
been with Angelo through it all, the deaths and the lockups. Always at Angelo’s side, making
sure his friend knew how much Pablo cared without ever having to say the words. He’d thought
words weren’t needed.

He’d been wrong.
And now it was his turn to be persecuted, his turn up to bat, except there was no Angelo in

sight.

As he stepped out the shower, he shrugged away the thought. He could do it alone. That

way he’d owe no one and there’d be no one to let him down.

Again.
Though it was only a little past midday, he pulled on a pair of pajama bottoms and made his

way back downstairs. His eyes were gritty, he needed sleep, but his stomach growled. He
scrambled a couple eggs in a skillet and surprised himself by not burning the toast too badly.
He made a sandwich out of it, sprinkled some hot sauce on top, and scalded his tongue and the
roof of his mouth with the first bite.

“Fuck.” He gulped some orange juice and jumped when his phone rang. He eyed it like a

hissing snake on the countertop and cursed under his breath as his heartbeat increased. The
phone lay face down, he couldn’t see the caller’s identity, but he knew who he wished it was.

Just sex.
He snatched the phone up. Unknown number. “What?”
“Tsk. Tsk. Is that the way you normally answer the phone, Mr. Castillo, or is it just for me?”
Syren Rua’s purr skittered down Pablo’s spine and wouldn’t you know, his cock twitched.
“Make your fucking self known next time and I wouldn’t have to bark on your ass.”
“Hmm. Maybe I like your bark, although,” Syren paused, “I think the bites have it.”
Pablo grinned. He did enjoy the overtly sexual banter a call from Syren always entailed. “Did

you call just to get my dick hard or do you have news for me?”

“Both.” Syren chuckled. “I emailed you a file, should be in your inbox by now.”
Pablo walked into the dining room and opened his laptop where it sat on the table. He pulled

up his email and quickly downloaded the file. “All right. I have it.”

“I’ve been ordered to tell you to watch your fucking back.” Syren’s tone changed to somber

quickly. “And I second that, watch your fucking back.”

Pablo’s gut churned, but he forced a laugh. “Come on now, I’m a big boy. I’m an old veteran

at this.”

“Yeah?” Syren’s voice dipped. “That means you’ve learned a few moves, right?”
This time Pablo’s laugh was genuine. As gorgeous as Syren was, there was something in

the other man’s eyes that scared the hell out of him. “Trust me, you don’t want none of this.”

“Don’t I though?” Syren hung up.
Pablo shook his head with a grin before he quickly sobered. He had information on his

target. He opened the file and scanned it. Syren even included traffic cam photos. The man

was a fucking genius who deserved a kiss. Pablo eyed the man in the grainy black-and-white.

No beard. Thin as a stick, cheekbones sharp and prominent as if he’d been starved for

sustenance. He had some hair on his head, looked dark, but mostly around the base. The top
of his head was smooth.

Pablo knew what he looked like now, and he had the address of the room he rented in

Spanish Harlem. Even where he lay his head was calculated. He’d known the million-and-one
hoops Pablo would have to jump through before he even got to him.

Pablo sat back in his chair, eyes on the ceiling, arms crossed as he formulated his plan of

attack.

* * * * *

“Wassup, P?”
Pablo nodded and headed over to the group of men crowded around a pool table, cues in

hand, gazes trained on him. He understood the stares and the thick tension that suddenly
blanketed the basement.

It wasn’t every day the leader of Los P wandered into Latin King territory unprotected. The

two gangs weren’t enemies, but they weren’t friends either.

“What’s good, Eddie?” Pablo held out his hand.
Eddie Montoya grabbed his hand and pulled him into a brief hug. “Ain’t no thing, baby.”

Eddie stepped back with a wide grin and tugged on his collar. “You know me, pimping ice cold.
All the time, man.”

“I heard that.” Pablo looked around the smoke-filled room then brought his gaze back to

Eddie. “Listen, can we talk somewhere private?”

“Yeah. Yeah.” Eddie’s stare was openly curious, but he simply placed his cue down on the

pool table and waved away the men who moved when he did. “Follow me.”

Pablo remained a step behind Eddie as he opened a side door and entered a small room. A

small desk and chair occupied the tiny space that smelled of weed and dust. A computer sat on
the desk and a filing cabinet stood off to the side, overflowing with paper, a noisy fan on top.

Eddie sat behind the desk and Pablo stood with his hands at his side.
“What’s on your mind, P?” Eddie raised an eyebrow. “You look…tense.”
“There’s a man living inside your territory, I want access to him.” Eddie opened his mouth

with a frown and Pablo held up a hand. “Without questions.”

“You know that’s not gonna fly.” Eddie leaned forward. “I can’t just give you access to my

streets without question.”

Pablo shook his head. “You can and you will.”
“Oh?” Eddie’s brows shot to his nonexistent hairline. “What’s in it for me?”
“One million.” Pablo pushed away from the wall. “Half now, half when I’m done.”
Eddie laughed, not condescending, just…filled with mirth. “You know, y’all Los P mu’fuckers

need to let me in on the secrets of your success.”

“You in or out?” Pablo didn’t have time to shoot the fucking breeze with Eddie, not when his

quarry was so damn close. Besides, he knew Eddie and his crew weren’t hurting for the dough,
but hell, who couldn’t use more green?

Eddie got to his feet. “I’ll relieve you of the paper, of course, but you have twenty-four hours

beginning now and keep your shit on the down low. Got me?”

Pablo was already halfway out the door. “Got it,” he threw over his shoulder. Twenty-four

hours wasn’t necessary, he was all set for the showdown.

* * * * *

He used a nearby Dumpster as leverage to stand on, and pulled down the ladder to the fire

escape. The back alley of the apartment building smelled strongly of piss mixed with sewer and
he wrinkled his nose as he climbed up. He took his time, hands gloved, as he made his way to
the seventh-floor window.

He didn’t expect Eddie to turn his offer down, but he did heave a huge sigh of relief once he

handed over half the money. No one knew he was there, exactly the way he wanted it. Mateo
and Reggie would be all over him to watch his back and be careful and all that shit. He didn’t
need to be coddled, he needed to spill some fucking blood.

Only three people knew about this and two were nowhere close enough to interfere in his

business.

He reached the fifth floor and paused. Resting his hip against the rail, he eyed a window

leading into a deserted hallway and contemplated his move. If he chose that one he’d be going
through the front door. What about the window? His prey would be expecting both, right? He
should never leave him disappointed.

Pablo continued his climb, finally reaching the seventh floor. He tested the window there and

found it locked. So, not too easy then. He straightened and planted a booted foot through the
pane of glass.

Let that fucker know he was in the house. He didn’t wait for the shards of glass to stop

falling before he shoved his hand through and fiddled with the lock. He unlocked the window and
pushed up the frame then entered, feet first.

Glass crunched under his feet as he blinked in the darkness. Nothing moved. He pulled his

nine from his waistband and crept forward. Floorboards creaked under his weight. He ignored
it.

He’d already announced his presence.
His left eye caught a sliver of light and he twisted toward it.
Whoosh.
Instinct had him jumping back, but not fast enough. The blade sliced through his middle like

butter. He smothered a hiss of pain as his step faltered.

Fucking machete.
He squeezed the trigger, rapid-fire shots that hit only air. That bastard really was a slippery

fuck. He ducked behind an open door and refused to look down at his stomach. His guts could
be spilling out from all that burning pain, but he wasn’t going down until he got what he came
for. Pablo tightened his hold on his gun and stepped out from his hiding place.

The placed flooded with light.
His target stood with his back to the front door, a wide grin on his face, buck-naked, a

machete in each hand.

“Hello, son.”
The first time he’d heard that endearment from the man who’d fathered him. Pablo cocked

his head to the side. “You look crazy as hell, Alberto.”

His father’s grin widened, along with his eyes. “Took you long enough to come visit. I thought

I had to send you an engraved invite.” His Spanish accent was still thick, his voice still capable
of taking Pablo back to a bloodier time and place.

“You come back to kill me, Alberto?” Pablo crept closer. “You took your wife, now you’re

here for your son?”

Alberto nodded. “Thought did cross my mind.”
“I’ll have to disappoint. Again.”
Warm, sticky blood dripped down the inside of Pablo’s cargo pants. His fingers twitched on

the trigger as his vision swam. “So what you wanna do, Pop? You gonna put down them blades
and fight like a man for once?” He dropped a quick glance to the faded scar across his father’s
throat, then back to his face.

Alberto’s lips curved. “I think yes. One of us will die tonight, son.” His wild eyes narrowed.

“You think York’s man—what’s his name? Dev—will miss you?”

Pablo squeezed the trigger. Without a freaking thought. No way would that bastard bring up

Dev and still live. He aimed for the left shoulder first and blood sprayed as his father dropped to
one knee without a sound. The blade in his left hand clattered to the floor, but he still held on to
the other. Pablo aimed for the right shoulder as he walked closer on wobbly legs then fired.

Both knees on the floor now.
Alberto grunted. “You didn’t play fair.” His eyelids fluttered and his upper body swayed.
Pablo kicked away the machetes with a snort. “I’m your son.”
A sleepy smile bloomed on Alberto’s weathered face. ”Yes you are. And we both deal in

death.”

Pablo knocked him out with the butt of his gun. His father’s head jerked back then he fell

forward, facedown on the bloody floor.

Fucking idiot. Who in the hell brought machetes to a gun fight?
His knees buckled and he toppled over. Fuck. His stomach burned and he just knew he was

covered in blood.

Not good. He couldn’t feel his lower half anymore.
He dropped the gun and held his hand out in front of him, wincing as it trembled in and out of

focus. He fumbled around his pocket for a good two minutes before he finally got a firm grip on
his phone and pulled it out.

He rolled onto his side on the floor beside his father, laid the phone next to his ear and

commanded it to “call Mateo”.

Mateo answered after the second ring or maybe the fifth, Pablo lost a little bit of time there.
“What’s up, boss?”
“Teo,” he croaked then groaned. Damn, it hurt to speak.
“Boss?” Mateo grew louder. “Boss, what’s wrong?”
“Listen close.” He managed to rattle off Alberto’s address and apartment number after two

tries. “I’m hurt.” Breath whistled between his teeth. “Bad.”

Mateo swore.
“Come quickly, but don’t draw attention to yourselves,” Pablo whispered. “Bring cleaning

supplies.” He was aware of his voice fading, of Mateo yelling at him…and then he wasn’t.

Chapter Four

Dev swallowed a sneeze and tried folding himself deeper into the tight-ass closet. Through

the tiny crack in the door, he eyed York and his drug connect Swazie as they sat on opposite
sides of York’s desk, indulging in the same product they peddled.

The small mound of white powder stood out in the middle of the desk, growing smaller and

smaller as the two men took turns, heads bobbing, rolled-up dollar bills acting as funnels.

Guess those two had no qualms about getting high off their own supply.
Just his luck they’d come in while he was doing his snooping. He wanted answers for why

York insisted they only deal with Pablo Castillo on the recent gun transactions. While it was true
Los P had the monopoly on guns entering and leaving the East Coast by dealing directly with
the Brazilians, York could’ve easily avoided unnecessary conflict by stepping to the Jamaicans.

The Yardies ran a profitable organization out of Queens and would’ve had no problems

making that kind of deal. The move would’ve definitely put them and Los P at odds, but that
might have served as a bonus to York. Instead, he’d approached Castillo, a man he’d tried to
kill twice before. A man he loathed. It all came down to the client and Dev needed to know who
this Diego Martinez was. Castillo knew him, that was for damn sure.

And Dev never met a mystery he didn’t like. Of course, doing all this didn’t help his plan to

not think about that gangster fuck he had nearly a week ago.

The front of his jeans tightened and he fisted his hands, gritting his teeth to keep from

moving. He knew a gangster fuck when he got one—bare to almost no eye contact, all the
anger, all the pain-tinged pleasure. A selfish taking, one all about Castillo and his pleasure. And
his commanding brutality.

Dev hadn’t wanted to like it that much. He hadn’t wanted to go home and fuck his fist to the

memory of Castillo pounding into him, demanding Dev’s sounds as if they were Castillo’s own
personal playlist, but he did.

It didn’t escape him how deep he was, way too Goddamn deep, and he’d have to account

for all his sins sometime in the near future, but even after all that time he swore he still felt
Castillo inside him. A sweet, burning imprint marking his insides that had him ravenous for more.

More of that pain.
That brutality.
And maybe once more he’d hear that little sound, that surprised, strangled sound he knew

Castillo had no idea he’d uttered when he’d seated himself, balls-deep, inside Dev.

Sweat trickled down from his hairline into his eyes and Dev blinked then hissed at the burn.
Voices raised in the room outside his hot and stuffy hidey-hole.
“I’m telling you—” York inhaled, sharp and loud. “He’s a slippery bastard. He’s got the devil’s

own luck. No matter what I try, he always escapes unscathed.”

Dev leaned forward, carefully, pressing his right ear to the door in order to make out

Swazie’s quiet rumbling voice.

“You need something up close and personal. Hire some bitch to fuck him then slit his throat.”

Swazie chuckled. “Up ’til now you’ve broadcasted your shit, he can see you coming from a mile
away. Get a woman, they’re the deadlier sex.”

Had to be Castillo they were discussing. Too bad the female part of Swazie’s plan wouldn’t

work. Dev did wonder how Castillo kept his sexual preferences so tightly under wraps.

How come no one knew he liked men? He even had someone in Philly, someone he trusted,

or most likely too afraid of his wrath to double-cross him.

Should he warn Castillo that York had him in his crosshairs once again? A phone call would

take care of the matter real quick, but where would the fun be in that?

A loud crash outside the closet nearly had him jumping out and getting himself killed.
“Turn that shit up!”
York’s roar sent chills down Dev’s spine. He frowned as the TV that had been providing

background noise earlier was turned up full blast. A reporter was recounting the arrest of a
man, one Diego Martinez, in the Bronx.

Fuck!
The cops found a cache of weapons, guns and machetes, stuffed in hiding places all over

the man’s apartment along with plastic explosives and surveillance photos of a recently blown
up Brooklyn detective.

Jesus. Castillo had found him, whoever Diego Martinez was, and framed him. And Dev

helped.

He helped.
He dry heaved, the contents of his stomach rushing back up into his throat.
“Think he’s gonna be gunning for you next?” Swazie asked quietly. “He has to know you and

this Diego whoever were working together.”

“Let him come. Let that bastard come.” York’s voice trembled with rage. “Maybe it’s time I

do things myself, take care of him personal-like, put him in the ground alongside that dead
partner of his.”

“Sounds like a plan to me.” A loud sniff, then Swazie asked, “What’s his beef with this Diego

though?” His tone held just the right amount of curiosity and nonchalance.

“Who knows?” York barked. “Who the fuck cares? Diego approached me, said he wanted

guns and he wanted me to get them. He offered a hell of a lot of money so I bit my tongue
when he handed me a list and told me he only wanted Castillo to see it.”

“Personal,” Swazie muttered.
Fucking personal. And York was in the middle of it, taking all his men, including Dev, along

for the blood-soaked ride.

Fuck if I’m gonna wait around for the other shoe to drop.
By the time York and Swazie left the room in search of the willing women York promised,

Dev’s lower extremities were long numb. He waited an extra five minutes to make sure the
coast was clear then hightailed it out of York’s place via the secret door no one was supposed
to know existed.

On the drive from Staten Island to Brooklyn, he allowed the anger to grow and fester. Anger

at himself, he couldn’t blame Castillo for doing what he probably always did—use people. He
used Dev to get to Diego Martinez and then he killed a cop—a Goddamn cop—and framed
another man.

Nice guy, that Castillo. Real stand-up guy.
Dev scowled at himself in the rearview mirror.
Yeah, nice guy he had a hard-on for.

He was headed into Los P territory with only a SIG P226 as backup, about to confront a

known killer. Not the least of the stupid shit he’d done today.

He’d never been to the Los P headquarters before, but he made it a point to know where it

was. And it wasn’t as if Castillo and the rest kept that place a secret, but he still parked three
blocks away and walked over there with his shoulders hunched and a ball cap pulled low to
avoid being noticed.

A crowd of people sat out on the stoop, talking and laughing, while loud music and smoke

drifted outside through the open front door. Any hopes he had of slipping by unnoticed
evaporated when a man separated from the crowd and walked toward him.

Castillo’s man, Mateo.
“Yo, man, you lost or something?” He grabbed Dev’s shoulder and squeezed. Hard. “You

must not know where you at, son.”

Dev shrugged away from him and eyed the few approaching men warily. “I know where I

am and I don’t want any trouble.” He held up his hands, palms out.

Mateo raked him with a suspicious gaze. “Yeah? What you want then, York send you on a

scouting mission?” His lips quirked slightly.

Dev shook his head. “I just— I want to talk to Castillo.”
“He ain’t expecting you.”
“And you know this how?” Dev crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow.
“’Cause I’m in charge of his social calendar,” Mateo said. “You’re not on it.”
“Look, you can search me.” Dev held his arms out wide and turned in a slow circle. “I just

want five minutes with him then I’m gone.” For good, because close proximity to Pablo Castillo
was bad for his health, not to mention his heart.

Mateo took way too long patting Dev down in his opinion, but he remained silent and simply

shrugged when Mateo pulled his gun from his ankle holster with a raised eyebrow.

“Follow me,” Mateo instructed. “I’ll see if he wants to be bothered with your suicidal ass.”
Dev didn’t hide his smile. He followed Mateo up the stairs and into the house. Soon as they

cleared the threshold, the smells of weed, alcohol and sex assaulted Dev’s nose.

He coughed and Mateo chuckled. “It’s a party in here,” the other man said, “and you’re

interrupting.” He waved a hand at the room and Dev blinked.

Through the thick layer of smoke he made out the bodies. Writhing.
In pairs, multiples even. Everywhere, on the floor, the table, up against the wall.
Fucking.
The sounds, moans and groans, blended with the pumping music that echoed in his groin.
“Yo, boss!” Mateo yelled above the noise and Dev jerked his gaze away from the people

humping.

It took a second, but he finally made out Castillo in the far side of the smoky room. He sat

back on the couch, clad only in jeans, his upper half bare. A woman sat next to him, naked
except for a red thong.

Oh fuck no! Dev balled his fists and rocked back on his heels. That didn’t work for him, not

one bit.

“Boss, you have a visitor,” Mateo shouted.
Castillo lifted his head, his slumberous gaze zeroing on Dev with ease. They locked eyes

and Dev swore the noise dimmed, everyone else disappeared. It was only the two of them and
in Castillo’s gaze he read all the things the other man didn’t say, he saw all the things Castillo
wanted to do to him.

To keep from dropping trou in a room full of horny gang members, Dev reminded himself of

the reason he’d come all that way. Deliver a message, tell Castillo off for using him then go on
his merry way.

But the damn man was undressing him with hungry eyes, fucking him with that hard and

impenetrable gaze. His cock liked it.

A lot.
Castillo didn’t break their stare-off, but his lips moved and the woman next to him turned her

attention to Dev with a pretty pout, showing off gorgeous tits and a body made to fuck. Castillo
got to his feet, his thick length clearly outlined against his jeans, and Dev walked toward him,
but he couldn’t help wondering, was the hard-on for him or the naked woman?

He stepped over a couple going at the good-old sixty-nine and didn’t stop walking until he

stood chest to chest with Castillo. A large white bandage covered Castillo’s left side. Along with
both arms, his entire chest and torso was covered in tattoos, some in red, green and gold,
others just green, like the phrase in script over his heart, Mierda el amor. He was hairless
except for the hairs on his crotch, Dev knew. Those were trimmed short.

Damn. Dev overheated at the remembered feel of Pablo on his tongue. “We need to talk.”

Fucking man smelled good; like sex and sweat and soap. Dev swallowed a moan.

“We can do that here.” Castillo’s gaze was inscrutable, but tension radiated off him.
Dev was shaking his head before Castillo finished. “Hell no, we can’t.”
Castillo grunted, but he turned away. “Come on.”
Dev followed blindly as Castillo climbed a staircase, his gaze stuck to Castillo’s ass in his

jeans. Nice ass. An ass he wanted to fuck.

Hard.
“Shit.”
Castillo waved him into a room at the top of the stairs then locked the door. “What’s the

emergency?”

Dev frowned and opened his mouth to ask about the bandage, but shook his head. “You

used me,” he said instead.

“Which time?” Both Castillo’s tone and eyes mocked him.
“You used me to find a man and then you framed him!” Jesus, the bastard stood in front of

him so smug and self-righteous. “You framed him for killing that cop. The cop you killed.”

Castillo advanced on him, stalking. “You give me way too much credit, pretty boy.”
“Diego Martinez, you son of a bitch!” Dev embraced the anger, it was much safer than

desire. “You used me to find him!”

Castillo stared at him silently, inches away, close enough for his breath to scald Dev’s face.

They stood like that, in silence, until Castillo spoke again.

“This is what you came all the way out here for?” He licked his lips and Dev dropped his

gaze to eyeball them. They glistened.

“I think not.” Castillo moved in closer, tighter. “I think you came because you want more.” He

leaned down and brushed his lips over Dev’s, light and fleeting, but enough to make him

tremble.

Dev’s dick pulsed in time to his quick heartbeats.
“What did you come for?” Castillo’s lips hovered near Dev’s as he whispered, “Because I

think your mind was somewhere else when you stepped inside, downstairs. When you saw
Piper next to me.”

It was Dev’s turn to lick his lips. “I—” Waves of heat washed over him as Castillo spoke.
“I think you wished you were the one there, naked.”
A sound escaped Dev, a moan. Maybe a whimper. He cleared his throat and found his voice

long enough to rasp, “Fuck you.”

Castillo chuckled. “‘No.” He pushed Dev with both hands and he stumbled back against the

door. He pressed up against Dev, his arousal hard and heavy between them. “I’m fucking you.”
He gripped Dev’s hair, pulled his head back. “Again. It’s what you want, isn’t it?” He licked
Dev’s throat, nipped. “What you came for?”

Words and breath gurgled in Dev’s throat. “Yes,” he croaked. He rubbed against Castillo,

sinking his fingers into the other man’s upper arms. “Yes.”

Oh fuck!
Castillo kissed him then, a swift possession of tongue and teeth, eating away at Dev’s

mouth as he unbuttoned his jeans with one hand.

So good. Castillo tasted so good, heady and addicting. Dev squeezed his eyes shut and

held on tight, rocking on the cock pressed against his. Small sounds escaped his throat, but
Castillo swallowed them.

Dev sank into the kiss, the way Castillo used his tongue drew shivers and goose bumps.

Man could kiss. Already Dev wanted to come, blow his Goddamn load like a fucking kid.

Warm fingers grazed his hip, tugged down his jeans and he moaned when the cool air

caressed his wet cock head. “Ugghh.” Castillo fisted him, stroked from root to tip.

Oh.
Castillo stroked him just so, just right, his thumb brushing over Dev’s crown, distributing his

juices. Dev’s eyes rolled back behind his closed eyelids as the snick snick of Castillo’s
ministrations echoed in his head and his hips rolled with each stroke.

An expert hand, urging him toward the edge. As if Castillo knew Dev’s body more than he

did. He thrust into Castillo’s hand faster and faster.

Right there.
God.
Castillo’s other hand moved from Dev’s hair and slid down his back, cupped an ass cheek.

Dev tensed. Blunt fingers sank into his skin and he growled. Castillo smiled against his lips,
trailed a finger down his crack.

Oh shit.
One finger circled his hole, teased him. Dev held Castillo tighter, thrust harder into his palm.

That finger pressed in.

And in.
Dev’s eyes watered. So good. Pure pleasure in the front, in Castillo’s warm, rough palm,

more in the back, riding that sharp edge of pain. His mind couldn’t decide what to do, thrust
forward or push back.

Castillo eased in a second finger and the decision was made for him. His body and mind let

go and he erupted with a muted shout, spilling into Castillo’s palm. The other man never
stopped kissing him, never let go until Dev’s rocking hips stilled.

They stayed locked in place, Castillo’s fingers inside Dev, until Dev gathered the strength to

move. He shifted away from Castillo, kicking off his jeans as he eyed the bed in the room for
the first time.

“I want you to fuck me.” He didn’t look at Castillo. “Here. Now. Like you did before.” His

arms trembled as he pulled his t-shirt over his head. No going back. His ass felt so empty. He
needed.

Dev flung the t-shirt away and managed not to jump when an arm circled his neck from

behind. Castillo held him still and bit his earlobe.

“You sure about this, pretty boy?” He’d obviously stripped naked because his hard cock

nudged Dev’s crack, skin hot and satiny. “Be sure.”

Dev arched his back and wiggled. The cock against his ass pulsed. Castillo’s breath hitched

and his hold on Dev tightened.

Dev held up the condom he’d fished out of his jeans pocket. “I’m sure.”
“Middle of the bed,” Castillo growled. “Ass in the air.” He slapped Dev on the ass then

moved away, disappearing into the bathroom.

Dev did as ordered, fire raging on his skin, heart thudding. He got on all fours, face buried in

the soft pillows as his sensitive cock grazed the sheets. God. He shivered, anticipation a knot in
his craw. His erection drooled, his balls ached, and his ass clenched at the empty air.

God. He was coming out of his skin. He turned his head when he heard Castillo come back

in, watched with parted lips and heavy eyelids as the other man suited up with the condom then
used the small bottle of lube he carried to slick up.

Dev’s teeth chattered. He curled his numb fingers around the sheet as he watched Castillo

stroke himself.

Root to tip, all leisurely, as if he didn’t see Dev on his knees on the bed, wanting. Needing.

Dying.

Fucking torture.
A whimper escaped him and Castillo jerked his head up. Motion was a blur then Castillo was

on the bed, on his knees behind Dev, blunt nails sinking into his hips as he grabbed him and
yanked him back.

Dev’s shivers turned into full-on tremors.
“You hungry, pretty boy?” Castillo’s low snarl heated Dev’s nape. His cock nestled between

his crack as Castillo humped him, nice and slow.

Not enough. He wasn’t inside.
Dev clawed the sheet, pushing back, frustrated sounds leaving his throat.
“This what you want?” Castillo positioned himself, cock head at Dev’s empty entrance,

teasing. “Speak your piece, tell me what you want.”

“Fuck me, you bastard.” Dev pushed back against him. “Just…fuck me.” Please. It’d been

too long since this. Since Castillo.

“Like this?” Castillo slammed into him.
Dev pitched forward, face mashed in the headboard. His ass hurt. But Castillo was inside

him. And he’d taken all Dev’s air.

“This is what you want?” Castillo reared back and rammed in, again and again. “Me

pounding into you? Me using you like this?” A sharp gasp-inducing thrust accompanied his
questions.

Dev’s tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, he couldn’t speak. He could only make loud,

needy sounds, but in his mind he was yelling, Yes! Fuck me. Use me.

“Cat got your tongue, pretty boy?” Castillo railed away at Dev, canting his hips, hitting his

spot, creating flashes of light behind Dev’s closed eyelids. Castillo circled his throat with an arm
pressed against his trachea. Using that hold as leverage, he yanked Dev upward until he was
kneeling.

Dev felt Castillo’s thudding heartbeat where the man pressed up against him, his back to

Castillo’s front, both of them already slick with sweat.

Castillo licked his ear, nipped him. “Thought you wanted me to fuck you, pretty boy. A

minute ago you were demanding it.” He stopped moving and Dev clenched.

Castillo grunted.
“You know you got the tightest ass?” Castillo whispered. “It’s strangling my fucking dick and

I love it. Love how needy and hungry you are.” He pulled out slowly, exquisitely, then drove
back in.

“Ah. God.” Dev anchored himself to the arm around his neck and moved, attempting to ride

the cock trying to split him in two. “Castillo,” he panted. “Please.”

“Please what, Dev?” Castillo surged into him over and over, banging on his prostate.

“Please what?”

“Please…” Dev licked his lips. “Fuck me. Take me. Make me— Make—”
“Make you come?” Castillo asked. He cupped Dev’s balls, squeezed.
The fire intensified. Spread.
Dev threw his head back, lolling on Castillo’s sweaty shoulder. “Yes.” Castillo stroked Dev’s

dripping cock in time with his thrusts. Dev alternated between riding the cock in his ass and
fucking Castillo’s fist. The other man’s thumb swiped over his wet crown, then his pinky dipped
into Dev’s slit.

God!
Dev couldn’t stop shaking, couldn’t stop babbling, begging Castillo to fuck him raw and mark

him, as that pinky split his cock down the middle and Castillo drilled his spot.

Orgasm was right there.
“Yes! God, you fucker.” He bowed and Castillo had him. Wide open, sobbing like a girl as

the climax took him. “Bastard,” he shouted. “Don’t stop.” Castillo’s pace sped up, Dev’s cream
spilling into his palm. Castillo didn’t stop, his movements didn’t falter.

His grunts surrounded Dev, his arms, his body, sweaty and slick, held him caged in. Kept

him prisoner as Castillo took what Dev gave so freely. What he’d never given anybody else.

Dev’s eyes burned. He reached down, fumbled for Castillo’s hand and brought it to his

mouth, licking away his cum, sucking on those fingers flavored with his salt and bitter, and
Castillo.

He rocked back, clenched, and Castillo’s breath hitched. He felt Castillo’s heart rate speed

up as his cock jerked inside him and liquid heat teased at his senses. And there, lips pressed to

Dev’s nape, Castillo let go. Dev collapsed onto the bed and Castillo fell with him, on top of him,
still inside him and Dev caught it, that helpless, strangled sound Castillo made.

A vulnerable sound that dampened Dev’s eyes.
Castillo had demanded Dev’s sounds the last time they went at it, but it was Dev who’d

become addicted to that one glimpse into the real Juan Pablo Castillo. He had no doubt Castillo
had no idea he’d allowed a chink in his armor to show.

Dev wanted to blast down those walls around Castillo and find the real man beneath it all.

And he was the worst sort of hypocrite, talking about smashing down walls.

He grunted at himself and Castillo shifted off him, pulling out while holding the condom in

place. Dev remained on his stomach, burning limbs locked in place, ass sore as Castillo
trudged into the bathroom.

A thump from downstairs brought reality crashing in. A house full of gang members and here

he was, all sense of motion fucked out of him. And he’d most likely outed Castillo.

Oh fuck! He jerked to a sitting position and yelled. “Ow, crap!” Fucking ass hurt. Damn. Had

Castillo’s people heard him, them? He eyed his clothes discarded on the floor and cursed. He
felt as if he’d been hit by a Goddamn freight train.

“Going somewhere?” Castillo entered the bedroom, wet washcloth in hand, seemingly at

ease in all his naked, tattooed glory, cock at half mast.

Dev couldn’t help the eye fuck, couldn’t stop drooling. Damn, he’d had that in his mouth.

Under his stare, the thick shaft lengthened, shifted. He looked up into Castillo’s amused gaze.

“You continue to look at me like that and you won’t be walking out of here on your own

power. You want that?” Without waiting for an answer, he climbed back onto the bed and
pushed at Dev’s shoulder. “Lie back.”

Dev licked his lips and did as commanded, gaze locked on Castillo as the other man used

the wet rag to wipe Dev’s cock and balls. Breath hissed between Dev’s teeth at the first
contact of cold on his sensitive skin and he tensed, but Castillo made a soft sound, reassuring
and warm. He smoothed his available hand up and down Dev’s thighs as he cleaned him. It
wasn’t sexual, not overtly, but Dev couldn’t help stiffening under Castillo’s touch.

When he finished, Castillo dropped the rag onto the floor and held out a hand. Dev took it

and allowed himself to be pulled back into a sitting position. They sat facing each other on the
bed, in silence.

Castillo’s eyes were inscrutable, but he touched Dev’s face with reverent fingers. “Got what

you needed?”

Not even close. Dev opened his mouth. Closed it then nodded. The corner of Castillo’s

mouth curved. “What—” Dev swallowed. “What about you?”

Castillo nodded then it was back to staring at each other.
Somewhere outside, someone shouted for Mateo and Dev stiffened, remembered. “Your

people. Are you— Do they know? Fuck.” He reached for Castillo and gripped his hand. “Did I—
Did I out you?””

“No. Those who need to know, do.” Castillo shrugged easily enough, but Dev caught the

strain around his mouth. “In any case, I’ll deal with that later. We need to talk.”

Dev straightened. “About what?”
Castillo moved then, lying back against the pillows, staring up at the ceiling. “About your

other reason for coming here tonight. Your accusations.”

Jesus. Not now. Dev didn’t want to know what happened. He didn’t want any more

knowledge of Castillo’s sins than he already had, but he kept quiet. And listened.

“There’s no reason for you to feel guilty about Diego Martinez,” Castillo said softly. “You

didn’t do anything.”

Well, that wasn’t true. Frowning, Dev opened his mouth, but Castillo waved a hand.
“I knew his identity the instant York handed me that piece of paper in the diner. I just

needed confirmation.”

Dev cleared his throat. “And I gave you that.” His voice was hoarse.
“No. I had confirmation long before that, Dev.” He rolled onto his side, facing Dev. “You

didn’t tell me anything I didn’t already know.”

“So who is he and why did you frame him?” Dev clenched his fists as he asked the foul-

tasting questions. He needed those answers, he realized. More than anything, he wanted a
reason for what Juan Pablo Castillo did. Who he was and what he stood for. There had to be a
reason Dev was attracted, more than the physical, more than the—

“He was my father.”
Dev blinked. And blinked again. “Wh-what?”
“His real name is Juan Alberto Cesar and he was my father. He murdered my mother.”
Jesus. Dev gaped at Castillo, so cool and calm, his expression unreadable.
“You ever seen someone skinned alive, pretty boy? It’s indescribable. Try being fifteen and

walking in as your father is going at your mother with a Ginsu blade.”

Dev’s stomach rolled. He choked, but didn’t make a sound. Castillo was looking at him, but

not at him, his eyes were turned inward and they were haunted.

“I held her in my arms, watched the life bleed out of her,” Castillo said. His voice was cold,

dripping ice chips.

Dev shuddered and rubbed his forearms.
“And as the light dimmed in her eyes, you know she begged for my forgiveness?” His

chuckle jacked up the hairs on Dev’s nape. “She apologized for bringing him into our lives, for
dirtying up the kitchen, because father dearest was a clean freak. Of the first order. And our
entire kitchen was done in white. Pristine white. Her blood was an obscene color next to all
that…clean.”

“I don’t need to know more.” Dev swallowed and reached toward Castillo, tracing the other

man’s jaw. “Castillo.”

“He disappeared before the cops came. He’s good at that. Disappearing. And I’ve been

hunting him since I turned eighteen. Bastard turned it into a game.” His jaw clenched. “I’d get
close and he’d disappear. I found him in New Mexico the last time, just enough time to hold him
with a garrote, ask why finally.”

“Stop.” Dev shook his head, swallowing the tears in his throat. “Castillo, you don’t need to

go back there.”

Those dark eyes focused on Dev like red-hot laser beams. “He killed her because she

wanted to leave. Take me away from him. He was unstable, losing his grip on reality. He
thought everyone was out to get him, kill him. Everyone like my mother. Like me. He killed
Phelps to show me that he could. I had to deal with him once and for all otherwise he’d kill me.”
He gestured to the bandage.

“Jesus.” Thank God Castillo hadn’t been the one who killed that cop. Dev grabbed Castillo’s

hands, clutched his cold fingers and Castillo held him even tighter.

“I’m still there, in that kitchen. Surrounded by blood.” He shook his head. “Always

surrounded by blood. I am my father’s son. My mother was sorry for meeting him, marrying
him, having his child. This was hers.” Castillo fingered the silver chain around his neck. “And
this?” He touched the lips tattooed on his neck. “Her last kiss.”

Castillo’s voice cracked then and Dev went to him. He circled his shoulders, kissed his neck,

kissed the tattoo.

“If she didn’t have me she’d be alive.”
“No. No.” Dev shook him. “Don’t do that, don’t think it.” He hauled Castillo upright, took him

back into his arms. “Don’t say that,” Dev whispered. He caught Castillo’s face in his hands,
forced his lover to meet his gaze. “I don’t think it’s true, that’s not what she meant at all.” He
brushed his lips over Castillo’s. “Just get that thought out of your head.”

Castillo just stared at him and Dev grabbed his shoulders, shaking him harder. “You hear

me?” Castillo shuddered and Dev kissed him, soft and tender on the lips. “You no longer have
to be back there, so come back. Stay here. Be here. With me.”

Castillo made a sound and Dev pushed his way inside, sinking into Castillo’s mouth, stroking

him with his tongue. At first Castillo didn’t respond, but Dev stayed with him, tasting him, flicking
his tongue over his teeth and gums. He nipped at his bottom lip, caught it between his teeth.

Castillo moaned, his strong arms pulled Dev closer then he found himself on his back,

staring up into those arresting eyes. This time Castillo initiated the kiss, turning it into something
hot and wild that had Dev writhing against him, legs widening so Castillo could settle between.

Castillo broke the kiss abruptly. “Love your fucking mouth.”
“Yeah?” Dev grinned, back sliding along the sheets as he rubbed on Castillo. “Kiss me then.”
The man practically attacked him, grinding his hard-on against Dev’s hip, fingers pulling at

Dev’s hair as he used his tongue and teeth to strip Dev raw, leave him exposed and bleeding on
the inside.

Dev clawed at Castillo’s naked back. Thrills of heat trailed down his spine. He lifted his legs,

wrapped them around Castillo’s waist and hung on. Their cocks slid along each other, pre-cum
making them slick.

“Ah!” Castillo threw his head back. “You feel so damn good. God!”
In response, Dev cupped Castillo’s taut ass cheeks and pulled him in closer. Castillo bent,

his tongue flicking over the tip of Dev’s nose and tracing his bottom lip, before dipping inside.

“Uggh.” Dev squeezed his eyes shut and rolled his hips. Too fucking good. He wanted to

come again. To come on Castillo. And for him.

“Boss, you in there?” A knock sounded on the bedroom door.
Dev tensed.
“Boss, we need to talk.”
That was definitely Mateo.
Castillo bit out a curse and rolled off Dev.
Dev sighed. Reality was a bitch. “Guess later has arrived.”
Castillo grunted.
“I’ll get dressed and leave so you can do what you gotta do.” He got off the bed and hastily

pulled his clothes on while Castillo watched. When he finished he sat at the edge of the bed and
tugged on his boots. The bed moved and Castillo hopped off. With Dev looking on, he stepped
into the pair of jeans he had on earlier and opened the door.

Shit.
Lucky for them, only Mateo was out there and he stepped inside without batting an eye.

“Sorry for the interruption, boss. I figured we should do this before the party downstairs starts
winding down and people start sobering up.”

Castillo rubbed a hand over his scalp with a nod. Fuck, that was Dev’s cue to make his ass

scarce. He jumped to his feet and checked his watch. Damn, barely ten p.m. “All right. I’m out.”

Castillo snapped his head up. “Teo, give us a minute.” He held Dev’s gaze as Mateo slipped

back out the door and closed it softly behind him.

“You got plans for the rest of the night?”
Castillo stalked him, but Dev held his ground. “Uh, no.” He just had one very important phone

call to make.

Castillo’s hand shot out and shackled Dev’s wrist. “Spend the night with me.”
Honest-to-God goose bumps broke out on Dev’s skin. He licked his lips and tried not to

sound too eager. “Is that a good idea?”

“No.” Castillo’s mouth curved. “But let’s do it anyway.”
“I’ll have to leave early.” Dev couldn’t believe he was even contemplating this…suicide

mission.

Castillo moved real close and brushed his lips over Dev’s. “That a yes?”
It’s a hell fucking yes! He nodded demurely. “Yes.”
“Good.” Castillo stepped back while fishing in his pockets. “Here.” He threw a set of keys at

Dev as he rattled off an address. “Wait there for me.”

“Where is that address?” Dev wasn’t all that familiar with Brooklyn.
“Park Slope. Use GPS.” Castillo turned and opened the door.
“Cool, I’ll be waiting.” He stepped past, locking eyes with Mateo as Castillo’s soldier

reentered the room. The door closed behind him with a sharp click. Dev paused, took a breath.

“So you’re fucking him?” he heard Mateo ask and Dev walked away before he could make

out Castillo’s low rumblings.

Chapter Five

Pablo cocked his head and sized up Mateo. The other man didn’t seem upset, violence

wasn’t visible in his body language, but one could never be too careful. He removed his hands
from his pockets and nodded.

“Yeah.”
Mateo tensed. Eyes narrowed, he scowled. “All this time you’ve been getting it on with one

of York’s men?”

Pablo bristled at the censure in Mateo’s voice. “Watch yourself, Teo. I have not been getting

it on with him all this time.”

“So what is it?” Mateo sat on the edge of the bed. “I thought you wanted to keep your

personal shit far away from here?” He waved a hand at the room. “What happened to no
playing around close to home?”

Straight out the fucking window, that’s where the hell that idea went. He’d come clean with

the men closest to him when he took over Los P. The men watching his back had to know
upfront about his preferences. Mateo and the rest didn’t take it too hard, after all Mateo was
bisexual, but Pablo had made sure to keep any bedroom action out of Brooklyn and New York.
He’d gone all the way to Philly to keep his shit under wraps. He trusted his men to keep his
secret the same way they trusted him to look out for them, to protect them.

He’d given them no reason to doubt his sincerity.
Until now.
Pablo braced his shoulder against the closed bedroom door and stared at Mateo. “Look,

Dev is… I like Dev. He’s York’s man, yes, but I don’t think that’s where his loyalties lie.”

“You think they lie with you?”
He barked a laugh. “Fuck no. We’re not in a relationship or anything like that. We’re just

fucking around.” Wow. An ache in his chest shortened his breath for a second and he blinked
rapidly.

Mateo raised an eyebrow. “Do you want to use him to take down York?”
Never. “No. We deal with York head on.” Dev had two strikes against him, Pablo knew that

from reading his file. If ever he fell back into the hands of the cops, pretty boy would never see
the light of day. Pablo couldn’t do that to him, couldn’t involve him in something Pablo should
have handled a long time ago.

“The plan tonight is a go then?”
“It’s a go.” He had Reggie and a few of the other men on the trail of one of York’s couriers.

Dealers never learn, all one had to do was follow the couriers and be led to the stash-house.
Finding a stash-house meant hitting the payload, money, drugs and whatever merchandise York
and his men were into. Maybe get the identity of more than one of his associates too. For now,
cutting York off at the knees by snatching his money was the goal.

Money was the only thing that got a man like York’s dick hard.
“What’s happening downstairs?” he asked.
Mateo chuckled and got to his feet. “What do you think is happening? Everyone’s high off

that sour diesel and sex.”

A Friday evening barbecue had turn into a full-fledged fuck-fest in the blink of an eye. Pablo

wasn’t a big fan of it, but he figured better that than the men getting bored and going out
making trouble. The weed and sex would tire everyone out and have them out cold way into the
next day.

“No one saw Dev down there, did they?” The last thing they needed was for York to know

just where Dev was spending his evenings.

“Tommy and Freddo saw him. Piper too.” Mateo pursed his lips. “She could be a problem.”
Ain’t that the truth. “Watch her.” He pulled his t-shirt over his head and sat to put on his

boots. “Call me when Reggie and them get back. The second they get back.”

“Yes, boss.”
He frowned up at Mateo, who simply grinned. “Fucker.” He straightened and stomped out

the room.

“Say hi to the fella for me.” Mateo laughed behind him and Pablo shot him the bird over his

shoulder.

He escaped the house via the back entrance and made his way to his car. Dev was in his

house, waiting for him.

Shit. Just the thought had him hard and aching. He didn’t expect to have another shot with

Dev, but the instant their eyes met through the veil of smoke, he’d known. Something had
changed.

His happiness at seeing the other man again was a giveaway in itself, but the look in Dev’s

eyes when he saw Piper so close to Pablo, the sounds he made when Pablo was inside him—
they changed everything. Telling Dev about his past, about Alberto and his mother changed
everything. He’d only ever discussed that part of his life with Angelo.

He’d planned to stay away from Dev, but the other man was in his house and soon he’d be

between Pablo’s sheets. He could take this, this time he had with Dev, and enjoy it. They had
intensity, a chemistry neither appeared able to deny. They should enjoy each other while they
had the chance.

He had every intention of doing that.
York would shit bricks if he knew Pablo had one of his men in his bed, on his hands and

knees begging for it. But he’d never find out. Dev was personal. And York was business that
needed to be dealt with once and for all.

There weren’t any cars parked in front his house when he pulled up. His gut tightened.

Maybe Dev decided not to stay the night. It doesn’t matter. It’s for the best. He repeated that
over and over again as he pulled into his private garage. Dev’s loss. He added that to the other
and ran it on a loop around his head as he entered his townhouse through the garage.

In the dark kitchen he dropped his keys and phone on the table and walked through the

house, turning on the lights as he went. He pulled off his jacket and slung it across the back of
the couch. Dev’s scent clung to him, his skin, his clothes. The man smelled like hot summer sun
mixed with sweat and sex. Pablo figured he could easily forget his name, lose his mind over
that scent.

The stairs behind him creaked. He yanked his gun from his waistband and spun, finger

steady on the trigger.

His heart tripped.
Dev stood a couple feet away from him, water dripping from his hair, one of Pablo’s towels

knotted around his hips. Where Dev’s face and arms were dark from the sun, his torso was a

lighter shade, with a scattering of dark hair for decoration. His build was leaner than Pablo’s.

Pablo licked his lips.
Dev moved down the stairs slowly, the front of the white towel tented, a knowing half smile

on his face.

Jesus. He’d been so wrong.
It mattered.
“You’re here.” Wow. Look at him, stating the obvious.
“Where else would I be?” That husky tone broke over his skin like a cool wave on a hot July

day.

And it mattered.
“I didn’t see your car—”
“I parked the next block over.” Dev finally stood before him, scant inches away, the heat of

his recent shower and Pablo’s soap teasing Pablo’s nose. “I took a shower.”

Boy, they really were all about the obvious tonight.
“Yeah.”
Their eyes met, held. Clung really. Caressed too. Dev’s dark orbs were dilated, his lips red

and swollen. Pablo ached to touch him, but he couldn’t make himself breach the last couple
inches between them.

“This is your home,” Dev said hoarsely.
Huh. “Uh, yes.”
Something flashed in Dev’s eyes. Something soft yet haunted, there one moment, gone the

next.

“Your home,” Dev said again. “You gave me the keys to the place where you lay your

fucking head.” He cupped Pablo’s jaw, stroked him until Pablo’s dick took note and stood
ready. “Why? How could you do that?”

Normally he wouldn’t. He didn’t. But this was Dev and Dev…
Mattered.
Dev’s gaze bored into him and Pablo swallowed, found his voice. “Only you. I could do it

only for you.”

The hand caressing his face shook, barely, slightly, but he felt it and Pablo captured Dev’s

hand in his.

“Dev.”
“I need to tell you something.” Dev swallowed audibly. His face had gone hard, his eyes

blank and Pablo didn’t like it.

He swept his hand down Dev’s chest and cupped him through the towel. “That kind of talking

comes later.” Dev’s lips parted and just like that, Pablo knew everything that was going on in his
head. Dev’s cheeks darkened and his eyelids fluttered, but Pablo caught the heat and the need.

“Look at me,” he growled. Dev’s eyes grew wider. “Tell me what you want me to do.” He

removed the towel and stepped back. Dev’s thick shaft flushed an angry red, the crown swollen
and wet as thick veins bulged. Pablo tapped the leaking slit with the pad of his index then
brought it to his mouth.

Dev moaned and swayed.

“Tell me.”
Dev physically gathered himself. His nostrils flared and he licked his lips then sat on the arm

of the couch with his legs spread. With his eyes on Pablo, he stroked his cock as a muscle in
his jaw ticked. “I want you on your knees.” His tone was low but strong, commanding.

Pablo’s cock jumped.
“I want to feed you my dick and watch you suck me.”
Pablo damn near came in his pants. His mouth salivated at the thought of tasting Dev, taking

him in his mouth. He made a sound and Dev’s breath hitched as he stroked.

“I want to come down your throat…” Dev paused, looked him square in the eye. “And on

your face.”

Pablo’s knees hit the floor. God. He buried his face in Dev’s groin, inhaling his musk. With

Dev’s hand on his nape, he nuzzled the other man’s balls, rubbing his nose all over them. Above
him, Dev panted and Pablo circled the hard shaft, stroking the satin length. Heat poured off Dev
in drugging waves, fucking with Pablo’s mind. He tilted his head back, took a deep breath then
bent, taking Dev to the back of his throat.

“Fuck! Fuck!” Dev bucked into his mouth, ass lifting off the couch as his fingers dug into

Pablo’s shoulder blade. “Yes. Suck me.”

Pablo did, relaxing his throat muscles and taking more and more of Dev until his nose was

plastered to his lover’s short-and-curlies. Pre-cum slid down his throat, but he couldn’t taste it,
could only feel as Dev pulsed against his throat. Dev rolled his hips and Pablo pulled back, eyes
sliding shut at the wet suction as his throat released its prize.

He loved it, sucking cock, the feel of it against his tongue, his throat. Loved it, but here

today, it mattered more. Dev shifted backward until only his crown remained inside Pablo’s
mouth then he pushed in, rough.

Pablo moaned and cupped Dev’s balls. He’d been in this position once before, only once,

because he trusted no one that much. No one.

Until tonight.
“You’re good at that,” Dev rasped above him. “Good at sucking cock, Castillo.”
Pablo moaned at the praise and doubled his efforts. He used his slick fingers to trace Dev’s

hole, groaning as Dev did. The tiny entrance fluttered for him and he gave up his cock sucking
to move lower. He took one of Dev’s wrinkled sacs in his mouth and rolled the other around in
his palm while his other hand played with his entrance, dipping his index into that tight passage.

Dev rocked into him. “Yes, eat my balls. Just like that. Make me come all over you.”
Pablo shuddered and pushed two fingers inside Dev.
“Ugh.” Dev pushed back, taking him deep, muscles hot and tight and unrelenting. “More.

Fuck me hard. Make me spill on your face.”

Okay, that filthy fucking mouth was working for him. Big time. Pablo’s dick pounded in time

to his heartbeat. He rammed three fingers into Dev, curved them and scraped that spot.

“Son of a bitch!” Dev leaped upright and pushed Pablo’s hand away from his dick.
Pablo fell backward as Dev stroked himself over him. He watched, eyes wide, ready,

waiting as his heartbeat ratcheted higher and higher.

“Get over here,” Dev commanded as if through gritted teeth and Pablo did.
He moved closer and covered Dev’s hand with his, helped him move up and down on his

cock.

“Jesus. Gonna come on your face,” Dev growled. “Mark you.” His breath hitched and seed

shot, hitting Pablo in the nose.

Fucker was a shooter.
He could only moan and shudder as he came in his pants. Dev painted his face with his

cream, hitting his eyes too. Pablo opened his mouth, tasted that salt and hint of bitter and
licked it away.

“Look at you.”
He stared up into Dev’s eyes, noted the wonderstruck expression on his face.
“You’re gorgeous,” Dev whispered.
Cum dripped into his left eye, burning him, but Pablo blinked it away. Dev sank to his knees

and grasped his face, licking his seed off Pablo with contented moans.

That shit right there, it mattered.
Too much.
When he finished cleaning up Pablo, Dev stood and held out a hand. Pablo took it and got to

his feet.

“Take me to your bed. I want to fall asleep in your arms.”
Upstairs in his bedroom, after hurriedly washing his face in the bathroom, Pablo stripped

and climbed onto the bed. A shower would have to wait for another time when he didn’t have
Dev in his bed. They came together under the covers, hot skin on hot skin, heavy arousals
trapped between their bodies, but it wasn’t about sex. Dev settled in the crook of Pablo’s arm,
his head on Pablo’s chest. Pablo hugged him close and dragged his heel down Dev’s leg, which
nestled between Pablo’s thighs.

He dropped a kiss on Dev’s head then stared up at the ceiling.
All things he’d never done. He did it again, kissed Dev’s head. Except this time he dallied,

stayed longer, inhaled the scent of his lover’s hair.

Against him, Dev was already asleep, his heartbeat a soft, steady drone. Pablo closed his

eyes and counted each beat.

They mattered.

* * * * *

A tap on his shoulder jerked him awake. Pablo grunted and rolled over, right onto the hot,

naked body pressed up to his side.

Pretty boy.
“Hmm.” He cracked his left eye open. “What’s up?” He rubbed against Dev, his dick already

stirring as he inhaled the other man. The room was shadowed; the sun must not have risen yet.
Pablo frowned. “What time is it?”

“A little after four.” Calloused fingers touched his nape. “I have to go.”
Well, that wiped the sleep from Pablo’s eyes quickly. He turned on the bedside lamp and

stared at Dev across the pillow. The other man’s dark hair was tousled, his sleep-heavy eyes
and the shadow of an incoming beard making him appear dangerous.

Mysterious.

Sexy as fuck.
He ached to drag the man back into his arms and pound him into the mattress until they

didn’t know names or dates. Instead he swallowed. “Okay.”

Dev regarded him silently, his eyes searching as if for some deep, dark secret.
“What?”
The corner of the man’s mouth curved up in an impish smile. “I’m thinking I’ll need a little

something for the road.”

Dude. His dick filled, throbbed against his thigh. “Yeah?” He inched closer to Dev and buried

his face in his neck.

“Yeah.” Dev caught his face in his hands and kissed him, deep and sweet. Pablo felt it all

over his body, on his skin, in his bones like an electric current. “Get your rubbers, get that lube
and let me ride you.”

Well fuck. Pablo kissed him this time, taking control, fucking his tongue deep into Dev’s

mouth as he reached behind him and felt around the nightstand. He kept supplies in the top
drawer, but he’d never had a chance to use the rubbers, only the lube, and that was only to
prep himself for his own fingers.

To slick up his own dick as he fucked his fists.
Dev threw a leg over him, grinding their cocks together. Pablo grunted into the kiss,

knocking down whatever the hell he had on the nightstand as he fumbled to open the damn
drawer.

A sound of frustration escaped him and Dev chuckled against his mouth then broke the kiss.
“Here, let me.” Dev stretched across Pablo, trapping both cocks between their bodies as he

recovered what they needed. He tried to shift away and Pablo caught him around the waist,
held him still and grinded on him, slow and sweet.

“Ah fuck!” He gritted his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut. Shit was way too damn good.

“Condom. I need to fuck you.”

Dev made an agreeable sound, eyes wide as he ripped open the condom with his teeth and

smoothed it over Pablo’s jutting shaft.

“Oh Jesus.” Pablo thrust forward, his body shaking at that touch. He arched his back and

gripped the sheets, tearing at them while Dev popped the cork on the slick stuff and drizzled it
over the condom. He watched through slitted eyes as Dev lubed his fingers then reached
behind him.

“Nnngh.” Dev rocked back on his fingers.
“Goddamn, pretty boy.” Pablo tugged on Dev’s hip. “Get your ass up here before you have

me coming on myself. I need in you.”

“Yes,” Dev breathed. His burning gaze pinned Pablo to the bed as Dev straddled his thighs.
Heart in his throat, Pablo remained immobile as Dev circled him and pointed his cock to that

slick back entrance. His head bumped Dev’s opening as Pablo damn near combusted.

“Oh fuck. Take me deep,” he panted. “Take me inside you.”
Dev sank his teeth into his bottom lip, still holding Pablo’s gaze, and sank down.
Too fucking much. “Sweet God!” Nobody had ever felt like this, so hot and tight, muscles

sleek and unyielding. Made specifically for Pablo.

He canted his hips. “Do it.”

Dev eased up then sank back down, this time taking Pablo all the way. “Yes.” Dev trembled.

“You’re so deep.” He leaned down until his hot breath fanned Pablo’s face. “Make love to me.”

Pablo surged up into him, grinning when Dev’s breath hitched and his lashes fluttered. “I’m

not a fan of making love, pretty boy. I fuck and when I do,” he winked, “I do it hard.”

Dev kissed his throat. “You sure about that?” He rocked back and forth, slowly. Sensually.

“Because right now, Castillo, you sure do know how to make love.” He kissed away Pablo’s
reply and linked their fingers.

Pablo abandoned talking and let the man writhing on top of him set their pace. Dev moved

up and down on him, clenching his hot chute around him.

“I love how you feel inside me,” Dev murmured. “Hot and thick and so hard.” He threw his

head back and shuddered. “I can feel every inch of you.”

Pablo clasped his hips and thrust up.
Dev inhaled. “Yeah. That’s it.” He sat up straight then placed his hands behind him on the

bed, securing himself as he began riding in earnest.

“Ah yeah. Ride me.” Pablo slammed up into him. “You feel amazing. Made for me,” he

rasped. “That ass was made for my cock.”

Dev’s movements increased, as did his pants and grunts. His ass clenched around Pablo,

the tightest hold that jacked up his balls and had him teetering on orgasm’s brink.

“Gonna come,” he warned with a growl. “Gonna take me there.”
Dev lowered himself on his elbows and brushed their lips together. “Do it. Come for me.

With me.”

Pablo grabbed his nape and slammed their mouths together, tongues wrestled and battled,

teeth nipping and drawing blood as he pounded out his orgasm into the condom. Dev hung on to
him, making breathless sounds, which Pablo swallowed.

Pablo reached between them and palmed Dev’s cock. He had his pretty boy spilling his seed

with two sharp tugs, the biting scent of his seed flooding the room.

“Oh Jesus.” Dev rested his forehead on Pablo’s. “Jesus, Castillo.” He pressed a kiss to

Pablo’s temple. “I’m gonna feel you. Feel you for days.”

Pablo’s spent dick tried to stir.
He combed his fingers through Dev’s hair. “You say the softest shit, you know that?”
Dev laughed in a burst of air across Pablo’s cheek. “I’m a soft kinda guy, what can I say?”
Pablo held him close and tried not to think about what this all meant. “You wanna do this

again?”

Dev lifted his head and an eyebrow. “Do what?”
Oh now he was playing dumb. “This.” Pablo waved a hand at their bodies. He sure as hell

wanted to do that—and more—again.

Dev’s mouth twitched. “I thought you didn’t make love?”
“What? Who said anything about making love?” Wasn’t him. Hell no.
Dev’s eyes twinkled when he said, “That’s right. I forgot. You only fuck. Hard.” Why in the

hell did he look as if he was trying not to laugh?

“Damn straight. And I want to do it again.”
“Another round?”

“Yes.” Pablo kissed his chin. “Say yes. You know you want to feel my dick splitting you

open again.”

“Huh. You say the crassest things, you know that, right?”
Pablo grinned. “That’s who I is, pretty boy.”
Dev rolled his eyes. “Uh-huh.”
“So what do you say?” He rolled his hips. “Wanna go another round with me tonight? Say

eight-ish?”

Dev clenched around his softening shaft. “I think I can fit you in.”
Pablo slapped one of Dev’s ass checks. “See that you do, pretty boy. See that you do.”

* * * * *

Dev left a little while later and Pablo couldn’t go back to sleep. Instead he sat downstairs on

the couch, staring out the window overlooking the street, staring at nothing.

Not for the first time it occurred to him he might be using Dev as a substitute for who’d held

his heart for so long.

Not for the first time he told his fucking conscience to shut the hell up.
He liked Dev, or what he knew about the man. He liked kissing him, loved fucking him, and

he’d do it again. If he was indeed using Dev as a balm to soothe the wound Angelo carved into
his soul by jumping ship, so be it.

Everyone got used some time. That was just the way the world worked. A man in Dev’s

position, under York’s thumb, probably had to search far and wide to find a bedmate.

He had one in Pablo for as long as either man wished. And when time came to end it, they

would. Might be sooner rather than later when York learned Pablo had found and raided one of
his stash-houses.

Either way, Pablo wasn’t putting any stock in the empty ache that blossomed in his gut the

second his door closed behind Dev.

He stayed on the couch until the sun came up fully. The day was gorgeous, the temperature

comfortable and it was Memorial Day weekend, which meant a whole lot of partying. An equal
amount of drunk folk and many trips to the ER.

Happened every damn year.
He’d lecture the men, tell them to play their positions and watch for “the boys” as they’d

dubbed the NYPD, but once they had the liquor in their system warnings went out the window.

Lawyers made a good chunk of their money around days like those.
A couple of minutes after he’d jogged upstairs to brush his teeth and get dressed, the

doorbell rang. Had to be Mateo and the guys who’d raided York’s place there to report in.

Pablo let them in and they crowded into his living room, loud and hyper.
He sat quietly and watched them banter back and forth. They were comfortable with him in

a way he didn’t think they’d ever been with Angelo. He was always the boss and Pablo had
always been one of them.

Until he wasn’t.
“You mean to tell me all you motherfuckers come up in my house this early in the morning

and no one brought coffee?” He kept his tone even, his voice pitched low, but they heard him
and immediately quieted. “Not even a Goddamn bagel?”

“Ah, come on boss.” Reggie grinned. “You didn’t tell us we had to feed you.” A unified

murmur rose from the rest of the men and Pablo raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah? Well now you know.” He eyeballed every last one of them. “And the next time you all

come up in here this time of the morning without some food to smooth your way, I’m shooting
somebody.”

“Aw man.”
“Damn, boss. Why you gotta be so cold?”
Pablo waved their grumbles away. “Tommy,” he addressed the youngest of the men. When

a pair of wary brown eyes peeked at him from below a shock of dirty-blond hair, Pablo jerked
his chin toward the kitchen. “Go put on coffee.”

“Yes, boss.”
Tommy hurried away after mumbling the two words and Pablo watched him disappear

before turning to Reggie, who’d been point man on the raid. “How did he do last night?”

Despite his appearance of being a teenager auditioning for some kind of punk rock band,

Tommy was in his mid-twenties and a hell of a number cruncher. People just weren’t his thing.

“He did good, boss,” Reggie answered his question eagerly. “Stayed where he was needed,

did what was asked and didn’t yap like the rest of ’em.” He crossed his eyes at the other men.

Mateo chuckled.
“Shit was mad quiet for a while, boss,” Freddo spoke up. He wiped a huge palm over his

crew cut and raised brilliant blue eyes to Pablo. A red flush covered Freddo’s cheekbones. “We
had to do something to pass the time, to break up the stillness.”

“You afraid of quiet, Freddo?” Pablo asked. “Of stillness?”
“Uh…” Freddo shrugged. “No?”
“Some men can’t handle the still and quiet,” Pablo murmured. “Means they’re all alone with

their thoughts. Most aren’t strong enough to face that, they need constant noise.” His men
looked at him as if he’d lost his mind. Forcing a chuckle, he inhaled the flavorful aroma of coffee
brewing. “All right. Let’s get down to business while Tommy makes the brew. What did we bag
last night?”

He sat back on the couch while the others scattered around, on the arms of the couch,

some perched atop his coffee table and the rest made themselves comfortable on the floor.

Reggie spoke first. “When we got there, they had a bunch of people inside. A deal was

going down so we had to wait.”

“Looks like you guys visited at the right time,” Pablo noted.
“Yeah. York wasn’t there, we didn’t expect him, but Swazie was there. And we know he’s

the middle man on the drugs front.”

Pablo nodded and Reggie continued. “The courier we’d followed the last time was also

there. We waited until business was conducted and nearly everyone had left before we rushed
the door.”

“The two idiots inside were no trouble, boss.” Freddo cracked his scraped-up knuckles.

“None at all.”

The group laughed and Tommy came in with a cup he handed to Pablo.
“Thanks.” Pablo took a sip of the coffee then nodded. “Black and sweet. Good job,

Tommy.”

Tommy flushed and nodded, his hair flopping into his eyes.
“Hey, where’s mine?”
“Fuck you, Teo,” Pablo barked. “Get your own, he’s not your slave.”
“Yet.” Mateo winked and sauntered into the kitchen.
Tommy sat on the floor next to Pablo’s feet, his legs folded under him, shoulders hunched,

hair covering his face. The kid had some kinda past, one Pablo never shared with anybody
beside Angelo. They’d brought Tommy in after the death of another young man and so far
Tommy appeared to be working out. Pablo didn’t care if the guy socialized, as long as he did
what was required, when it was required.

“All right, get back to the story.” Pablo turned his attention back to Reggie. “You guys were

kicking ass and taking names, then what?”

“Once we got the two men under control we searched,” Reggie said. “Didn’t have to look

hard, everything was right there.”

Freddo nodded. “They thought the place was a secret.”
“Doesn’t excuse them.” Mateo reentered with a coffee cup in his hand that he used to salute

Tommy. The younger man ducked his head. “The men in that stash-house should’ve been ready
for anything, secret or no secret hideaway. They lapsed.”

“Yeah.” Pablo gulped his coffee, eyes threatening to slide shut at the taste. Few things were

as good as coffee. “And today, if you’re York, when the news breaks, you reevaluate.”

“Clean house.”
He stared into his cup, saw dark-blue eyes. “Yep.”
“All told, when we counted up our winnings we came out with fifty kilos of the white stuff,

which we flushed ASAP.” Reggie ticked off his fingers. “Five burner phones, a laptop and
almost ten thousand in cash.”

“No weapons?” Pablo raised an eyebrow.
“Only what the men had on them.”
Huh. “All right. Donate the money to the church. I want somebody to work on those phones,

see if we can’t get in contact with one of those folks York peddles drugs for.”

“I’ll be working on the phones and laptop today,” Tommy said from the floor.
“And I’ll be helping,” Mateo piped in.
Pablo looked up and held Mateo’s gaze. He hoped the other man knew what the hell he was

doing. Mateo didn’t break the eye contact, but he didn’t back down either. Meant Pablo would
have to warn him off Tommy in a more direct approach.

“Okay. Last thing before you go.” Pablo put down his coffee cup and looked each man in the

eye “I don’t have to tell you how on point ‘the boys’ will be this weekend. Keep your asses out
of trouble and away from the liquor.”

“Yes, boss.”
“Anyone gets locked up stays inside until I say they can come out.” He surged to his feet.

“And who knows if I’ll ever say that, huh?”

“Damn. I thought you got laid last night, why so hard?” Mateo asked.
Pablo narrowed his eyes. “Everyone leave. Mateo stay.” Once the door closed on the last

man, Pablo got in Mateo’s face. “You stay off my dick, I’ll stay off yours.”

“Hey, I’m just asking what’s got your balls all knotted.” Mateo shrugged.

“Don’t fuck around with Tommy. He’s not someone you want to go there with,” Pablo

warned him.

A storm gathered in Mateo’s eyes as he stiffened. “Are you trying to tell me what to do?

You know it ain’t that kind of party, boss.”

“When it comes to him, it is.” Pablo kept his tone firm. He had no interest in whom his men

fucked around with, but he couldn’t allow Mateo to mess with Tommy’s head. “Look at him,
Teo,” he grated. “Really look at him. The kid’s been through some shit. He’s in no position to
take what you like to dish out.”

A muscle in Mateo’s jaw flexed. “What do you know?”
Pablo shook his head. “I know enough. I know he’s not ready and he may never be.” He laid

a hand on Mateo’s shoulder. “I know what he needs, you’ll never give.” And that was a fact
despite Mateo’s posturing.

Mateo shrugged from Pablo’s touch and stalked away.
Pablo watched him go with a sigh. Déjà vu rode him hard. The memory of Angelo’s words to

him played out in his head. He’d demanded control of Los P after Angelo revealed his plans and
in turn Angelo had given him food for thought.

What happens when you fall in love?
If you want to be open with somebody, this isn’t the business for it.
He had no answers when Angelo posed those questions to him then and he knew Mateo

didn’t have the answers now. Both he and Mateo were fucked. Pablo in love with a dead man
and Mateo pining for Tommy who wished he was dead.

This business definitely wasn’t the business for love.
He shook his head and went about planning his day. His entire morning would be taken up

with business since he expected Syren Rua any minute. As the weapons broker for the
Delatorre cartel, the only provider of Los P guns, Syren went under the name Faro. Pablo didn’t
know much, but he knew despite working and living with the Delatorres, Syren was actually
planning a move against them.

Biding his time.
No love, this business.
He was really glad not to be on Syren’s bad side. The man was just dangerous, in that slick,

smooth and charming way you never realize until his gun was at your temple, his blade buried in
your side.

His phone rang and he checked the caller ID. Speaking of the sexy psychopath. “Calling to

cancel our date?”

Syren chuckled in his ear. “No such thing. I’m actually parking right now, outside your door.

Thought I’d give you a heads-up so you don’t shoot me in your paranoia.”

Pablo walked to the front door and yanked it open. Syren walked up the steps to his door,

clad in a sleek black tuxedo, silver suitcase in hand. His white-blond hair curled around his
collar, longer than the last time they’d met face-to-face. Syren’s skin was a lot more tanned, his
features a little more gaunt than usual.

Despite all that, the tiny slip of a man was still too damn pretty, his eyes still that peculiar

shade of violet blue that gripped you. Haunted you.

“For your information,” Pablo said, “I am not paranoid.”

Syren chuckled as he squeezed past Pablo and entered the house. “Uh-huh. Whatever you

say.”

Pablo had learned since the first time he met Syren not to take his body’s reaction to the

Brazilian to heart. No one who laid eyes on him could stop from wanting him. He could laugh
with Syren when they bantered, sexual or otherwise, but he never considered actually acting on
anything the two of them joked about.

He kicked his door closed and followed Syren into the living room, frowning as the other man

opened Pablo’s laptop where it sat on the table and turned it on.

“Looking for something?” he asked.
Syren spared him a glance and a shrug. “Depends. What do you have worth searching for?”
“You tell me.” Pablo took a seat at the table and met Syren’s gaze.
Syren nodded and indicated the laptop. “You’ll need this in a while, so let’s get business out

of the way.”

Pablo listened intently as Syren gave him the information on the next shipment of assault

rifles arriving in Phoenix. Then he talked prices and the new manufacturing contract the
Delatorres had lined up.

All things Syren could’ve told him over the phone or through an email.
“Why are you here?” He spoke up when Syren paused for breath. “Really.”
Syren lifted a perfectly arched brow. “You don’t like it when we hang out?” He even pouted

there at the end.

“I don’t like when you fuck with me.”
Syren threw back his head and laughed. “Oh honey. I have not even begun to fuck with you.

When I do, you’ll know.” He peeked at Pablo through his lashes. “And you’ll definitely like it.”

Pablo leaned toward him. “Are we gonna do this? Piss around until you decide to tell me

what the hell is going on?”

Syren tapped some keys on Pablo’s laptop. “I’ve been instructed to give you something.” He

glanced over at the suitcase. “It’s in there, but before I do, the sender wants a word.” He
pushed the laptop over to Pablo, who glared at it.

A video screen had been pulled up and he stared. A white wall was in the background, the

hanging photo frames too out of focus for Pablo to make out faces. Half of a bookcase was
also in view.

“What the hell is this?”
He raised his gaze to Syren, who just instructed him to, “Watch.”
Pablo turned back to the computer just as a figure came into view. First the person’s lower

half as they approached the camera. A man wearing dark jeans and a white tee. A hand.
Tanned. The man grabbed the back of the chair, pulled it out then sat and faced the camera
head on.

Oh God. “Angel?” Pablo croaked out the name and the face on the screen cracked into a

smile. So familiar. Yet not. His hair was growing back, not nearly long enough, but the dark,
unruly mop on his head was getting there. His eyes were brighter than Pablo had ever seen,
lighter. Angelo had lost weight in prison, but apparently in the time since Pablo last saw him
he’d put it back on. He was still trim. Still hard.

Pablo traced those familiar shoulders with his eyes.

“Hola, amigo.”
That voice. In spite of the break-up in the video feed, it still resonated through his body, all

the way to the soles of his feet. So long since he’d had that, seen Angel’s face, stared into his
eyes, and been rocked to his core.

Pablo’s eyes burned.
“What’s— Why are you doing this?” He looked from Angelo to Syren and back. “Why are

you contacting me now?” He lurched forward, gripping the edge of the table with cold fingers.
“Are you okay? Are you compromised?” Jesus, had someone found out about Angelo?

“I’m fine.” Angelo waved away his concerns. “I am…happy. Gabe and I are happy.”
Gabe. The name was a bitter fucking pill lodged in Pablo’s craw. He tried not to show his

distaste. To show how much of a crack the utterance of that name alone created in the smooth
veneer he presented.

“Are you all right, amigo?” Angelo asked as if he knew something. As if he expected Pablo

to say no.

“I’m fine.”
“Good.” Angelo’s gaze shifted off screen, focused on something else. “I, uh, Syren has

something to give to you, but first I have some things to say.” He brought his gaze back to
Pablo. “Our last conversation before I went to prison, I asked what you would do when you
found someone you wanted to be with.” He paused. “Do you remember that?”

Pablo frowned. “I do.” Where was all this headed? He spared a glance to Syren who sat off

to the side, watching him with blank features. Something big was about to pop off, he could feel
it on his skin.

“Whatever it is,” he told Angelo, “just spit it out.”
He didn’t hear Angelo’s sigh, but he saw the rise and fall of his best friend’s chest through

the thin material of his t-shirt.

“Pablo.” Angelo dragged his fingers through his hair and the light glinted off the ring on his

left hand.

A gold ring.
On his ring finger.
Gutted. The pain in his chest, hell, in his entire body, was intolerable. He felt gutted. He

swallowed then opened his mouth to ask the question.

He couldn’t find the words.
Pain. The severity of it clouded his vision. He gripped the table to hold himself upright, else

he’d be dropping to the floor in a ball.

“Angelo, are you married?” He forced the words past his heavy tongue. They cracked and

broke anyway.

A wide smile broke out on his friend’s face. Sickening in its sweetness, in its happiness.
“Yeah. Boston, six months ago.” Angelo twisted the ring. “It’s not legal here in North

Carolina. Not yet anyways.” He lifted his gaze, focused off screen again. With the softness in
his features, with the way his body language switched up as though he was getting ready to
pounce on something or someone, Pablo guessed he was looking at him.

Gabe.
Angelo’s husband.

Just thinking it made him want to shoot someone. Shoot that fucking cop who came along

and tore his heart and his world to shreds then left him to clean up the pieces.

Pablo wanted to shoot him.
Kill him dead.
“Listen,” Angelo spoke. “Your time is up, amigo. You have a choice to make.”
What? “What the hell are you talking about? You’re not making sense.”
“Syren!” Angelo barked the name and Syren got up from his seat.
“I’m on it.” Syren pulled a file from his briefcase and hand it to Pablo as Angelo watched.
Trepidation lodged Pablo’s heartbeat in his throat. Still, he remained calm and focused as he

stared down at the folder in his lap.

Classified was stamped in big, bold red letters across the front.
“Do not act rash,” Angelo spoke loudly. “You have a choice to make and I really hope you

make the one I want you to. The right one.”

Pablo ignored him and opened the folder. The photo on the first page took away his breath.

Rage and anger and pain were his friends and he welcomed them, embraced them as he read
every word on all ten pages in that folder.

Syren sat next to him in silence. Angelo didn’t speak, but Pablo didn’t have to look up to

know he was still there. He felt Angelo’s stare. His expectation.

His old friend was right. He did have a choice to make.
By the time he closed the folder, he still hadn’t gotten his breath back. But breathing was

fucking overrated. Back-to-back blows like he’d just had tended to shit on a man’s equilibrium.

“You’ve been watching me this whole time?” he asked Angelo.
“I’ve been watching over you from afar, amigo.” Angelo shook his head. “This, the

information there, it’s hard for you, yeah?”

Pablo ignored the question. “How sure are you about this?” He nodded to the envelope in his

hand.

“One hundred percent,” Angelo said softly.
“Call off your men,” he ordered. “Whoever you have on me, call them off. Now.” He turned

to Syren. “You. Out.”

“Yes sir.” Syren snapped a salute then picked up his bag and damn near skipped to the

door. Before he stepped outside though, Syren turned back to him. “Listen to your friend. Make
the right choice.” Then he was gone.

Angelo stared at Pablo from the safety of the computer screen. “Call off your men, and

concentrate on the life you’ve built,” Pablo lashed out. “The one that no longer includes me.” He
cut off the video and powered off the computer.

Choices had been made for him, now this was his turn. He’d make his choice, make it clear

so no one would think to deceive him, go against him or do anything in his name ever again.

He composed a quick text on his cell phone then hit send.
You are my son. His father’s words echoed in his head. Pablo picked up his Glock from the

table and checked the rounds.

We both deal in death.
So fucking right, papí. Let’s deal some death.

Chapter Six

After finally eluding York and his invite to follow him and Swazie to a meeting with the men

who ran the recently raided stash-house, Dev made his way to Brooklyn. He’d looked forward
to seeing Pablo all day. And now he felt like a kid about to go on his very first date.

How messed up is this?
How had he found himself in such a situation? Surrounded by death, drugs and guns on a

daily basis. Mired up to his neck in Jeffery York’s shit, and through all that, he found Castillo.

Of course, it couldn’t work out, shouldn’t, both men being who they were—and weren’t—but

Dev rather liked having this little slice of decadence all to himself. He liked knowing why his ass
was so tender.

He didn’t go for secrets, not if he could help it, but this secret he figured he’d take to the

grave. He’d allow no one to fuck with what he had.

What do you have?
He met his eyes in the rearview mirror. Secret nights of illicit sex of the hottest kind, that’s

what they had. Nothing more and nothing less. He wouldn’t delude himself into thinking there
was more, but there could be.

And he was in no position to hope for more. Or to even give more. But he wanted it all the

same. There was something in the way Castillo looked at him, touched him, that fucked with
Dev’s rationale. In Castillo’s kiss, Dev liked to think he felt more.

Or maybe I’m just kidding myself.
He found a parking spot five houses down from Castillo’s and walked over in the darkness.

The sun had just set and the humidity was falling, but he barely felt the late-May breeze. All his
thoughts centered on the man waiting for him. His body was one tight bundle of nerves on the
verge of exploding.

He let himself in through the unlocked garage then walked into the brightly lit kitchen.
“‘Castillo?” He made his way to the dark living room and dropped his duffle bag on the

couch. Castillo was probably upstairs. Dev felt him in the room, he scented him on the air. With
a grin he turned toward the stairs.

Metal kissed his skin, the muzzle of a gun pressed just below his right ear.
Dev froze. “Wha—”
Castillo spoke at his nape. “Take a knee, Special Agent Shane Ruskin.”
Fuck! Shane threw his hands up even as his knees buckled. “Don’t do anything stupid,

Castillo.” He should have had more time. He thought he did.

A sharp blow between his shoulder blades dropped him to his knees. Shane curled his

hands into fists and stilled the will to fight back. Castillo had to know he wasn’t the enemy. The
gun pressed into his nape, Castillo’s grip never wavering.

“I once asked Dev this question, now it’s your turn.” Castillo’s tone remained controlled,

tight, but violence and anger poured off him and washed over Shane’s shoulders. “Would
anyone miss you, Agent Ruskin? Would they even care?”

Shane opened his mouth to say no, deny everything, but Castillo moved and suddenly he

was crouched in front of Shane, one knee on the wood floor, his gun aimed at Shane’s
forehead while Castillo regarded him with wild eyes.

“The answer would be yes, wouldn’t it?” Castillo asked. “Dev doesn’t have a family, anything

to lose, but Shane Ruskin does.”

Shane shook his head. “Don’t. Don’t go there, don’t even think it.”
Castillo snorted. “I don’t think you’re in any position to issue warnings, Agent.” He jerked the

gun. “Stand. I want you naked.”

“Castillo, please.” Shane tilted his head and met Castillo’s gaze. He saw the anger and the

pain, the hurt, but he also saw the promise of death.

His death.
Shane’s blood turned to ice, chilling his entire being. His teeth clenched and he rose to his

feet slowly, hands spread wide. If he didn’t care he wouldn’t be that upset. That hurt and angry.
Right? He kept that thought in his head and stepped out of his boots and jeans. The sound of
his belt buckle hitting the floor was exceptionally loud and final and he suppressed a shudder.
He wore no underwear so his shaft swung when he moved.

Castillo’s eyes didn’t budge from Shane’s face.
He unbuttoned his blue shirt and pulled it over his head. Once that hit the floor he was as

naked as a jaybird, fighting vulnerability under Castillo’s scrutiny. Jaw tight, Shane stared
Castillo down.

“Did I happen to mention my house is soundproof?” Castillo was deceptively calm. “Had to

when I bought the place because my neighbor back then had kids. Loud fuckers.” He leaned
forward and Shane caught the aroma of whiskey on his breath.

“You’re drunk.”
A harsh laugh escaped Castillo. “There’s no liquor strong enough to numb me tonight. You’re

not that lucky.” He jerked his head in the direction of a door next to the stairs. “Move forward,
Agent, nice and slow. You and me are about to spend some quality time in my basement.”

Shane didn’t move. Stepping into that basement was giving up. He knew that. Castillo would

kill him down there. How had they come to this?

“Yes.” He cleared his throat and spoke softly. “I have family who would miss me if you

decide to kill me. They’ll care and they’ll mourn. But I think you’ll miss me more and you won’t
be able to live with yourself if you do this.” His voice cracked a little. “If you hurt me.”

“Here’s what I think, Shane.” Castillo spat out his name. “You’re stalling and it only makes

me want to put down the gun and kill you with my bare hands.” He pushed Shane and he
stumbled forward. “Move. I’ve got plans for you.”

Shane tripped over his feet as Castillo prodded him down the stairs into the dark basement.

The air was surprisingly cold on his skin. He hurt where Castillo hit him earlier, but he stayed
attuned to the man behind him. To every move Castillo made, every sound. Shane couldn’t
predict what he would do, he hadn’t prepared for Castillo. Not at all. His target was never Los
P, only York and the people he bought drugs for and from.

Los P was nowhere on the DEA’s radar.
Down in the basement he stiffened when Castillo clasped a tight hand on his shoulder and

guided him over to the heating pole in the middle of the room.

“Sit.”
“Castillo—”
“Sit!” Castillo slammed into Shane’s shoulder and he cried out as pain shot through him and

he crashed to the cold concrete floor.

Before Shane could right himself, his arms were bound behind his back and attached to the

pipe with a thick rope.

“Jesus. You don’t have to do this.” He tugged at the tight hold, the harsh rope already

chafing his wrists. “You don’t have to do this, Castillo. You’re not my target. You’re not the
DEA’s target.” He was shaking, unable to stop.

Castillo squatted beside him. “Yeah? Too bad. ’Cause now you’re my target.” His hand

swiped out. Shane jerked back, but blood sprayed, splattering the white wall in a thin line.

Shane’s right cheek burned and blood dripped into his mouth as Castillo grinned at him and

wiped the blade of a knife on his jeans.

“Don’t do this. It’s not who you are.” The words were falling from his lips, mixing with the

blood, and Shane grimaced. He didn’t know who Castillo was, not really. They had good sex
and the man shared a little bit of his past. Doesn’t mean you know him. He just sliced your
face open with a fucking knife. You don’t know him.

Castillo laughed in his face. “You know what? I love you fucking guys, so soft. You get a

taste of my dick game and you figure you know me, you know my Goddamn life story.” He got
real close until their foreheads touched. “Here’s what you should know, Agent Ruskin, tonight I
own you. Tomorrow is no longer a given.”

“You can’t kill a federal agent and get away with it.”
The cold smile that blossomed was nowhere near sane. “There goes your notion that you

know me. You haven’t seen me in action, trust when I tell you there won’t be anything left of
you when I’m done.”

“Why are you so angry?” Shane asked. Behind his back he continued fiddling with the

unyielding rope. “Is it because I was able to strip you bare, wipe away all those defenses you
could’ve sworn you had in place?”

Castillo’s jaw ticked.
“Could it be you’re angry you didn’t see me coming from a mile away? Or is it that I had you

on your knees, someplace you’ve never been?” If he wanted Castillo out of control and beyond
reason, that should do the trick. Although if the man kneeling in front of him was the calm and
in-control Castillo, he wasn’t sure he wanted to come face-to-face with the crazy and out-of-
control side.

Castillo tilted his head to the side, eyes narrowed as he regarded Shane. The air around him

stopped and Shane froze as Castillo lunged forward. Both his hands closed around Shane’s
throat, squeezing.

“No. No.” Shane kicked out as he wheezed. The man he loved was choking him to death. His

life in the hands of the man who held his heart. The hands that once teased and caressed him
were ending his life. His vision grayed. He tugged on the ropes harder. No give. “Pa-Pablo.
Please.” The face above him drifted farther and farther away. “Lo-love. Love.” Darkness rose
up and dragged him under.

* * * * *

There’s no love in this business.
But this wasn’t business. No, it was personal. All personal.
Pablo sat on the floor of his bathroom with his back against the locked door. He stared

down at his hands. The hands he’d used to— His throat worked and his stomach rebelled.

Again.
He’d killed before. Of course. It was in the job description. Killing Dev, no matter what his

real name was, didn’t come easy. He couldn’t do it.

Pablo, please.
The first time Pablo heard his name from those lips and it only took squeezing the life out of

him. A federal agent. DEA. He couldn’t believe it.

His name was Shane Andrew Ruskin. Born and raised in Atlanta, Georgia. Thirty-four years

old and he had siblings, a brother and a sister. Nieces and nephews too.

Lo-Love.
Shane thought Pablo was killing him, there’d been no reason to lie. Right? Love. The word

echoed in his head. He knew now he didn’t care what Shane felt or thought he felt. There was
no turning back.

He crossed a line.
He’d known. Shane was DEA. Everyone knew Los P wasn’t into drugs. If he’d been ATF,

even FBI or ICE, Pablo would’ve been justified. Maybe. He’d known Shane was telling the truth,
known that York had to be the target and yet…

Betrayal.
The pain of it drove him out of his mind and controlled his actions.
No turning back.
In the dark coldness of his basement, a man lay naked and bleeding. Unconscious by

Pablo’s own hands. A man he’d allowed into his bed and under his skin. Secrets and lies were
never his thing. Betrayal he could never abide, but he’d known and all the things that mattered
twenty-four hours ago no longer did.

Shane was right. The fuel for his anger, for the pain in his chest was the fact that he’d let

down his guard. He’d given in to his baser instincts when his gut had cautioned him to run.

Now, anger reigned.
Anger at Shane for making Dev irresistible enough that Pablo couldn’t help but throw caution

to the wind. Anger at Angelo and Syren for digging into Shane’s life and bringing the truth to his
attention.

Mostly he was mad at himself for wanting so hard to believe those words and the look in

Shane’s eyes.

Love.
But he’d crossed that line and there was no turning back. The thing about love was that it

turned to hate pretty quick. Love brought pain and unhappiness. He’d seen it with his parents,
he experienced it with Angelo and now Agent Ruskin knew too.

Love was just another word. Another word he had no right to.
He picked himself off that cold bathroom floor and made the long trek back into the

basement. Flicking on the light, he stood at the foot of the stairs and eyed the still body on the
floor. The cut on Shane’s cheek wasn’t deep, he hadn’t intended it to be. He’d needed to draw
some fucking blood.

The evidence of his loss of control decorated the wall and floor beneath Shane’s body.
Shane.

Pablo inhaled a shaky breath.
After thinking of the man as Dev it would’ve been hard to see him as someone else, but he

looked like a Shane. If all Shanes had prominent cheek bones, pink full lips, a lean but strong
build and an ass made for Pablo’s cock.

One thing this Shane didn’t have, though, was blue eyes.
Pablo grabbed one of the empty gallon paint buckets in the corner of the room and filled it

with water from the wide sink next to the washing machine. Task done, he stood over Shane.

The picture in his file had him with green eyes, clear and striking. Pablo wanted to see them.

Braced for another round of battle, he upended the bucket in his hand and splashed the cold
water in Shane’s face.

The agent woke spluttering, legs kicking out, hands tugging urgently on the rope binding him.

He barely made a sound as he tried using his shoulders to wipe the water out of his eyes. The
fake blue gaze raked over Pablo with hard eyes.

“Back for round two?” Beads of water dripped off his lashes and the tip of his nose.
Ignoring Shane’s shivers and the condescension in his voice, Pablo spoke. “Get rid of the

contacts.”

Despite his position, Shane rolled his eyes with a smirk. “Uh, I’m not sure if you’ve noticed

but I’m kinda tied up here.”

Pablo pulled his knife from the pouch clipped to the waistband of his jeans and bared his

teeth. “I might be able to help with that.” He circled Shane and sliced through his bonds with
one flick of the knife. Freaking money well spent, that blade. “You’re free,” he whispered at
Shane’s nape and took a small measure of pleasure in the sudden appearance of goose bumps
on the other man’s skin. “Sudden moves will get you killed. Dead this time.”

Shane didn’t move, but Pablo heard his breaths. He crept forward and gestured with the

knife. “Contacts out.”

Shane held his gaze and lifted his hands. They shook, but both men pretended not to notice.

Pablo watched him closely as Shane removed first one then the other contact. When he
finished he held out both hands.

The tiny things clung to the tips of both Shane’s index fingers.
“This is what you want?” Shane asked. His voice was hoarse, no doubt from Pablo’s near

crushing of his windpipe.

Guilt stabbed him in the chest, deep, then twisted the blade. “No.” He shook his head then

placed a tentative finger under Shane’s wet chin. “Look at me.”

Shane did, with extreme caution as though afraid of what he’d find when their eyes met.

Pablo didn’t blame him.

His eyes glittered emerald green with specks of gold and they looked right through Pablo

and into his soul. His breath locked. He’d been judged with those green eyes and yet,
somehow, the anger and condemnation he expected didn’t make an appearance.

No. It was worse than anger and condemnation. He saw forgiveness and regret and

understanding. As if Shane knew his fears, knew his heart.

But how could he when Pablo didn’t even know anything anymore?
“You and I should have never started on this road,” he murmured. “You need to leave, Agent

Ruskin. Time to put an end to all this.” He waved a hand toward the stairs. “I’m letting you go.”

Shane’s jaw worked. His eyes bored into Pablo and he crossed his arms over his naked

chest. “Yeah? Good for you, but I’m not leaving.”

Pablo blinked. “We are through. You say I’m not the DEA’s target, then there’s no reason

for you to be anywhere near me ever again.” He straightened and held out a hand. “Do
whatever you planned with York and stay away from me.”

Shane ignored his offer of help and struggled to his feet under his own power. “That’s where

you’re wrong. The DEA might not have you in their sights, but I do.” He braced a shoulder
against the pipe as his Adam’s apple worked. “You think you get to draw first blood then walk
away?”

Huh. “So what, you want to battle?”
Shane’s fist shot out before Pablo got the last word past his lips. He staggered under the

blow and the room spun for a second. Wiping the trickle of blood off his chin, he chuckled. “Nice
shot.”

“I could pay you back,” Shane said softly. “Hurt you the way you so wanted to hurt me, but

see, I get it.” Not even half an hour ago Pablo was choking the life out of the damn man and yet
here he stood, gaze soft as he looked at Pablo.

Jesus. Pablo shook his head at the entire bizarre scene. “What do you get?”
“You. Your fear.” Triumph flashed in those captivating green eyes. “Betrayal and secrets are

all part of your daily routine. Your response to my betrayal was one of anger and pain,
emotions borne only of caring.” Shane grinned. “The only thing I lied to you about was my
name, nothing else between us was fake. You recognize that, but it also means I’m under your
skin.” He slinked closer. “I’m inside you and you want me gone, but what you don’t get, Pablo,
is that I own you just as you own me.”

Pablo stared at him, fighting the urge to go after the bastard’s neck again. Only with the

knife this time. He’d slice him clean from ear to ear and maybe cut out his fucking tongue this
time. That sharp tongue.

Shane cocked his head to the side. “Hmm. Nothing? No cocky comeback? No threat to skin

me alive, pump me full of bullets?” His eyes twinkled. “Too bad then. I’m not leaving until we
talk.”

Pablo grabbed him by the neck and dragged him close. “Listen, you son of a bitch, get the

fuck out of my house and my life. You’re not welcome.”

“Yeah. No can do.” Shane shook his head. “You just tried to kill me, with your bare hands,

J.P. That can’t be good for this relationship. Not at all. We need to talk.”

Pablo gaped at him. Did he just— “Did you just call me J.P.?” His phone went off as Shane

peered at him through his lashes, all fake innocence.

“What? It’s your name, isn’t it? Juan Pablo?”
Dude. Pablo itched to shoot his ass. He flicked an irritated glance at the caller ID on his cell.

Syren again. He’d been calling all evening and all evening Pablo had been ignoring him. He
didn’t feel like talking to Syren. Didn’t feel like explaining how he got taken by a federal agent
posing as one of York’s men.

“Listen, J.P., this is all intimate and shit, but I’m feeling kinda cold.” Shane looked down at

his naked body with a grimace. “And bloody. I’m going to take a shower and put on some
clothes and then we’ll talk.” The last couple words were a definite threat, but he turned away
and hobbled up the stairs before Pablo could react.

He could only stare after Shane, his jaw hanging open. What in the hell just happened and

how could he fix it? Like, mad quick? His phone beeped, signaling a new voicemail. Damn
Syren. Couldn’t he take a fucking hint? He dialed in to his messages and listened. Syren’s
message was clear and succinct, Pablo better be in a better mood than when they last saw
each other because Syren was on his way over to check up on him. Oh and he was bringing
liquor.

Well okay then. Maybe Syren could help talk him off the fucking ledge he’d been straddling

all evening. If not, he could drown in the booze. Win fucking win.

He stalked out the house, ignoring the running shower upstairs, and sat in his car, waiting for

Syren. When had this happened? A federal agent occupied his house and refused to leave.

Talk.
He scoffed in the confines of his car. What more was left to say? The man he allowed under

his defenses wasn’t who Pablo thought he was. The pain of that, the anger, drove him out of his
mind and he nearly killed Shane with his bare hands.

He’d never been that out of control. That weak.
He couldn’t talk to Shane. He didn’t want to hear the words Pablo had ripped from his throat.

They weren’t real. Couldn’t be.

That can’t be good for this relationship.
Relationship. Is that what they had, a relationship? Pablo with his killing hands and Shane

with a fake name and even faker eyes.

Nothing between us was fake.
Yeah, that’s what you think, pretty boy. Nothing could be real with a fake identity. And the

bastard had the idea he’d be wrong and strong. Holing up in Pablo’s house like he belonged.
Pablo had to get him out and fast, no way would he allow Shane to think there was anything
between them but the memories of the few stolen nights they’d had thus far.

He needed to drive that message home. They were nothing. They had nothing.
Syren chose that moment to pull up in a slick black town car, complete with a uniformed

driver.

Yep. Perfect distraction.

* * * * *

Shane awoke in darkness. He lifted his head and listened, trying to find the source of the

noise that woke him. He hadn’t intended to fall asleep, but his body couldn’t keep up. When he’d
gone downstairs earlier to get clothes out of his duffle bag he’d known he was alone in the
house.

Coward couldn’t even face him.
He swallowed the bitter taste in his mouth and winced. His throat hurt. It was all still surreal

to him. He could’ve died by the hands of his lover tonight.

I’m not walking away.
They needed to talk and clear the air and he wasn’t leaving until they did.
The muted sound reached his ears again. He jerked upright and turned on the light. The

sound was definitely coming from downstairs. The clock on the wall read a little past midnight.

Damn, he’d only put his head down an hour ago.

Shane crept out of bed and the room, cursing his lack of protection. Pablo had taken his gun

and he knew there were sure to be weapons in the house, but he didn’t have the time to stop
and search.

Where was Pablo?
At the top of the stars he paused. Lights were on down there, so his lover must be up and

puttering about.

Still trying to avoid me.
Not for long.
He continued down the stairs only to falter on the second-to-last step. Pablo was indeed

down there, only he wasn’t alone. He had company. Shane’s lover was in the arms of another
man. A very beautiful man with white-blond hair and wandering hands.

The two were in their own world as they sat on the couch, the man astride Pablo, writhing

on him as Pablo cupped his ass and squeezed. They were in a lip-lock, tongue-fucking each
other with loud grunts and moans. The stench of lust filled the room.

Shane couldn’t breathe. Pain bloomed in his chest and as he sank to his knees he figured

Pablo had finally figured out a way to kill him without ever laying a hand on him. His lover’s
rejection of Shane and all they shared was never as clear as in that moment, driving the point
home better than any bullet ever could.

He tried to stifle his hurt by biting on his fist, but he must not have succeeded because the

man atop Pablo lifted his head and stared him down with hooded eyes.

“Uh, Castillo, we’ve got an audience.”
Pablo raised his head, lips wet and swollen, gaze dismissive where it rested on Shane.

“Nah, Agent Ruskin was just leaving.”

“That’s what you think, motherfucker.” Shane snarled at him. This was fucking war. “Get rid

of him before I do it for you.” He crossed his arms, staring at the small man with Pablo as he
waited. Something about those delicate features jogged his memory. He knew that guy from
somewhere.

He didn’t get a chance to ponder too long because Pablo’s guest climbed off him with a soft

chuckle. “Better be careful, Castillo. This one’s got spine.” He winked at Shane. “And balls.”
After righting his clothes, he swiped his thumb over Pablo’s bottom lip.

Shane growled and the small man laughed outright.
“Oh, he’s gonna keep you on your toes, my friend.” He patted the still-quiet Pablo on the

shoulder and made his way to the door. “Good luck.” The parting shot, he threw at Shane
before disappearing and closing the door behind him.

Shane turned to Pablo. “You son of a bitch!” He balled up his fists. “I wish I had my gun, I’d

shoot you.”

Pablo simply grinned, his eyes at half-mast. “Want mine?”
Shane shook with the ball of rage inside him and the bastard had the nerve to make jokes.

“Right under my nose? You couldn’t wait to flaunt him, could you? Have you been fucking him
this whole time?” The thought of it cracked something inside him. All this time.

Pablo shrugged. “Whatever gave you the idea you were more than what you were, Agent

Ruskin?”

Shane heard the pity in that voice and he couldn’t stand it, couldn’t understand it. He shook

his head. “That’s it, that’s what you have to say to me?”

“We were just scratching an itch,” Pablo said in a bland tone that grated. “Now you know

and you can move on to doing what your government pays you to do, be somebody else.”

“Bastard!” Shane swung on him, punching Pablo in the jaw. The other man staggered but

didn’t fall. “That’s what this is about, isn’t it, my job? Something that has nothing to do with us.
Nothing.” Jesus, he sounded shrill and unbalanced.

“There is no us. At no time was there an us.”
“You’re a fucking liar, Castillo!” Shane’s voice cracked and broke under his shout. “Is there a

you and him?” He pointed to the door. “Is that it? Now it’s your turn to give it to him like you
gave it to me?”

Pablo’s blank stare mocked him and fired his blood. Shane lurched forward and grabbed the

front of Pablo’s t-shirt. “Did you? Give him what you gave me? Did you fuck him?”

“That’s what you’re concerned about?” Pablo’s right eyebrow shot up. “You care more about

my dick game than your life, Agent?” That tone taunted Shane. “Why don’t you leave?”

“No!” The son of a bitch kept all his feelings locked up tight, he didn’t even twitch when

Shane yanked him closer. “You wanted to hurt me, didn’t you? Push me away in a way your
hands around my throat never could and you used him to do it.” He had Castillo’s fucking
number. “You wanted to rip me apart.” His heart rejected the anguished words he spoke, but
Shane watched Pablo’s eyes and he saw the truth in them.

“You need to leave.” Signs of strain showed at the corners of Pablo’s mouth.
Shane shook his head. “No.”
“Shane—”
“No!” Shane yelled. He pushed Pablo and the other man fell backward onto the couch. “You

want to hurt me? Let me show you how.” He dropped to his knees between Pablo’s spread
thighs, fingers making quick work of his zipper. “Let me show you.” He tugged down Pablo’s
jeans with rough hands, tears blurring his vision.

“Shane.” The reticence in Pablo’s voice didn’t match his body’s reaction because he was

hard, his thickness already pulsing as Shane palmed him and bent his head.

Ignoring Pablo’s voice, Shane took him in his mouth, sucking him loud and rough. Pablo

grabbed his hair, pulling him off, but Shane dug his fingers in Pablo’s hips and hung on. Taking
him deeper.

“Shane. Fuck!” Pablo gasped and arched, but Shane remained focused on his pleasure.
The hands in his hair alternated between pulling him off and pushing his face deeper. Above

his head, his lover cursed him, called him all kinds of bastard, vowing a blowjob changed
nothing. Shane ignored him, grunting around the pulsing cock in his mouth. He sucked Pablo to
the back of his throat again and again, bobbing his head, hands at work removing his own
sweats.

He drew back, relaxing his throat muscles, but Pablo gripped his nape and slammed into his

mouth.

“Ugh!”
Shane stayed in place, mouth hanging open as he allowed Pablo to fuck his mouth and when

Pablo relaxed a bit, Shane pulled away and straddled him. Pablo’s eyes were narrow slits, his
features bordering on pain as his mouth hung open.

“You want to hurt me?” Shane pressed their foreheads together as he reached behind,

circled the cock nudging his entrance and guided it home. He held Pablo’s gaze, his own eyes
threatening to close as he sank down. “This, this is how you hurt me.”

The stretch and burn of Pablo piercing him hitched his breath and dampened his eyes.

“Nothing hurts as good as when you’re inside me,” he whispered brokenly against Pablo’s ear.
“Nothing. It’s the sweetest pain.”

Strong arms circled him, held him close. “Shane.” Pablo thrust up into him, wrenching a gasp

from Shane’s dry throat.

Leaning away from their embrace, Shane met Pablo’s glittering eyes. “Hurt me.” He moved

then, lifted off Pablo’s thighs then sank back down. God. He repeated the movement, watching
the effect it had on Pablo. His lover’s pupils were blown to kingdom come, his breath heavy
pants as his nose flared and he tightened his hold on Shane.

“Hurt me, J.P.,” he chanted as he rode his lover. “Hurt me good. Make me feel you.” The

words fell from his lips as a prayer and he really wanted to ask for what he knew he could
never have.

Pablo’s love.
Pablo palmed his ass, spreading each cheek, and thrust up into him. Hard and punishing.
“Yes.” Shane sank his nails into Pablo’s shoulders and hung on, bouncing on Pablo as the

other man banged into him. “Do it. Make it hurt. Let me feel you.”

Pablo tightened his hold on Shane and lifted him off.
“No!” Shane lashed out as Pablo deposited him on to the couch. “You bastard.”
Pablo grunted and sank to his knees, cutting off Shane’s curses as Pablo deep throated

him.

“Oh. Oh God!” Shane bucked and grabbed the edge of the couch to keep from sliding to the

floor. “Jesus. J.P.” Wet suction echoed through the air, blending effortlessly with Pablo’s
enthusiastic grunts and Shane’s embarrassing cries.

Fingers pushed into him and he lifted his legs onto Pablo’s shoulders, opening himself wider,

an offering. The man on his knees worked Shane’s dick and hole simultaneously, bobbing and
thrusting, pegging Shane’s prostate with those fucking fingers.

“Goddamn. Goddamn!” Shane’s entire body trembled. “J.P. Please.” Even his words shook.

Fire spread through him, red and bright. “Inside me. Oh God.” He palmed Pablo’s nape, fucking
up into his mouth even as he begged, “Need your cock. Want it.”

Pablo lifted his head, their gazes locked, and then Shane’s legs were on their side of the

couch and Pablo was inside him.

Unbearable pleasure.
Shane convulsed under his orgasm, shouting Pablo’s name, shooting his cum between them

and onto his stomach. Inside him, Pablo’s cock twitched and swelled.

Shane palmed Pablo’s ass and pulled him in deeper, locking his ankles above Pablo’s ass to

hold him in place. “Come inside me. Give it to me.”

Pablo groaned and dipped his head, taking Shane’s mouth as he took his ass, rough and

wet. Creamy cum flooded him as Pablo jerked and that fucking sound Shane loved so much
reached his ears.

They remained locked on to each other, Shane’s muscles clenched around its prize, Pablo’s

fingers buried in his hair, lips pressed together even though the kiss had eased up.

Shane squeezed his eyes shut and hung on to the man in his arms. The man he loved. As

physically close as they were at the moment, he knew it couldn’t last. He couldn’t stay in
Pablo’s house indefinitely, begging him to talk. Shane had two more days before his superiors
made their move on York and his cronies.

Two more days in New York. Two more days to talk to Pablo and even that might not be a

given the way his lover reacted tonight. So, he took the chance and Shane spoke into his lover’s
damp skin.

“I’m going to talk and you’re going to listen.”
Pablo stiffened and tried pulling away, but Shane held firm.
“No.” He pressed a kiss to Pablo’s shoulder. “We’re not moving until I say what I have to.

We both know you won’t allow me the chance otherwise.” He took a deep breath and inside
him Pablo jerked. “My sole focus, and that of the team working with me, is York and the men
he deals with. You and your operation was and is nowhere in the picture.

“I knew who you were, of course, but in all the homework we did on York you were never

mentioned. I didn’t even know you guys dealt with each other until the night before the meeting
in the diner.”

He dragged his nails down Pablo’s back, loving how his lover shivered and moaned at the

touch.

“Just as I am your secret, so are you mine. No one knows about us on my end. No one.” He

lifted his head then and met Pablo’s guarded eyes. “You’re my secret. The only good thing to
come out of this whole York mess.” Pablo looked away and Shane placed a finger under his
chin and turned Pablo to face him again. “The only good thing, J.P.”

Pablo nodded. “I believe I’m not your target.”
“But you don’t believe anything else I have to say, is that it?” Shane sighed. “You know, I get

that someone did a fucking number on your heart, but if you let me, J.P., I can help you. Let me
ease the ache.”

Pablo’s expression blanked again. Damn it.
“I care for you,” Shane confessed. “Way more than I should, but I care. I want to heal your

hurts, but you refuse to let me. Why?” he whispered. “Why won’t you let me in?”

“I can’t do this, Shane.” Pablo released Shane and pulled out, moving away to sit beside him

on the couch.

Shane ignored the pain in his chest and winced at the burn in his ass. Shit. He’d feel that and

more in the morning. “I think it’s a safe bet that if your hands around my neck doesn’t turn me
away from you, nothing will. Not even that faint attempt of yours to move on with that tiny man
earlier.”

Pablo’s mouth curved in reluctant amusement.
“I know who he is, that guy,” Shane said.
“Yeah. He’s a friend.”
“Better not make it anything more.” He stroked Pablo’s cheek with a finger and it warmed

his heart when his lover leaned into the touch. “I have two more days, J.P. My team moves on
York and his men and then I’m gone.” He paused, but Pablo didn’t speak. “Two more days and
you know what I want.” Shane got to his feet and looked around for his duffle bag. He had to
get dressed and leave before he further embarrassed himself and Pablo by begging the man to

keep him.

He’d already put on his jeans and t-shirt and was tugging on his boots when the unusually

quiet Pablo spoke.

“What do you want?”
“Your heart,” Shane said without missing a beat. “You have mine, but then you already knew

that.”

His lover closed his eyes with a sigh. “I don’t do love, Shane. I can’t. There’s no room for

that in this business.”

What bullshit. Shane righted his clothes and zipped up his duffle bag. He made sure he had

his keys and phone, placed them near the door with his bag then went back to Pablo. He bent
toward his lover, brushing their lips, tasting his lingering essence on Pablo. “There are a lot of
things you claim you don’t do, J.P. There’s room for whatever you want. You make the rules.
I’m standing here telling you that I love you even though I know you don’t want to hear it.”

Pablo licked his lips and Shane’s body clenched.
“I want your heart and I won’t settle for less.”
Pablo opened his mouth and Shane held up a hand.
“Please, don’t think to give me the bullshit about not having one. Judging by your eyes and

that tattoo on your chest, you were in love at one time. He broke your heart,” Shane whispered.
“I want to fix it. Give it to me and I will.”

He dropped a quick kiss on Pablo’s parted lips and walked away, grabbing his bag on his

way out the door. The ball was now in his lover’s court and the clock was on final countdown.

Chapter Seven

Shane headed straight for his apartment after leaving Pablo’s place. The ride from Brooklyn

over to Staten Island was the longest and most uncomfortable one of his life.

His ass hurt.
And if he allowed himself to be truthful for one second, that sure as hell wasn’t sweat

burning his eyes.

Shit like that didn’t happen to him. He didn’t fall in love with the bad guy. He didn’t risk it all

for quick kisses and the opportunity to bust a nut. He was good at his job. Good at what he did,
which was blending in, getting close, getting people to trust him.

He lived to bring down the bastards flooding the streets with drugs and fattening their

pockets with the proceeds. He lived for it. Getting close to York wasn’t hard, all he had to do
was prove his loyalty and he did, by throwing Zander, York’s trusted right-hand man for years,
under the bus.

Lucky for Shane and his team Zander was willing to play ball, to go in with them and play his

part. He sat with Shane for weeks as Shane learned all he could about York’s business, the
people he dealt with and the man himself. When they were finished, Zander’s death was faked
and he was shipped off to God knew where with a brand new name on his driver’s license and
a more tame background.

As Dev, Shane stepped up and stepped in to fill the void Zander’s absence created. It took

him six months to get York’s trust. The DEA wanted York off the streets, but he was small
potatoes. The ultimate target was the young and aggressive family of drug dealers operating
out of Mexico, the Nieto brothers. Based in Juarez, this new sect had no compunction for
human life. They did any and everything without blinking an eye and the bloody trail they painted
through the southwest put them on the DEA’S radar fast.

The Nieto brothers’ organization was relatively new, considered to be in its infancy, but

nothing about the destruction they wreaked was. Shane’s bosses suspected York’s drug
connect, Swazie, had direct ties to the brothers, but someone had to get close enough to prove
it.

That someone was Shane.
It’d been pretty easy to get invited along when York did his business with Swazie, not that

easy to get photos and copies in hand. But Shane did, he bided his time and didn’t take
unnecessary risks.

It all worked out.
He’d bugged York’s bedroom, considered out of bounds to everyone, and had York on tape

doing his transactions. In two days, York had a meeting with Daniel Nieto, one of the brothers,
a meeting that would take place in New Jersey. Which was exactly where Shane’s team would
make their move.

He only had forty-two hours.
By the time he entered his apartment, it was close to five a.m. He didn’t bother sleeping,

instead he took a shower, washing away Pablo’s touch and his seed.

Unprotected sex.
He ducked his head under the spray of water and cursed.

He’d never done it, never been so careless as to take someone into his body without

protection. He’d never done a lot of things until meeting Pablo Castillo.

Loving someone like Castillo was crazy. Everything about the man went against everything

Shane knew, everything he believed in.

And yet.
His ass clenched in remembrance. He’d been around gorgeous men, been around men filled

with charisma and danger. Men oozing danger and phenomenal sex out of every pore. Some of
them good men, some very, very bad. They didn’t faze him, didn’t make him ache and want and
need.

Shane spun away from the flow of water and punched the wall. “Fuck!” Pain danced up his

arm and he leaned forward, pressing his forehead to the wet tile. Pablo didn’t want him, didn’t
want what they had.

Which was nothing really. Great sex did not a relationship make, especially not between a

weapons dealer and a DEA agent. It was foolish and selfish and dangerous to get caught up in
the moment. To romanticize what they shared.

Nothing.
It was nothing.
“I’m weak,” Shane muttered. The pouring water drowned out his words. “I’m so weak.” He

spoke louder. He’d indeed gone soft, developing feelings for someone he knew he couldn’t
have.

He stayed in the shower until the water turned cold, icing his skin and making him tremble

before he stepped out and wrapped a towel around his waist. He needed coffee, plus it was
almost time to check in with his handler.

The sun was up, pinking the sky by the time he made it outside. Water still dripped from his

hair and onto his t-shirt. His faded jeans sported huge holes in both knees and the red and
white Air Max on his feet were pretty scuffed up. Five blocks away from his place was a
Laundromat, open twenty-four hours. He bought himself a cup of coffee and a newspaper from
the deli nearby, enough to make change for the payphone.

Inside the Laundromat, deserted except for the attendant, he made his way to the back with

his black baseball cap pulled low. He took a seat in a blue plastic chair bolted to the floor and
pulled out the newspaper.

In silence he read and sipped his coffee, ignoring the heavy stare from the short Latina with

heavily lined lips and a curly ponytail. Shouldn’t it be too early to be that made up and decked
out in jewelry?

At exactly six-fifteen he stood and went to the payphone. He dialed and waited with his back

toward the camera and his gaze on the entrance.

“Jack’s Cigars.”
Shane grinned at the sleepy voice. “Jack.”
“Shane!” He heard a thump then a muffled, “Shit.”
Jack was always falling off the bed. That’s what he got for sleeping so close to the edge.

Shane chuckled. “Are you okay?”

“Me? Forget about me. Are you okay?”
Shane raised an eyebrow at the worry in Jack’s voice. “Of course I’m okay. What’s the

problem?”

“Jesus, Shane.” He pictured Jack scrubbing a hand over his face. The action always

followed his “Jesus, Shane” comments. “What the fuck are you doing with Pablo Castillo?”

“What?” Shane’s stomach dropped into his sneakers. “What are you talking about?” How

had Jack found out? And who else knew?

“Don’t give me that shit!” Jack growled. “The guys I had tailing you said you went into

Castillo’s house the other night and didn’t come out until the next morning. Scratch come out,”
Jack spat. “You snuck the fuck out.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you had people on me?” Jesus. What a clusterfuck.
“Why? So you could hide your shit better?”
“Careful, Jack.” Shane kept himself in check. “You’re no longer my lover or my superior.”

Jack inhaled sharply in his ear and Shane allowed himself a brief moment of regret if he’d hurt
Jack’s feelings. “My dealings with Pablo Castillo have nothing to do with my case or the way I
do it. Never doubt that.”

“Shane—”
“I want the guys on me called off. I told you from jump that shit was way too risky. Call them

off.” The Laundromat doors opened and a woman wheeled in a cart loaded with bags. “We’ll
see each other after the meeting is over. You can yell at me then.”

And knowing his ex-lover like he did, Jack would.
“Be careful, Shay. Be sure you know what you’re doing.”
Jack ended the call before Shane could tell him it was too late. He hadn’t been careful

enough and no, he had no idea what he was doing. Or what to do. They knew about Pablo. His
lover was on the DEA’s radar because of Shane.

Not good.
He walked back to his apartment with his hands shoved into his pockets, the morning heat

already making him sweat. He’d have to show his face at York’s today. There’d be fallout from
the stash-house that had been raided. York would most likely be on a rampage and out for
blood. Retaliation would definitely be in the works.

Shane didn’t know who hit the stash-house and he didn’t care. He just hoped York didn’t plan

to seek revenge any time soon. Shane had enough of the violence and death he’d seen under
York’s tutelage. He wanted out already.

Forty-two hours.
And he’d be away from New York and Pablo. Back with his family. He missed them as much

as he knew they missed him. His family understood his work. They accepted it without
complaint, but every time he got an assignment and had to say goodbye he vowed it would be
the last.

He’d had really bad assignments and some easy ones. This one had a category all its own.
A colossal clusterfuck.
His phone rang as he climbed the stairs to his apartment. His heart lurched until he eyed the

caller ID. York. He answered with a grimace. “Yes, boss?”

“Dev, I need you over here now.” York didn’t ask questions, he issued commands expected

to be followed without hesitation and complaint.

“Sure thing, I’ll head over right away.”

“I already sent Van to get you, he should be there shortly.” York ended the call and Shane

rolled his eyes.

“Yes sir,” he muttered. A car horn honked from outside and he ran back down the stairs.

Van was parked at the curb, waiting. Shane climbed in and buckled up as Van shot off.

“Damn.” Shane gripped the center console when Van lurched to a stop at a red light.

“Where’s the fire? Slow down, man.”

Van laughed. “Sorry. Boss said to get you over there quick so you know…” He shrugged.
Shane got it. The man didn’t want to be on York’s bad side. Who did? “All right, but he

wouldn’t be happy if you get us killed either. Watch yourself.”

“What’s with the face?” Van shot him a sidelong glance and Shane grimaced.
“Bar fight.” He kept his attention straight ahead. “Other guy got off much worse, trust.”
Van grunted.
They rolled through the gates of York’s mansion about ten minutes later. Shane stifled a

shudder. He hated being in that place. Thankfully he wouldn’t have to be there much longer.

“What’s the deal anyway?” he asked Van when they exited the parked car. “Why does he

need me?”

“Dunno.” Van rubbed his close-shaved scalp. “He was in his office for a long time on the

phone then he came out and bellowed for me to go get you.” He paused when they came to the
closed door of York’s office. “Must be something to do with that stash-house getting hit.” Van
cracked his knuckles with a grin. “Hope we get to bust some heads.”

Shane hoped not, but he chuckled and knocked on York’s door.
“Come in.”
All of York’s men were crammed into his office when Shane and Van entered. Shane raised

an eyebrow, a flash of unease running down his spine. The men made space for him and Van
and made their way to the front of the room. York was on the phone, papers and what
appeared to be photos strewn all over his desk. Shane eyed them but he was too far away to
see clearly and moving closer would be way too obvious.

They waited in silence until York finished up his call and faced them.
“We were hit hard. The stash-house had valuable things in there. Things that can make life

difficult for me and all involved.” York’s face was pure granite, hard and unyielding. His eyes
wide and bloodshot.

“Do we know who did it?” Van asked.
York nodded slowly. “We do.” His tone was cold yet even, giving nothing away, yet Shane

felt something layered underneath, something that raised the pores on his arms.

“Castillo’s gang is responsible.”
Oh shit. Not good. Pablo and his crew hit that stash-house? Pablo was with Shane that night

so he’d sent his men instead. Was that why he asked Shane to stay the night? So he wouldn’t
be in the way? Don’t think about it. Else he’d drive himself crazy with the questions that had no
answers.

“How did he know about that place?” one of the men asked. “How did Castillo know?”
York nodded and stood, gathering some photos with him. He approached the group and

Shane tensed.

“Excellent question. One we should be able to ask Castillo, but he’s not here.” He stopped

and ran his gaze over the men. “Still, we could ask someone else in his stead. After all, he does
have someone here on his payroll.”

Shane felt doused in ice. Fuck! This couldn’t be happening. He shifted subtly and kept his

eyes on York. He knew. York knew. Oh God.

“Let’s ask Dev how Castillo knows about the stash-house. He is fucking him after all.”
Arms grabbed Shane from behind, held him still. He struggled, but that only brought the

boots to his back and fists to his face. The blows from all sides drove him to his knees, Dev
unable to make a sound through the blood gurgling in his mouth and flowing from his head.

“Hold him up!” York barked.
Shane was yanked upright. He grunted at the pain in his shoulder. Already his eyes were

swelling shut. York approached him slowly, eyes wild and cold, the knife in his hand glittering
like diamonds in the sunlight.

“Think you can betray me?” Spit flew as York roared. He buried the knife in Shane’s right

side.

Shane gasped. He couldn’t breathe. His knees buckled with the pain, but the hands on him

held him fast. York yanked the knife out, the sound wet and obscene.

“Betray me?” He sank the knife in again and Shane welcomed the fast-approaching

darkness in order to hide from the pain. “First you.” York’s voice over his head receded. “Then
I’ll deal with Castillo once and for all.”

What did it say about Shane that the last thought in his head before he sank into oblivion

was of the man who’d rejected him?

* * * * *

Pablo opened his door to find Tommy on his doorstep, coffee in hand.
“Good boy.” He snatched the offered cup and ignored Tommy’s wide-eyed stare. From his

own brief glance in the mirror while brushing his teeth, he figured Tommy was surprised by the
big purple bruise on Pablo’s jaw.

He kicked the door closed and took a sip of the hot coffee. “Got it right in one try, Tommy.

Good one.”

Tommy ducked his head at the praise. “I know how you like it.”
Pablo paused then burst out laughing. “Well damn. I needed that shit, Tommy.” He walked

back through the living room to the kitchen and sat at the table in there. Tommy followed close
behind.

“You found anything on that stuff from the stash-house?”
Standing over by the sink, Tommy nodded with his eyes squinted and curiosity all over his

face. He tugged at the black, long-sleeved t-shirt he wore and fidgeted.

“What?”
“Uh.” A flush darkened the younger man’s pale features. “What happened to you?”
“It’s a beaut, right?” Pablo broke eye contact and sipped the coffee. “You should see the

other guy.”

“York’s man?”
Ha. York’s man. Pablo jerked a nod. “Sit.” He waved at the chair opposite him. “Tell me

what you found.”

Tommy sat. “The phones are all clean, except for one phone number. It’s the only number

any of the phones called. It’s to Francesca Lopes.”

Pablo frowned. The name didn’t ring any bells. “Who is she?”
Tommy flipped his hair away from his eyes with two fingers, the nails painted a glossy

black. “She’s the girlfriend of Antonio de la Cruz. He’s the cousin of Marco de la Cruz, one of
the Nieto brothers’ hired guns.”

Pablo stared at Tommy. “Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
“York’s working with the Nieto brothers.” No wonder the DEA was after his ass.
“There’s more.” Tommy leaned forward on his elbows, his eyes animated. The expression,

open and unguarded, looked good on him. “I think something big is about to go down.”

Pablo simply raised an eyebrow and Tommy went on.
“That laptop had some information on it. Took me all of last night to crack the damn thing,

but I did.” He flashed a surprisingly cocky grin. “It’s a truck route. I think a shipment is coming
through tomorrow night. Somewhere in Jersey.”

“How exactly do you figure?” It wasn’t that he didn’t think Tommy wasn’t good at what he

did, Pablo needed to be very sure in order to know how best to proceed with any valuable info.

“Some text messages on one of the phones, including a date and time.” Tommy dragged his

fingers through his hair. “I don’t have anything on what kind of truck or a location except for
some weird numbers and symbols that I can’t seem to decipher.”

“We need to know exactly where and when.” Pablo got up from the table and dropped his

empty coffee cop in the garbage can under the kitchen sink. “The sooner we know the better.”

“You gonna hit them?”
Was he? Did he need the fallout that would inevitably follow? Was now the time to go up

against the Nieto brothers? Hell, was anytime the right time? He couldn’t fuck with the Nieto
brothers, they out-manned him for sure. What he could do was hand Shane and the DEA their
win. And get Shane away from New York and Pablo for good.

Win-win right there.
“Not sure about hitting them,” he hedged to Tommy. “But I’ll definitely make a move.” He

made a move to the fridge, but a thought stopped him. “Those numbers, could they be GPS
coordinates?”

Tommy opened his mouth then closed it.
“What?”
“I tried everything to decipher those numbers. Everything but that.” He smiled and pulled out

his cell phone. “Good save.”

“I have my uses.”
Tommy punched in the numbers into his phone and barked a laugh. “Yep. GPS coordinates

for a stretch of abandoned waterfront in…Hoboken, New Jersey.”

“Nice. Let’s hope they didn’t change things since we hit the stash-house.”
“Damn.”
Pablo nodded, silently seconding Tommy’s muttered curse. No skin off his nose if they did

change up their plans, but he wanted Shane out of his life and the sooner he delivered the Nieto
brothers, the sooner that happened.

“We’ll just have to keep our fingers crossed,” Pablo said.
Tommy’s lips quirked. “Yeah, we can do that.” He sobered and sat back in his chair. “Now

that business is out of the way, I’d like to talk about something else.”

“Sure.” Pablo took a seat opposite Tommy and waited. His apprehension grew as Tommy

appeared to suddenly be out of words. “What’s up?”

“I-It’s Mateo.”
“Did he hurt you?” Pablo had warned the son of a bitch.
“He’s been pursuing me.” The flush was back on Tommy’s face, creeping from his neck to

his cheeks.

“I know and I warned him away. I told him you weren’t ready.”
Tommy made a sound like a choked laugh. “Yeah well, he didn’t listen. We got…close.”
“How close?”
“Close enough that he tried to tie me up.”
“Jesus fuck!” Pablo jumped out of his chair and paced the kitchen floor. “What the hell was

he thinking? I told him no.”

“I was—we were enjoying each other.” Tommy’s eyes were wide, his face drained of color.

“I’d let my guard down only a little.” His voice cracked. “I lost it,” he confessed. “I lost it right
there, melted down while he watched.”

Pablo went to him and patted his back. “It’s not your fault. He should have listened, should

have known better. I warned him. You’re just not ready for what he wants.”

“It’s been years,” Tommy whispered fiercely. “I should be better. I should be over it.”
“You shouldn’t be anything.” Pablo sat on the table next to Tommy and placed a finger under

the younger man’s chin, tilting his head up. Their eyes met and Pablo cursed inwardly at the
fear and self-loathing in Tommy’s clouded gaze. “Have you—did you…?” How did he even ask
what he was thinking delicately?

Tommy saved him the trouble by rolling up his sleeves, exposing the raised scars on the

insides of his wrists. None recent, thank God.

“I didn’t go back to cutting, no.”
“That’s because you’re strong, stronger than you’ve ever been, Tommy. Don’t let the

demons win.”

They sat in silence until Tommy spoke. ”This guy, Dev. You like him?”
Huh? “Why?”
Tommy blushed. “I saw you two when he came by Fifty-Third the other day. I think you’re

different when he’s in the room. I kinda envy you the ease in which you go after and take what
you want.”

Christ. “There’s a downside to that, Tommy. There’s always a downside. Just give yourself

time and don’t be too hard on yourself. You’ve been through a lot. Mateo will have to wait until
you both are ready. If he really cares, he’ll understand.”

“When you asked me to come work for you, you made me a promise.”
Everything in Pablo stilled. “I did.”
Tommy nodded. “I’m cashing out. Today.”
“Jesus. Why?”

“I can’t be with him. Can’t and don’t think I’ll ever be able to give him what he wants or

needs.”

“Which is what?”
“Me.”
Fuck. “Are you sure? About cashing out?”
“Positive.”
I need a drink.
After Tommy left, Pablo lost himself in a concoction of Jamaican rum and Mexican tequila.

The mixture was a ball of fire blazing down his throat, but he collapsed onto the couch and took
another sip.

And another.
The goal was to get too shitfaced to think, but no matter how much he swallowed, Tommy

and Shane swirled around in his brain. He had no right to give Tommy any advice, not when he
couldn’t get his own world right. Not when Shane’s battered face swam behind his burning
eyes.

Pablo knew Tommy’s struggles. He understood the young man’s need to hide. Pablo didn’t

have the same luxury. He couldn’t hide from what this thing with Shane meant—or what it could
mean.

He wasn’t ready to face the truth.
Once burned.
Besides, they had no shot. Not with Shane’s work and Pablo’s business. No shot at all. The

sooner the DEA wrapped up their case, the sooner Shane would be back where he belonged.
With his family.

Beyond Pablo’s reach. Beyond his temptation.
Shane. Pablo buried his face in the couch cushions. I gotta leave you alone. He took a deep

breath, trying to catch Shane’s scent from last night. From when he took Pablo.

Even though Pablo had been the pitcher it didn’t mean Shane hadn’t taken him in every other

way that counted. The fury and pain on his face when he saw Pablo and Syren kissing.

Pablo had expected that reaction, but watching it play out on Shane’s face up close was…

painful. All he wanted was to push Shane away, make him see they were no good together.
They shouldn’t have started. Shouldn’t have given in to the need.

A need that still clawed at him. Still crawled all over his skin, making him shudder and sweat

like a fucking dope fiend.

He couldn’t regret it and wasn’t that the kicker?
He leaned off the couch and picked up the bottle of mixed liquor. Lifting his head up, he took

a long gulp then swiped at his eyes. His head pounded…

No, that was the door.
He ignored it. He recapped the bottle and dropped back onto the couch with a shaky sigh.
Well. It was official. He’d turned into a mopey drunkard. Still, if he could think straight, he

wasn’t that drunk. Best to remedy that.

“Boss! Boss, you in there?”
That fucking Mateo. Always turning up at the most inopportune times. Pablo grunted but

didn’t answer.

“I’m coming in, boss.”
Argh! Pablo rolled over onto his stomach as the door opened. Damn. He’d forgotten Mateo

had a key. Gotta remember to change the locks.

“Boss.” Mateo shook Pablo with a hand on his shoulder. “Boss, wake up.”
“Goddamn it, Teo.” Pablo groaned. “You’re fucking with my buzz.”
“Something happened to Dev.”
Pablo got a heavy case of vertigo as he shot upright. “What happened?”
Mateo’s face was grim. His gaze danced away from Pablo’s. “Um.”
“Teo, I already plan to fuck your ass up, don’t speed up the timetable. Spill it.”
“Reggie and Charlie are on him. They just called me. Apparently York called some sort of

meeting and when everyone was gathered he, uh, Reggie said he watched through his
binoculars as York stabbed Dev.”

Pablo shook his head slowly. The liquor must be fucking with his hearing because he

could’ve sworn he heard Mateo say York stabbed Dev.

Shane.
“Focus!” Mateo snapped his fingers under Pablo’s nose. “Your boy was beaten down,

jumped by all York’s men and stabbed at least twice.” Mateo paused. “They’re not sure if he’s
alive.”

What? What?
Pablo jumped to his feet, staggering until Mateo caught him and held him steady. He

swallowed around the burning in his throat, in his chest. “Let’s go.”

“You’re drunk.”
“This is fucking relevant how?” Pablo grabbed the t-shirt he’d discarded earlier and pulled it

on. “Do they know where he is, where Dev is?”

Mateo shrugged and no to fuck, that wasn’t pity in his eyes. “The guys didn’t see anybody

leave the place.”

Pablo grabbed his cell phone and wallet off the coffee table. “Call them back. Tell them I

want York. Alive. Make sure neither he nor Dev leaves that house.” They rushed out his place
as one and Pablo sat in the passenger side of Mateo’s car as Mateo spoke to Reggie.

When Mateo ended the call, Pablo turned to him. “You got your tools?”
“I can get them on the way.”
“Do that.” Pablo tapped the dashboard. “Let’s move.”

* * * * *

Pablo ordered all his men to Staten Island and by the time Mateo pulled up to Reggie and

Mitch, a small crowd had gathered. Pablo hopped out the still-moving car and approached his
men.

He embraced the anger.
Fear wasn’t an option. He had no time for it. They needed to find Shane, preferably before

he died.

And Pablo had to deal with York once and for all.
“Boss.” Mitch gave him a heavy, pitying look before breaking eye contact. “Everyone’s still

inside.” He jerked his head over his shoulder to the house almost hidden from the street by
walls well over ten feet high. The gated entrance was flanked by low-hanging brush.

Two security cameras were mounted on either side of the gate, swiveling this way and that.
Mateo jogged up to them, his sniper case swung over his shoulder. Pablo pointed to the

cameras.

“Take those out.”
Mateo nodded and began assembling the pieces to his rifle right there. The street York lived

on was on a dead end, with only two other houses farther down. Well away from view of the
activities about to unfold. Still, they needed to be quick about it, get in and out.

“Mitch, you strapped?”
“Yes, boss.”
“Good, stay with Teo. I want anyone who attempts to leave picked the fuck off.” He headed

across the street. “The rest of you come with me. I want York alive. I also need to find Sha—
uh—Dev. He’s priority.”

The men hurried after him and at the gate they stood off to the side, out of reach of the

cameras as Mateo did his thing, shooting the cameras out one by one. With the cameras
disabled, they moved swiftly. Pablo shot off the lock on the gate and entered the premises.
York’s house stood eerily silent. No one moved on the well-kept grounds.

They all must be inside, doing God knew what to Shane. Pablo swallowed the rise of

despair and the fear. Again. There was no time to think about it. That would have to come later.
After they found Shane.

Was he still alive?
What happened to make York turn on him so quickly? Had his cover been blown? And

where was his backup, his people?

Pablo shook off the questions. He’d be sure to ask them later, but right now he had to find

Shane. Had to make sure…

“Come on, guys.” Since he had no idea what awaited them in the back entrance he opted to

go through the front door. He kicked it down and looked around the empty place. Where in the
hell was everyone?

“Spread out,” he ordered his men. “Let me know on my phone if you find York or Dev.

Watch yourselves.” The men disappeared and Pablo searched though the next couple rooms on
his own. Not a person in sight. He made his way down a long, carpeted hallway, stopping only
when he came to a closed door. He tried the knob, but found it locked.

Not for long.
He kicked it in. Wood splintered, the door swung open and his knees buckled. It was an

office. And in the middle of the office was a pool of blood, congealing on the stained wood
floor.

“Shane.” The name fell from his lips. His knees hit the floor and his vision blurred. For a

second. Only for a second did he allow his hard shell to show its cracks. The wall to come
down. The truth to show. He touched the blood with the tip of his right index.

Not like this. He wanted Shane out of his life, out of his mind, but not like this.
Please. Not like this.
A sound at the door jerked his head up. One of York’s men—Van, he believed—stood there.

Pablo took in the blood on his hands and clothes. Their eyes met and as Van’s eyed widened,
Pablo pulled the trigger.

The bullet slammed into his right shoulder, propelling Van backward. He staggered then

crumpled to the floor. Pablo jumped upright and sprang at him. He grabbed a gasping Van by
the throat.

“Where is he?” He squeezed, taking no small amount of satisfaction in the fear turning Van’s

eyes bloodshot red. “Where the fuck is he, where’s Dev?”

Van’s body trembled in Pablo’s hold, his fingers scratching at the floor as he tried to hold on

to something.

“You can die for and with York, or you can tell me where Dev is and live,” Pablo rasped.

Van’s throat worked under his palm. “Your choice.”

Van quit moving. Pablo shifted away slightly, taking in the blood soaking Van’s pale-blue

polo shirt with uninterested eyes. No skin off his nose if the other man died, but he wanted to
know where Shane was. He needed to know.

“H-he’s in the base—” Van took an audible breath. “In the basement.”
“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Pablo stood. “Any ideas where your boss could be?”
“Bedroom. Third floor. Red door leads to a secret room.”
Pablo snorted. “I bet it does.” He waved his gun at Van’s shoulder. “Put some pressure on

that thing and you’ll be fine.”

Van’s mouth dropped open, shock in his gaze.
“I’m not here for you, kid.” Pablo stepped over him. “I only plan to kill one man today.”
Out in the hallway, Pablo pulled out his cell phone and dialed Freddo. “Freddo, York’s on the

third floor. Take the red door, it’ll lead to another secret room.”

“Got it, boss.”
“Alive,” Pablo reminded him. “He’s mine.” He ended the call then looked around him. Where

in the hell was the basement? He poked his head back into the office and posed the question to
a groaning Van who pointed a shaky finger to Pablo’s left.

“It’s the door with chains over it.”
Of course. Pablo walked toward the basement, his footsteps heavy in the silence. He

couldn’t bring himself to ask Van if Shane was still alive. He’d kill everyone if he wasn’t, starting
with York.

He finally got to the chained door. The chains were indeed slung across the door, but it

remained unlocked. Pablo pulled it away and pushed the door open. Heat slapped him in the
face. He couldn’t see a thing in all the darkness, couldn’t hear either, but he smelled it.

The blood.
Shane’s blood.
Pablo swallowed. Focus. Focus.
He pulled a keychain from his pocket and flicked on the tiny pen light. Barely enough to see

his hand in front his face. He flashed it at his feet and made out the stairs. Pablo descended
into the basement carefully, dragging his palm against the wall to keep his balance. At the
bottom he trained the pen light onto the wall until he found the light switch. He turned it on.

And found Shane.
Pablo’s lover hung limp and bloodied from a meat hook in the middle of the room, his wrists

bound with thick rope red from his blood. Two huge gashes decorated Shane’s left side, the
blood slowed to a trickle. He’d been stripped out of his clothes and was clad only in boxers,
also soaked in red. The bruises Pablo had put on his face and body the night before were long
overshadowed by fresh marks that darkened Shane’s face and neck. His lips were swollen and
split open.

His head hung low, chin touching his chest. No movements there to tell if he still drew breath.

No sounds either.

Pablo turned away, searching the room for something to stand on. He had to get Shane

down. Had to get him down. He needed…

God.
He wanted those green eyes to open. To look at him the way Shane always did, with his

heart shining through.

Through blurry vision, Pablo spied a couple of concrete blocks off to the side. He dragged

them back to the middle of the room without a sound. When the blocks were near enough, he
climbed up and pulled out his pocketknife. He couldn’t figure out where to touch Shane, where
to hold him. His entire body looked swollen and what wasn’t covered in blood was black and
blue.

Pablo took a shuddering breath and squeezed his eyes shut. When he opened them again,

he placed his left palm softly, carefully, against Shane’s chest. Above his heart.

Hot tears dropped from Pablo’s eyes, burning his cheeks.
Under his touch, Shane’s heart beat steadily.
Pablo tilted his face skyward. Thank you.
He pulled out his phone and dialed. “Teo, I have him. Send some of the men down here and

bring a car, we’re taking him to the nearest ER.” He shoved the phone back into his pocket and
quickly cut the ropes holding Shane up.

When the ropes gave out, Pablo hugged Shane close, staggering backward with the weight

of his lover. He wobbled on the blocks but managed, barely, to step off before he collapsed.
On the cold floor he stripped off his t-shirt and used it to wipe the blood from Shane’s face.

“Shane, open your eyes.” His whispered words shook. “Open your eyes. Please.” He

clasped Shane’s hand in his, brushing a kiss to his cracked lips. “I need to know you’re okay.
Shane, please.”

Hurried footsteps clamored down the basement stairs. Pablo ignored them.
“Shane, open your eyes.” The pulse under his hand fluttered, but nothing else moved.
“Boss, you need help?” Freddo and Reggie appeared before him, concern etched on their

faces.

He didn’t need their concern or help. He needed Shane to open his eyes. “Did you find

York?”

Reggie nodded. “Fucker was fast asleep in his bed.”
“Have Mitch take him back to Brooklyn. I’ll deal with him later.” Reggie turned away to relay

his message and Pablo waved Freddo over. “Help me carry him to the car.”

They repositioned themselves until Freddo was at Shane’s feet and Pablo stood at his head.

Freddo grasped Shane’s ankles.

Shane rustled. Groaned.

They froze.
Shane flailed, kicking Freddo in the nuts.
“Fuck!”
“Shane. Shane, stay calm.”
Shane stilled. His lashes fluttered. “J.P.?”
“I’m here.” Pablo’s words came out sounding rusted. “I’ve got you.”
Shane’s head tilted toward Pablo’s voice. Dark lashes lifted, a pain-filled green gaze

searched and found Pablo. His hand, smeared with blood, grabbed Pablo’s fingers where they
rested on his shoulder. “You’re okay?”

Was he— Pablo nodded and squeezed Shane’s hand, emotions thick in his throat. “I’m

okay,” he whispered.

Shane’s lips trembled. His eyes glistened. “Love.”
Pablo smiled down at him, presenting a calm he didn’t feel. Hiding the panic racing his heart.

“I know.” He felt Freddo’s and Reggie’s eyes on him. “I have to make sure you’re okay. I’m
taking you to the hospital.”

Shane closed his eyes and nodded. “I’m Dev.”
Which meant his cover was still intact, so why had York tried to kill him? Answers would

have to come later.

“Let’s go.”
With Freddo and Reggie’s help, he got Shane upstairs and into the car waiting at the curb.

Mateo pulled off, tires squealing. Reggie sat up front and Pablo and Freddo took the backseat.
Shane lay between them, his feet on Freddo, his head in Pablo’s lap.

With shaking fingers, Pablo pushed a lock of hair, wet with sweat and blood, from Shane’s

forehead.

“Hey, boss?” Reggie broke the heavy silence.
“Hmm?” He looked up as Mateo blasted through a yellow light.
“Why did you call him Shane?”

Chapter Eight

Well, no escaping from the three sets of eyes that bored into him from all sides. Pablo lifted

a shoulder with a soft sigh.

“He’s DEA. Undercover.”
Next to him, Freddo swore under his breath. Reggie’s incredulous gaze was wide and

Mateo stared straight ahead. The car hit a bump and Shane groaned, his head rolling from side
to side.

“His target is York and the Nieto brothers, not us. Not me.” He stressed the last part to

make shit crystal.

“Did you know all along?”
Pablo held Mateo’s gaze in the rearview while he answered his question. “I found out last

night. We…it wasn’t pretty.” Anything but. He’d sent Shane away, straight into the path of
York’s knife.

“That shiner on your face?” Mateo asked.
“I gave as good as I got, even worse.” Pablo glanced down at the bloodied man in his lap. “I

tied him up in the basement, slashed his face.” His voice wobbled. “I wanted to hurt him.” And
he had.

“You care for him.”
There went Freddo, stating the fucking obvious. But Pablo did even when he knew… “I

can’t,” he said. “I shouldn’t. It’s no good for either of us.”

“But you do,” Reggie piped up.
Mateo swung the car into the emergency entrance of the hospital and Pablo ignored Reggie.

Once Mateo parked, all four men lifted Shane and hurried into the ER.

“We need help!” If his voice broke, only he noticed since they were immediately swarmed by

hospital staff, questions flung at them.

What happened? Who was the patient? How long had he been in that condition?
While Shane was transferred onto a gurney and wheeled into a room, Pablo speed-walked

beside him, talking to the nurses, answering the questions he could.

An older man with silver hair and warm eyes entered the room and one of the nurses,

plump, with bright-red hair and overlong nails, grabbed Pablo’s arm and dragged him outside.

“No.” He shrugged her hand away. “I need— I need to be with him. I need to make sure—”
“Honey, you need to make sure you’re also okay.” The nurse, Anna Nicholas read the tag

stuck to the white uniform decorated with colorful teddy bears, drew the curtain of Shane’s
room closed then faced Pablo with both hands on her hips. “Who is that young man to you?”

“He’s a friend.” And so much more Pablo couldn’t afford to put into words, to voice. Not

then. Maybe not ever.

“Uh-huh.” Nurse Nicholas looked him up and down with a frown. “He’s lost a lot of blood and

the doctor will have to examine him more, but from the looks of things I’d say your young man
will pull through.”

Pablo nodded. At least he thought he did. He couldn’t feel anything except the pain

blossoming big and bright in his chest. “I have to— I need to—”

Understanding dawned in the nurse’s eyes. “Bathroom is that way.” She pointed to her left,

down a corridor. “Take all the time you need.”

Pablo raced away, barreling through the door of the men’s room before falling to his knees

right there in the middle of the empty space. Lucky for him. Lucky no one else was witness to
him losing his mind, losing his grip.

The emotions of the past few hours, even as far back as the night before, pushed at his

shoulders and he hunched over, gasping for air.

For breath.
The precious commodity rattled in his chest, reminding him of how close Shane came to

losing his life. How close Pablo came to losing Shane. He wouldn’t have recovered from a blow
like that. A mortal blow. He’d blame himself. Pablo knew that. All his fault.

He should have stayed away from Shane when he thought he was Dev. Shouldn’t have

allowed it to get so far, but he had, and now Shane lay in a hospital bed.

And Pablo was on his knees.
Please.
Begging.
Please, let him be all right. Please, God.
For a man who’d turned away from anything resembling a higher power when his mother

was killed, he sure as hell was doing a one-eighty now. His mother was the last person’s life
he’d begged for, the last person he’d bartered with God to save. That hadn’t worked and here,
now, even if he was in a mood to barter, he had nothing more to give.

Shane has to be okay.
Voices and footsteps invaded his silent pleas and he leapt up on unsteady legs. He made his

way to the sinks and splashed cold water on his face, taking notice of his trembling hands with
burning eyes.

The bathroom door opened and he looked up, meeting Mateo’s gaze in the mirror. They

didn’t speak. Pablo grabbed a couple tissues, wiping off his hands as he exited the men’s room.
Mateo stayed with him, keeping up with his hurried stride. He made his way back to the last
place he’d seen Shane, but when he pulled aside the curtain, the bed was empty.

Bloodied.
Messy.
Shane’s boxers, cut off him, were on the floor.
But the bed was empty.
A sound escaped Pablo, like nothing he’d ever heard another human make. The room spun,

but a hand at his elbow held him, helped him to the wall where he slid down to the floor. Mateo
pulled the curtain closed, giving them privacy, then joined Pablo on the floor.

They sat in silence and Pablo stared off into space, breathing through the pain. He had to, it

was nothing compared to what Shane was going through.

Nothing.
He was a bastard for feeling sorry for himself when Shane was fighting for his life. He held

his hands up in front of his face and watched them do that macabre dance, his fingertips ice
cold.

“That guy in there, whatever his name, whatever his job description, he fucking owns you,

doesn’t he?”

There was no point in answering Mateo. Not when his actions told the tale so clearly. No

point in denials either. He’d just make himself into a liar too.

This wasn’t supposed to happen again. Not after the last time. Not after the pain and the

loss of the last time. But this.

This was worse. He felt it in his bones. This was new, like nothing else.
Ever.
Along with the pain and the fear for Shane, anger burned hot and bright. Revenge looked

good right about now. He needed to spill some blood, make somebody else hurt the way he
did. Make them feel even an ounce of what he was going through.

The despair. The hopelessness. The helplessness.
He wanted to see it on someone else’s face, see it in someone else’s eyes other than his

when he forgot and looked in the mirror.

Someone yanked the curtain back. Mateo jumped up, ready to battle from his stance. Nurse

Nicholas harrumphed at him, her eyes meeting Pablo’s.

“Your young man is getting patched up.” She walked closer to Pablo. “The knife sliced clean

through, didn’t hit anything vital. Right now the doctor is taking care of him, but he’s being
sedated.”

Mateo squatted beside Pablo and looked up at the nurse. “So you’re saying he’ll be fine?”
“Yes. He just needs to heal up and he’ll be up and on his feet in no time.” She spoke to

Mateo but held Pablo’s gaze. “The other two men who came in with you are giving the officers
their statements downstairs so why don’t you go home? Get cleaned up. Get some rest. I’m
sure if the police need you they’ll come looking.”

Like hell. He wasn’t leaving. Not until he saw Shane with his own eyes. Not until those green

eyes sparkled for him, spoke to him. Pablo shook his head. “I’m not—”

“You are.” Mateo grabbed his arm and pulled upright.
Really spoke to Pablo’s state of mind that he didn’t call his friend on the manhandling. Really

did. He stood quiet as Mateo pulled out a business card and handed it to the nurse.

“Call if anything changes. Anything.”
She nodded and Mateo walked out the room, pulling Pablo behind him.
Mateo waited until they were safely inside the elevator before he spoke. “Reggie, Freddo

and I decided they’ll tell the cops they found Shane on the side of the road in his condition. If
they come looking for you and me, we stick to that, yeah?”

Pablo grunted, the words barely registering.
“You want someone to pay, yeah? Maybe you’ve forgotten you have someone. York is all

trussed up in the warehouse in East New York. Waiting for you.”

York. Pablo hadn’t forgotten about him, but Mateo was right. He had someone to take out

his anger on. He’d do it with a smile.

Outside in the parking lot, the sunlight blinded him for a minute. It crossed his mind as he

watched people go about their lives that everything he wanted and needed was upstairs.
Sedated in one of those tiny rooms.

All alone.
He wouldn’t leave Shane alone for long. Shouldn’t take long to slit York’s throat.
Mateo opened the passenger side door for him then paused, his gaze heavy on Pablo’s

face.

“What?”
“I need your head back in the game.” His friend’s mouth twisted. “Let’s leave what you feel

or don’t feel for him here, right now. You’re about to deal with an enemy and this has to be
business. You ready?”

Fucking A he was. “I’m ready.”

* * * * *

He hadn’t killed a lot over the years, but he’d done enough. Just enough to know how to

slice someone for maximum blood loss and pain, but still keep them breathing and alert to what
came next.

Funny, he’d never considered himself a fan of torture, but as he stood back and surveyed

his handiwork he figured he must be.

He’d given York a taste of his own medicine, using the same knife he’d stabbed Shane with

to open him up. The first mark Pablo put on him was identical to Shane’s, two stabs on the left
side. Except maybe he had twisted a time or two, nicked something vital.

Or two.
To his credit York hadn’t started begging and pleading for his life until Pablo made the

shallow cut around his neck. Yes, he was bleeding but if he were to get medical attention in the
next say, twenty minutes, he’d be just fine.

Unfortunately for York, there’d be no help. At least medically.
Stripped of all his clothes, York was laid out on a wooden picnic table in the middle of the

warehouse on Williams Avenue. Fitting, actually. This was where Pablo made that first mistake,
taking Shane—as Dev—alone to the boat.

That first kiss fucked his head up.
York pulled at the cuffs around his wrists, dragging Pablo’s attention back to him. Fool move

that, didn’t he already know what having Pablo’s attention meant?

“You were about to tell me your reasoning behind stabbing Dev,” Pablo reminded him

quietly. He sat back on his haunches, wiping the blade of the knife against his jeans. “Go on,
I’m all ears.”

The hatred in York’s eyes was palpable. He’d taken to gasping for his breaths, his bloody

chest and torso rising and falling as his Adam’s apple worked. “It’s your fucking fault,” York
wheezed. “You got him on your payroll. He’s the reason you hit the stash-house.”

Pablo laughed and even he cringed at the sound, rough and bitter. “Hate to burst your

bubble, old man, I was only fucking your boy. It was never about you. He didn’t even know
about the warehouse, I’m guessing, until you stabbed him and accused him of it. Appears to me
you killed off one of your loyal men for nothing.”

“Nothing? The picture the girl showed me told it all. That son of a bitch was playing me.”

York’s voice broke as he ran out of air. He clawed at the table, eyes widening as he fought to
breathe.

The girl. Had to be Piper. “You should conserve your energy,” Pablo warned him. “I’m

nowhere near done with you yet.”

“He was— He was fucking you, my enemy.” York’s voice dwindled down to a mere breath

of sound. “He d-deserved wh-what he g-got.”

“And many will say the same about you.”
“I’m n-not ’fraid.” York’s pallor belied his words, as did his wide eyes. His blood slid down

his sides and through the cracks in the table, drip-dripping on the exposed concrete floor and
collecting into a thick dark-red puddle.

“You should be afraid,” Pablo said. “Because I’m afraid of how easy it would be for me to

carve you open and scoop your insides out. How easy it would be to cut you up into pieces so
miniscule no one would ever recognize you from a speck of gravel on the street.”

“A-all this for him?” York gasped for air. “F-for one of my lackeys?” His eyes, the whites

turning pink, widened and grudging understanding dawned. “Y-you—” He took in air. “You care
for him.” He made a sound, could have been a laugh, but it was too wet and rattling and
wheezy to tell. “G-glad he’s dead.”

Pablo pounced on him, grabbing the back of York’s head as he sank the knife into his gut.
Deep.
To the hilt.
“Check your tenses,” he whispered. Twisting the blade, he dragged it up, slicing through

damn near everything York still had in there. “He’s still alive. And unlike you, he’ll remain so.”

York whimpered, his body shuddered.
Hot sticky liquid soaked Pablo’s jeans where he held the other man so close to him. “His

name’s not Dev and he’s DEA.”

York grunted.
“Thanks to you,” Pablo told him, “he’s all set to take down the Nieto brothers.” He pulled his

head back, meeting York’s gaze in time to watch death creep up. “Bet that makes you mad.”
He chuckled. “Too bad you’re already dead, huh?”

“Fu-fuck you, C-Castillo. G-go to h-hell.”
“Oh I will. But you first.” Pablo climbed off the table and stood back, his gaze never leaving

York’s eyes until all life evaporated. Finally, he held his clenched fist up and forced his fingers
to relax. One by one they released and the knife clattered to the floor, the same knife that put
Shane in the hospital.

He didn’t feel better. He didn’t feel worse. He just felt…numb. Drained. He wanted to curl up

into a ball and sleep, wake only when Shane was back where he was supposed to be.

In Pablo’s arms. In his bed.
Looking at York’s lifeless body, Pablo finally spoke the words out loud. “I love him.” Yes. He

did. In a way he never, ever could’ve imagined feeling for Angelo. In a way that made his
stomach turn when he looked down at himself soaked in York’s blood. Not an ounce of regret
for taking a man’s life.

Footsteps approached. “Boss?”
His façade crumbled bit by bit until he couldn’t hide it, couldn’t hold it in. A hand landed on his

shoulder and he turned around, faced Mateo.

“Teo, I love him.” The words poured from him like a dam bursting, uncontrollable. Destroying

everything in its path.

“I know.” Mateo smiled.
“No.” Pablo shook his head. “You don’t know, Teo. No one does.” He wiped angrily at his

wet eyes. “I-I have to let him go. Look at me, at us, what we do then look at Shane.”

Mateo allowed him his speech.
“He’s one of the good guys, Teo. They put people like us away. If he ever saw me like

this…” Pablo held up his bloody hands. “He can never see me like this, Teo. Never. The way he
looks at me, I don’t want it to change. It’s everything.”

“So you’re saying?” Mateo raised an eyebrow.
“I’m saying I love him. Enough to let him go.”

* * * * *

Pablo was still scrubbing himself clean two hours later when the hushed call came from

Nurse Nicholas. A stern-looking gentleman, all suited-up—her words—was asking after Dev,
asking questions about Pablo. He had other suited-up and serious-looking men with him and
they weren’t budging.

In fact, they’d formed some sort of human wall around Dev, checking ID from everyone who

came within a foot of Dev’s room.

Guess his backup finally saw fit to put in an appearance.
Man could’ve been dead and buried already.
He dressed hurriedly, t-shirt, jeans and boots, and a more-than-willing Mateo drove him

back over the Verrazano to Staten Island.

He stared out into the evening dusk with gritted teeth. Just because he’d made his decision

to let Shane go didn’t mean he was happy with it. In the end the farther away Shane was from
Pablo and his world cloaked in death, the better.

He wouldn’t allow it to come so close to Shane again, to touch him. Mark him.
The idea of losing Shane hurt, too much for him to make such a decision lightly. The pain of

sending him away would be nothing, minute, compared to having to watch him die. Yes, his job
was dangerous, but fucking with Pablo would shorten any time Shane would have exponentially.

Can’t happen. And it wouldn’t.
It was fully dark by the time Mateo arrived back at the hospital. As he pulled to a stop,

Pablo cracked the vertebrae in his neck. Another battle awaited and he needed his wits about
him. This was not the time to be feeling sorry for himself.

That would come later.
Nurse Nicholas, who it appeared had taken it upon herself to be Pablo’s sole defender, met

them as they neared Shane’s room. Suits were crawling all over the place. Stoic and imposing.

He fucking hated them already.
Nurse Nicholas distracted the two guys acting as sentries outside Shane’s room by insisting

they sign some made-up paperwork. When they turned their backs, Pablo rolled his eyes and
ducked inside.

Shane was pale against the whiteness of the hospital bed. His gown was white too. A tube

ran from his left arm to a machine beeping in that annoying way. A breathing tube was placed
around his nose. His face was still black and blue, his lips a little less swollen. The gown he
wore was secured in the front and Pablo made out the bandages, big ones on his left side,
smaller ones across his torso.

He was alive and breathing and never looked so good. Pablo collapsed on the chair pulled

close to the bed and held Shane’s hand nearest to him. At the moment he didn’t have words,
they’d have to come later, but he could make do with the sounds of Shane breathing. With the
feel of his pulse, beating strong and steady against Pablo’s fingertips.

“The infamous Juan Pablo Castillo.”
The voice above him dripped acid and Pablo took his sweet time lifting his head to

acknowledge the speaker. The man who spoke was indeed dressed in a dark suit, dark
glasses to match. He was tall, as tall as Shane, with severely cut blond hair and light eyes.
Good-looking in that clean-cut way that did nothing for Pablo. You could tell this one wasn’t a
fan of getting dirty.

In bed or otherwise.
“I am. You are?”
“Jack Wellington, DEA.”
Christ, even his name was clean cut. Pablo scowled as Jackie Boy flashed his badge. “Nice

of you to show, Jackie. Even if it’s hours later.”

A red flush crawled up Jack’s neck onto his face and he narrowed his eyes. “Would it have

stopped you from gutting him? From carving him up like you did?”

Pablo laughed. “You’re a fucking fool then, Jackie boy, if you think I’d do that to him. You

put him out there in harm’s way as bait with no life jacket. Where the fuck was the DEA, huh?
Matter of fact, where were you, Jack, when he needed you?”

“You don’t know the first thing about me.” Jack glanced at Shane. “About him. I warned him

about you. I had men on him, but he called them off when I told him I knew about the two of
you.”

“Then you’re a fucking idiot,” Pablo spat at him. He got to his feet and sized up the other

man. “You knew how dangerous York was and you still left him out there alone. You think I hurt
him?” Pablo poked a finger at his own chest. “I cut him down from the fish hook he’d been
strung up on. I was the one who had to make sure he was fucking alive, that he was breathing.
Let me tell you, Jack, I’d have come for you and I’d have made you pay.”

“Like you made York pay?” Jack cocked his head to the side. “No one can find him. What

did you do with York?”

Pablo smirked. “Is that a question you really want answered, Agent Wellington?”
“So you killed him? You used Shane as an excuse to kill off your enemy?” Jack was

incredulous.

And Pablo was pissed. “Two things, Jack. I need no excuses to do what the fuck I do. You

should remember that. Two, no one said anything about York being dead so I’d quit putting
words in my mouth if I were you.”

“Was that a threat, Castillo?” Jack moved in close. “Did you just threaten me, you son of a

bitch?”

“It is what it is, Jack.” Pablo shrugged with an ease that wasn’t at all fake. Jackie boy didn’t

scare him. “You don’t want to tangle with me. I’m not the one bogged down with things like
rules. And a conscience.”

Jack folded his arms across his chest and pinned Pablo in place with his stare. “You really

are a sadistic bastard, aren’t you?”

“I really am.” Pablo pointed to the folder he’d put on the rollaway table next to Shane’s bed.

“I’m guessing while you’re all broken up about Shane being hurt, you’re not happy that your

case against the Nieto brothers went down the crapper, eh?”

Jack frowned and opened his mouth, but Pablo cut him off.
“I know things, Jackie, things you’ll never know. Like for instance, Swazie and his crew are

moving a shipment of the white stuff into New Jersey tomorrow night. I’d jump on that…y’know,
if I were you.”

Jack didn’t budge to pick up the folder. “You think I’d fall for your setup? No fucking way.”
Huh. “Seriously, could you be more fucking paranoid? If I wanted you dead, you’d already

be gone, Jackie. A sniper’s rifle is trained on you as we speak.” He gestured to the wide
window Jack stood in front of.

Light glinted off Mateo’s scope and reflected back at them and Jack staggered backward.
“I cover all my bases, Jack. All of ’em. Read the folder.”
Jack glared at him, fighting to hide the panic in those too-bright eyes. “You’re sick. You

know that?”

“J-Jack.”
They swung around to the bed. Shane’s eyelids fluttered, his fingers twitching as the

machine he was hooked up to beeped like crazy. Pablo stood back as Jack crouched beside
the bed and took Shane’s hand in his.

“Shay?”
Uh. What?
Shane’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, fingers curling around Jack’s.
“Open your eyes,” Jack murmured. “Open your eyes for me, Shay.”
And Shane did. His green eyes were hazy and unfocused, but he opened them for Jack.
“Shay.” Jack’s voice wobbled. He cupped Shane’s cheek and Pablo saw it then, the intimacy

between them.

“You’re back,” Jack whispered.
Shane raised a trembling hand and combed his fingers through Jack’s hair. And as Pablo

looked on, feeling so much like a voyeur, the scene before him taking him back to another time
and place, Jack captured Shane’s fingers and brought them to his lips.

Pablo turned away, stepping into the shadow and out the door. “Let’s go, Teo,” he spoke

into the ear piece.

“You’re walking away? What the hell are you doing?”
“I’m letting him go.” He’d never spoken heavier or more painful words.

* * * * *

Pablo didn’t step out of his home for two days—which had absolutely nothing to do with his

decision to let Shane go. No. He just didn’t have any place to be and he rather liked his house.

Yep.
Besides, he was tired. Mentally. Physically.
Drained.
He slept a lot. Drank even more and ignored the knocks on his door and the ringing of his

phone.

A bitch move, most likely, but he was beyond caring.

Shane called.
Four times. Not that Pablo was counting. He just stared at the caller ID until the phone went

silent. Except for the very first call in which Shane left the briefest voicemail message—“J.P.”,
heavy and pain-filled—he didn’t leave any other messages.

He saw on the news the DEA had made a major drug bust in New Jersey, rounding up some

major players in the Nieto brothers’ organization, though not the brothers themselves.

Pablo hadn’t thought they’d get the brothers anyway. Those men were far too slippery. Still,

the DEA were closer than they’d ever been and no doubt someone they’d arrested would roll
for a deal. It was the way of things.

At the press conference, Jackie boy, looking all spiffy for his close up, had credited the hard

work of the DEA’s undercover team as the reason they were successful in the bust. And—wait
for it—the assistance of certain well-connected sources who’d remain nameless.

Huh. Guess the man wasn’t all that bad, after all. Still, he did have a hard-on for Shane.

Pablo could grit his teeth and swallow that, if the two would just up and leave New York
already.

Pablo entered the gang headquarters on Fifty-Third, ignoring the surprised gazes trained on

him. He’d been MIA for a bit, but it was time to get back into the swing of things and the first
order of business was to deal with Piper. She’d given his enemy ammunition against him,
almost getting Shane killed in the process, and that wasn’t allowed to go unpunished.

He’d known sooner or later he’d have to deal with Piper. She was an ambitious bitch, setting

her sights on him when she couldn’t have Angelo. When he let her know in no uncertain terms
she wasn’t getting his dick since she didn’t have one herself, she’d backed off a bit, glomming
on to Phelps even though the late cop was married.

Right now, Pablo didn’t care why Piper did what she did. She did it and though he had no

clue what he’d do, she had to know she’d been found out and she also had to know what
crossing him meant. He was done with the bloodshed, done with the killing, but she had to pay.

He found her in the lounge area, sprawled out on the couch with her heels on, remote to the

fifty-inch plasma in hand while a lit cigarette dangled from her full, glistening lips. She looked
very much the lady of the manor, her dark, wavy hair falling past her shoulders. The tight, white
top she wore was cut off just under her full breasts, the lacy red edges of her bra visible. She
also wore a pair of skintight leopard print tights. They matched perfectly with the same print
heels.

“Piper.”
She jerked her head up, a wide smile creasing her pretty face. “What’s good, P?”
He stood in the doorway, hands in the front pockets of his jeans, and eyed her up and down.

“Did you think I wouldn’t find out?”

Her bright smile dimmed. “What?”
“You almost got him killed, did you know that?” Pablo walked into the room and stood over

her. “York stabbed him multiple times, because of you. Is that what you wanted?”

“I wanted to make you hurt like I did.” Her lips curled. “You killed the man I loved, it’s only

fair you get to know that pain up close and personal like I do.”

Hmm. Brave words. Pablo leaned forward, bracing his arm on the back of the couch. Piper’s

eyes widened and she backed up, scrambling to get away.

“You haven’t experienced pain, ma. You don’t know shit about pain, but I could remedy that,

trust me.”

Her bottom lip quivered as she fought the fear, settling on false bravado instead. “Fuck you,

P. You don’t hurt women, I know that.”

He laughed in her face. “That’s the belief you’re hiding behind? Let me tell you something,

woman, I will hurt anyone who hurt the people I care about. Get it? You fuck with them and I
end you. It’s as simple as that.”

Grabbing a fistful of her hair, he smiled. “You’ve been around long enough to know how I

roll, Piper. What made you think you were different, that I wouldn’t make you pay?” She didn’t
speak, instead she trembled violently in his hold. “I want you out of here and off Los P streets.”

“What?” The word was a shaky whisper between them. “You can’t just—”
Pablo sighed. “Are you really telling me what I can and can’t do?” She remained quiet and

he continued. “I suggest you run along home and start packing your bags, little girl. If I get sight
of you around here, I will make you wish you’d died with Phelps. Who I didn’t kill, by the way.”
He didn’t wait around for a response, getting up and walking out without a backward glance.

Mateo met him outside the house. “You handled her?”
Pablo nodded. “Yeah.” He shook his head with a small sigh. “She blames me for killing

Phelps and the truth is, she’s right. If he wasn’t working for me, he’d be alive right now.”

Mateo snorted. “Not to speak ill of the dead or anything, but Phelps was a crooked cop.

Available to anyone for the right price. Sooner or later he’d have gotten his.”

“Piper and his family would’ve settled for later.” Pablo got into his car and Mateo joined him,

buckling into the passenger side. “I’m sick of it, Teo. The bloodshed. I’m up to my eyeballs in it
and I’ve had enough.” If he were anyone else he’d walk away, leave it all behind, but he wasn’t
and he couldn’t.

“I hear you.”
They rode in silence back to his house. He could tell something was on Mateo’s mind, but

the other man was taking his sweet time letting it out so Pablo waited. He let them into his
house and brought out a bottle of whiskey, which he placed on the coffee table between them.

Seated opposite him in one of the armchairs, Mateo unscrewed the cap on the whiskey and

took it to the head. When he finished, he dragged the back of his hand across his mouth.

“I fucked up big time,” Mateo said.
Pablo waited silently for him to continue.
“Tommy and I, we were…” He trailed off with a sharp shake of his head. “I tried to tie him

up.”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Pablo had forgotten about the drama between the two of them. He’d put

that to the back of his mind when shit with Shane hit the fan. Crap. He grabbed the whiskey and
took a big swallow.

Mateo didn’t know yet. Pablo had to tell him.
“He freaked out,” Mateo was saying. “Like completely melted down and I just— I feel so

damn bad, but he won’t let me apologize.” He took another gulp of the liquor. “He refuses to
open his door to me, to speak to me. It’s been days and I haven’t seen him.”

Goddamn.
“I should have listened to you. He’s not ready.”
“Teo, lo siento.” Crap, he’d slipped into Spanish. “He’s gone.”

Mateo didn’t get it. His confused gaze made Pablo feel like shit.
“He came to me the day after it happened. He told me about it.”
“He did?”
Pablo nodded.
“What do you mean he’s gone?”
Yes, Pablo, what do you mean? He took a deep breath. “When I offered him the job to

work with us, I made him a promise; any time he wanted to leave, any time, all he had to do
was say the word.”

Shock spread across Mateo’s face in rapid, red waves. “What?”
“He wanted out and I got him out.”
Mateo jumped to his feet, kicking at the coffee table. The table crashed sideways and the

whiskey toppled over onto the floor, spilling out. Mateo backed away from him, shaking his
head.

“You got him out? What does that mean? What the fuck does that mean?”
Pablo stood as well. “It means you scared the kid so bad he had to run away. It means had

you listened to me, Teo, you might still have him near. It means he has demons that still haunt
him and being near you doesn’t help.”

Fuck. He slid his palm over his scalp as hurt and pain bled from Mateo’s eyes. “Teo, I’m

sorry.” He motioned to the chair Mateo just vacated. “Sit. Just…sit and I’ll try to explain.
Okay?”

Mateo hesitated, but in the end he sat back down, quietly. Pablo took his seat, bile bitter in

his throat at the story he was about to tell.

“Tommy’s mother died when he was ten, granting all rights and custody of him to his

stepfather. What she or anyone else didn’t know was that the man was sick and twisted.” He
swallowed. “A pedophile, Teo. The man was a pedophile who had unlimited and unrestricted
access to Tommy for five years.”

“Oh God.” Mateo’s face lost all color and he appeared ready to throw up. “Oh my God.”
“Yeah. He kept Tommy chained in the basement, barely fed, took him out of school that way

no one would notice the scars. The state sent workers to check on Tommy in the early stages
after his mother died, but noticed nothing. Tommy said nothing. Too afraid.”

Mateo kept murmuring “oh my God” over and over, the horror heavy in his tone.

Unmistakable. “I brought it all back when I tied him up, didn’t I? I brought it all back.”

Pablo didn’t have to answer the obvious, instead he shrugged.
“Five years.” Mateo lifted his head and met Pablo’s gaze with red-rimmed eyes. “You said

he had Tommy for five years. What happened? How did you get to be involved?”

“When he turned fifteen, Tommy doused the old man with rubbing alcohol and set him

ablaze.” Pablo bared his teeth. “He lived.”

“Then where is he?” Mateo jumped to his feet. “I’ll kill that son of a bitch.”
“Calm down, Teo.” Pablo held out a hand. “I said he lived from being burned alive, but

nothing could save him from Angelo’s bullet.”

“Angelo killed him?” Mateo frowned down at Pablo. “When? How?”
“Remember his late sister, Catarina, worked for the city. She saw the case when everything

hit the fan. She saw how the state fucked over Tommy. Mistakes had been made, Teo, big

mistakes that shouldn’t have occurred. Mistakes allowing that shit to happen.”

Pablo shook his head in remembrance. The injustice of it all still chafed, still made him

painfully aware of how ineffective the government was in protecting those who needed it most.

“The stepfather’s defense team was saying Tommy just snapped one day. That his father

loved and nurtured him. They had every plausible explanation for the bruises, for the broken
bones that healed all wrong. Catarina was never a big supporter of what we did, but she asked
for one favor. She showed us the file and we dealt with it.” One of the few times he’d been
proud of what he did, of the life he led.

“That was a long time ago, but Tommy only came on board with us about a year ago,”

Mateo pointed out.

“Yeah.” Pablo nodded. “The state settled with him, forked over a nice chunk of change, and

he sort of folded in on himself. He rarely left his apartment. He couldn’t function around people
so he taught himself computers. They were his friends. I kept tabs on him and one day I asked
him to come work for me. He said yes on the condition that I let him out whenever he wished
it.” Pablo didn’t think he could share about Tommy trying to take his own life. Mateo wouldn’t be
able to handle it.

“And I scared him badly enough to warrant him running away again?”
“This time he asked me to set him up with Randall.” Pablo didn’t meet Mateo’s eyes. Randall

was the guy they used, the only one, for fake anything. Mostly fake IDs. He was the best.
Second to none and he lived in Ohio.

Mateo made a sound and the look on his face would’ve been comical if it wasn’t so openly

heartbroken.

Jesus.
“A new identity? You gave him a new life, without me?”
“It was what he wanted, Teo. He’s scared and hurting.”
“Fuck you,” Mateo spat. “He’s also alone and unprotected. Or did you forget that?”
Pablo shook his head. “I haven’t forgotten, but if he ever needs us he knows what to do.

Right now he wants to be far away…”

“From me,” Mateo spoke bitterly.
“Why did you do it?” Pablo asked softly. “I told you he wasn’t ready for that, for your

games. Why did you do it?”

Mateo fell silent, pulling on the ends of his hair. “I got carried away. We were in his bed,

kissing, and I took off his belt.” His voice wobbled. “His eyes were so wide and trusting when
he looked up at me. Open in that way you always wish to see, but aren’t nearly ready for and I-
I panicked.”

“So you fell back on the old tried-and-true.”
“I wasn’t ready for it to mean what I knew it would mean.”
Pablo pursed his lips. “And in the end you drove him away.”
Mateo jerked under the truth of those words.
“How do you feel about him now?”
Stark desolation burned behind Mateo’s dark eyes. “I loved him then. I love him now.”
Yeah. That word. How four simple letters could mean so much, yet wreck so much, was

beyond his comprehension. Pablo waved a hand at the stairs. “Why don’t you get some rest?

Lie down in the spare bedroom for a while.”

Mateo didn’t look capable of driving home in his current state and Pablo was getting tired of

the empty echoes of his house.

“I’ve got some calls to make, but when I’m finished we can order some food and get pissy

on the brown liquor over there.” He nodded to the unopened bottle of Hennessy in the glass
liquor cabinet in the corner. “I think we’ve earned that.”

Mateo gave him a nod and disappeared up the stairs with heavy footsteps.
Poor bastard.

* * * * *

His cell phone rang later that night, yanking him from a deep, liquor-induced sleep. The

blared tone sounded extra loud, the noise rattling around in his head.

“Fuck!” He squeezed his eyes shut and felt around on his nightstand for the offending

bastard, answering the “unknown number” with one eye closed. “Who the fuck is this?”

“J.P.”
Pablo lurched upright, eyes fully open. God. It wasn’t fair or right the way his heart stuttered

in his chest at the sound of that voice. “Shane?”

“Are you home?”
“Uh yeah.” He stared at the clock on his nightstand. Damn. Five-fifteen in the morning. “Are

you— Where are you?”

“Outside your door.”
Pablo inhaled sharply. “Shane.”
Shane ignored the caution in his voice. “Is the code on your garage door still the same?”
No. No. “Yes,” Pablo whispered. “It is.”
“Good.”
Shane ended the call and Pablo sat in the middle of his bed, staring at the bedroom door.

Two doors down Mateo slept. And Shane was there now. He heard the garage door opening,
heard the footsteps on the stairs and there he was, in the shadows of Pablo’s door. A place he
never should have been.

A bigger man, a stronger one, would have turned him away. Pablo was finding where Shane

Ruskin was concerned, he was neither of those things.

Shane walked over to him, tugging off his clothes as he went. T-shirt flung there, boots toed

off there. He stood next to Pablo and kicked off his jeans.

Commando.
With bandages all over his midsection.
Pablo couldn’t speak. He wanted to demand to know why Shane came. Why he chose that

time, but he couldn’t form the words. He tilted his head back, eyes closed, hands fisted against
the sheets.

The mattress dipped.
Hot skin slid across his thighs, his legs.
Rough fingers touched his cheek, caressed his lips.
“Open your eyes, J.P.”

That voice, so husky and unreal, back in his bed. Back fucking with his head, with the

choices he’d made. Choices that should be kept.

“Shane.”
“Ssh.” First came the burn of Shane’s hot breath at the corner of Pablo’s mouth then came

his lips, firm and sorely missed, teasing, feathering over him. “We’ll talk tomorrow. Right now,”
he touched Pablo’s naked shoulder, “right now, I need to feel your arms around me. Hold me
while I sleep.”

That he could do. Pablo stretched out beside Shane, who pulled him in close. They faced

each other and Shane dipped his head into the crook of Pablo’s neck, taking deep breaths.
Pablo held him tight, his eyes dampening at the strong and steady beat of Shane’s pulse
surrounding him.

He slid his fingers through Shane’s thick hair and dropped a kiss near his ear, feeling

Shane’s smile on his skin.

Wrapped up in and around each other, they slept.

Chapter Nine

A sweet itch under one of his bandages pulled Shane from the fog of a dreamless sleep.

The heat of the body next to him made him sweat.

He blinked his eyes open and stared at the sun-drenched walls of Pablo’s bedroom. A soft

snore next to him had him biting his lip. He shouldn’t have done it, shouldn’t have come, but he
wanted to see Pablo, wanted the other man to look him in the eye when he kicked Shane to the
curb.

That why you snuck out the hospital in the wee hours of the morning, ducking Jack’s

guards?

Jack didn’t approve of Shane’s dealing with Pablo. But Jack didn’t understand it, hell, neither

did Shane.

He rolled onto his side, facing Pablo. Propping his head in his hand, he devoured the sharp

planes of his lover’s face. So hard. Sharp cheekbones and jaw hidden under a couple days’
worth of hair. His lips pink and firm, the bottom one fuller than the top.

Shane ached to close the miniscule physical distance between them and brush his lips over

Pablo’s. Reacquaint himself with the other man’s taste and flavor. Three days in the hospital
and Pablo didn’t visit him once.

He’d ignored Shane’s phone calls.
Did he think Shane would simply slink away?
Not like the thought hadn’t crossed his mind for a quick second. But he and Pablo had

unfinished business. The most pressing of which was what happened to York and how did
Pablo know about the Nieto brothers’ shipment? That bit of information had saved their case
and already banked them more than they ever dreamed of. Even now the DEA was working on
putting someone inside what was left of the Nieto organization.

All because of Pablo’s help.
Shane dragged his knuckles down Pablo’s cheek, smiling when his lover shifted into the

touch. He harbored no illusions where Pablo was concerned. He knew who the man was
sleeping beside him. He knew all the bad things and he knew York was dead. Many who knew
him, who knew how he prided himself on his job and putting the evil he dealt with every day
behind bars, would say he’d fallen from grace. They’d question how he was able to bear the
touch of a man like that. Allow himself to be so vulnerable. So foolish.

Love.
A simple word and still, so fucking complicated.
He saw the man underneath the façade. He understood him and he wanted him. Wanting,

needing and loving Juan Pablo Castillo meant accepting the good parts and the downright bad
parts.

He did, but his lover appeared to have other ideas.
Shane feathered his thumb across Pablo’s bottom lip.
One minute Pablo was asleep and the next his eyes were wide open, the joy at seeing

Shane quickly hidden behind a cool and wary gaze.

“Shane.” His voice was scratchy from sleep and had Shane shivering.
He smiled. “You’ve been hiding from me, J.P.” Castillo’s nostrils flared. “Did you think I

wouldn’t seek you out or were you hoping I wouldn’t, that I’d just accept and bless? Walk away
without looking back?”

The pulse in Pablo’s throat sped up. “I’d hoped you would, yes.” Resignation tightened his

words.

Bastard. Anger swamped Shane, but he swallowed it. “Can’t say I’m sorry to disappoint.”
“No.” The corners of Pablo’s mouth tilted up. “You don’t look sorry.”
“Yeah?” Shane raised an eyebrow. “How do I look?”
Pablo’s gaze danced away. “Good.” His Adam’s apple bobbed and his gaze came back to

Shane’s. “Alive.” His voice quietly broke on the last syllable and Shane moved into his arms,
ignoring the sting of pain his quick movements brought to the wounds.

Pablo held him tight, breathing him in, his body quivering with every shuddered breath.

Shane kissed him, his ear, his cheek, his nose. Pablo’s rough hands moved up and down his
naked back, fingers digging into his skin.

“I’m so sorry.” Pablo spoke into Shane’s shoulder.
Sorry? “Hey.” Shane drew back and met his lover’s red-rimmed eyes. “What? Why? Why

are you sorry?”

“You were hurt because of me. It’s my fault you almost died.” The words dropped between

them like bullets, ripped from the deepest, darkest parts of the man in his arms. “I-I messed up
—on so many levels—and someone used you to hurt me.”

“What?” Shane shook his head. “You’re not making sense.”
Pablo sighed and shifted away from him, putting more than distance between them. “That

cop who died, Phelps, he worked for me. He was sleeping with one of the girls who hung
around here and when he died, s-she thought I killed him. That day you showed up at the house
on Fifty-Third…”

“She recognized me?”
Pablo got off the bed and nodded. He didn’t meet Shane’s eyes. Pulling on a pair of soft

cotton pajama bottoms, he spoke. “She took some pictures of us.”

But… “We were behind locked doors.” Shane frowned at him. How would she have gotten

any photos of them?

“Fuck!” Pablo yanked at one of the drawers on his nightstand and snatched out a phone that

he fiddled with before thrusting at Shane. “Look.” The growled word rustled the hairs on
Shane’s nape.

He took the phone and gasped at the photo Pablo had pulled up. The photo was taken from

behind Pablo as they stood in the middle of the room. Shane remembered. People were all
over the place, fucking on each other, the mingled scents of sex and weed and liquor in the air
and he was eye-fucking a half-naked Pablo.

The camera had zoomed in on his face, his eyes. A dead giveaway, his eyes. What he felt

was bleeding out of his every pore in that shot, none as clear as that look, hungry and needy
and ripe, in his eyes.

His entire being trembled. ”Jesus Christ.” He lifted his gaze to Pablo and melted under the

heat directed at him.

Pablo licked his lips. “You can’t—there’re no words necessary when you have that picture.”
“I—no.” No words were needed.

They stared each other down, the heat arching between them hot enough to set the building

burning down around them. Pablo wanted to touch him, his eyes said so, but he held himself
back, bulging muscles taut.

“J.P.” Shane sat up in the bed and pushed a lock of hair away from his eyes. “Thank you.”
Pablo blinked.
Shane smiled.
“Why?” Confusion clouded his lover’s eyes. “Why are you thanking me? For what? I just told

you I’m the reason—”

“That I’m alive,” Shane reminded him. “You saved my life.” He climbed off the bed and stood

before Pablo, a breath apart. “You saved me.” Shane grabbed his hand and held on when
Pablo tugged. He had to make him understand how much that meant, how much Shane got it.
“You think I didn’t hear you and Jack arguing over me in the hospital? You think I didn’t hear
how much finding me all cut and bloodied tore you up?”

Pablo shook his head all through Shane’s little rant, but he wasn’t pulling away any more. In

fact, his fingers were now somehow wrapped around Shane’s, tight and crushing, hanging on.

“Thank you for saving me. For coming for me.” Shane lifted his free hand and traced Pablo’s

parted lips. “I knew you’d come for me somehow,” he said with a small smile. “You proved me
right and I must thank you for being a man I can trust to take care of me.”

Those lips trembled under his fingertip. A sheen covered Pablo’s dark eyes but the tears

didn’t spill over.

“Don’t,” Pablo whispered. “Don’t thank me.” The words were tortured. Broken. He yanked

himself away. Physically. Emotionally too.

Shane followed him with his eyes as Pablo walked across the room, to the door where he

paused and met Shane’s gaze.

“I hated York before you ever came into the picture. Wanted to kill him for a long time.” His

eyes were hard, the vulnerability long gone. In its place was the face Shane figured Pablo
presented to everyone else—defiant, ready for battle as he dared you to do your worst.

“I could have lived without ever laying a hand on him,” Pablo said softly. “I could have. But

he touched you. He hurt you.”

Shane jerked a nod. “You killed him.”
Pablo barked a laugh. “No. I took pleasure in doing to him what he did to you, with the same

damn blade. I watched him bleed out. And it wasn’t enough. I wanted to bring him back to life
all so I could slice him up again.”

“Because he hurt me.”
“You shouldn’t have come,” Pablo shot at him. “I can’t give you what you want, Agent

Ruskin. You and I, we’re not headed for a happy ever after. Cut your losses.”

Oh J.P. “You’re the man I love,” Shane said.
“I’m one of the bad guys.” Pablo sounded resigned to ending them right then and there. For

good. “You, Shane, you’re the good guy who puts people like me away. It’s your job, but most
important, it’s what you love.” He smiled. Sad. So obviously in pain. “It’s the reason I can let
you go despite everything.” He turned away and opened the door, walking away as Shane
stared after him in shocked silence.

* * * * *

Shane took an abbreviated shower, mindful of his bandages, after Pablo left the bedroom.

The other man’s words still whirled around in his head long after he’d dressed in the clothes
from the night before.

As he made his way down the stairs, muted voices reached him. Déjà vu. The last time that

happened he’d caught Pablo with another man dry-humping him. Shane took his time, collecting
himself before he stepped into the living room.

Well. Pablo did have another man in there. And this one apparently spent the night, judging

from the bare feet and wrinkled clothes.

They sat opposite each other in the living room, Pablo sipping from a coffee cup while he

spoke on the phone, the other guy—Mateo—upending the last drops of liquor in a Hennessy
bottle into his coffee.

Huh.
Mateo looked hungover as he raised bleary eyes to Shane. “Hey, it’s the man of the hour.”

He saluted Shane with his cup.

“What?” Shane frowned at him.
Pablo ended his call and snarled at Shane. “You snuck out the hospital?” Shane nodded and

he exploded. “Why the fuck would you do that?”

What was the big deal? “I wanted to see you.” Shane shrugged. “Maybe if you’d come to

visit or answered one of my calls…”

Mateo smothered a laugh.
Pablo’s eyes darkened to black and he shot to his feet. “Are you serious? Are you fucking

serious, Shane?”

“Umm.” Mateo stood. “I’m gonna go…away.” The man sprinted up the stairs in his bid to get

away from them.

Shane turned back to Pablo. “How did you know I left?”
“Jack is making noise over there, showing my picture, asking the staff if I’d been around.”

Pablo rubbed a palm over his head. “Jesus, Shane.”

“Jack’s just being Jack.” Shane dropped into a chair. “I’ll call him later.”
Pablo stared at him for a moment then sat back down. “Tell me about you and Jack.” His

tone was controlled, his expression carefully bland as he sipped his coffee, but Shane saw
through it.

“There’s no me and Jack.”
“But there was.” Pablo met his gaze, challenging him. “At one time he was fucking you.”
Shane chuckled. “Actually, Jack was the bottom. How did you find out about us?”
“I watched him with you.” Pablo’s mouth tightened. “I watched you together.” He tilted his

face to the ceiling. “How long?”

Since he had nothing to hide, Shane spoke, telling Pablo what he wanted to know. “Jack and

I met at work. We were casual friends first then he got a promotion. He became my superior
and we were together every day. One thing led to many things. We were together for five
years.” He watched Pablo carefully and he caught the twitch in the fingers wrapped around the
coffee cup.

Saw the tightening of his jaw.

“Why did you end?”
“We were—or at least, I was content with what we had, but Jack wanted more.” Shane

sighed. “One day he asked me to move in. I told him I’d think about it. The next day I took this
job.”

Pablo swung a surprised gaze to him. “Five years and you never lived together?”
“I like my space.” The excuse he’d used for far too long.
Pablo’s eyes called him a liar. “If you took this job directly after Jack’s offer, I assume you

haven’t seen each other a lot since then.” His features blanked again. “There must be some
unfinished business between you two, no?” The words sounded foul, bitter, falling from his lips.

Shane remained quiet until finally Pablo looked at him. “Nice try.” Shane grinned. “Nothing’s

unfinished about my business with Jack. He knows where I stand. With you. Beside you.”

“Don’t say shit like that.” Pablo lurched upright and stalked out the room. Shane followed.
“Why not?” He stood in the doorway to the kitchen with his arms folded across his chest and

eyed Pablo as he banged a pot onto the stove. “Why can’t I say what I feel? And uh, you can
cook?” He swallowed the smile curving his lips at the frustrated glare Pablo threw him over his
shoulder.

“I can cook just fine.”
“Uh-huh. You don’t sound convinced and you haven’t answered my question.” Shane crept

up on Pablo as he faced the stove with his back to him, cracking eggs into a hot pan. “I’m in
love with you. Does that scare you?”

Pablo froze and Shane trapped him, pressing his front against Pablo’s back. Flicking his

tongue out to slide across his nape. The fine tremors coursing through Pablo’s body
emboldened Shane and his resolve to push past whatever walls his lover put up.

“I scare you, don’t I?” he whispered into Pablo’s skin. Under his chest, Shane felt him

exhale, heard the grinding of his teeth as his lover fought for control. He reached in front,
inserting a hand in the tight space between them and under the hem of Pablo’s t-shirt. The
trembling grew more pronounced as Shane dragged his knuckles over the well-cut ridges of
Pablo’s abs. He ground his hard crotch against Pablo’s ass, chuckling when the other man
pushed back then cursed in Spanish.

“You know,” Shane mused. “I’d always considered myself a top. No man ever made me

want to bend over and grab my ankles.”

“Except me.”
“Except you.” Shane turned off the burner under the pot and cupped Pablo’s bulge.
Pablo let out a strangled breath with a shudder and more curses. “Now what, you saying

you want my ass?”

Shane barked a laugh. “Oh baby.” He nipped at Pablo’s shoulder. “I’m going to take your

ass. Gonna fuck you down. Fuck you good. ’Til you’re numb.” He squeezed the jean-covered
package in his hand, growing harder with every word he spoke.

Sounds emanated from Pablo’s throat, low and sexy. Those sounds. Those whimpers. More

telling than the words Pablo refused to speak.

Pablo pushed into his palm. “It won’t work.” The words were forced from him as though

escaping through gritted teeth. “I don’t love you.”

Those four words sliced through Shane, stealing his breath. He knew better, but hearing the

words out loud still doused him with ice water, still had him stumbling away. He backed into the
kitchen table, hands going behind him to grab on to the steady furniture to remain upright.

“You sure know how to bring the pain, don’t you?”
Pablo’s shoulders stiffened but he didn’t turn around.
“Let it go, Shane.” Pablo sighed, turning to face Shane as his doorbell rang. “We can never

make this work. In truth, I’m not sure I want to.”

Shane opened his mouth—to beg, maybe—but Pablo’s sharp head shake silenced him. The

heaviness in his eyes killed Shane’s words.

“It was good,” Pablo whispered. “And I—I won’t ever forget it, but…”
“But what?” Shane narrowed his eyes, fighting to keep calm, to breathe over the tightness in

his chest. “What, huh? Now you get to walk away like it’s so fucking easy?” The doorbell went
off again and footsteps clamored down the stairs. He made out Mateo’s not-so-subtle curses
as he went to answer the door, but Shane ignored them, keeping his focus on Pablo. “Is it that
easy, J.P.? To give up? Walk away? Pretend it’s nothing? That we mean nothing?” Jesus. He
couldn’t hide the tremor in his voice. Couldn’t call back the need that echoed in his ears.

“Fuck, Shane.” Pablo took a step forward.
“Sorry to interrupt.”
Pablo stiffened and Shane cursed silently, squeezing his eyes shut. Jack didn’t sound at all

sorry. In fact, when Shane finally met his eyes all he saw was anger and disappointment.
Maybe a shadow of pain as well.

“Jackie boy.” Pablo greeted Jack with a feral smile. “Here for your charge? Or did you

come to thank me in person?” He didn’t wait around for an answer, instead he dumped the pot
into the sink and walked out of the kitchen, shoulder brushing Jack’s. At the door Pablo
stopped. “If your answer is number two, no thanks necessary. And if it’s one, you can have
him.” He disappeared.

Shane blew out a breath and collapsed into a chair.
“You snuck out the hospital to come here?” Shane winced at the censure in Jack’s voice.

“Are you fucking crazy, Shay?”

Must be. There really had to be no other explanation.
“I’m sorry if I worried you, Jack.”
Jack choked. “If you—you’re sorry if you worried me.” Jack laughed, but the sound held no

mirth. “I don’t recognize you, Shay. I don’t know who you are. The man I loved, I miss him, but I
think he no longer exists, does he? The man you are now is all about self-destruction.”

“No.” Shane shook his head. “I am the same man you fell in love with, Jack. It just so

happens that man fell out of love with you and in love with somebody else. Somebody you’ll
never understand.”

“And you do?” Jack shot back. “You understand him? You understand all the violence and

the bloodshed? You get all that?”

Shane nodded and licked his dry lips. “I do.” He met Jack’s eyes, all that blue fire flashing,

and it occurred to him he’d never seen Jack that angry, that worked up. Not in the office and
not in all the years they’d been friends and lovers. He’d loved Jack for so long, known him even
longer. Their love, it came easily and left quite the same.

For Shane.

Because now, looking up into Jack’s face, he got the impression Jack was still hanging on.
“Jack.”
“Here.” Jack slapped a ticket down on the table. “Your plane ticket. You’re expected in the

office in two days, Shay. Be there.” He turned away and walked out.

Shane stared after him, mourning in silence.
He remained seated at the table, staring off into space until Mateo appeared.
“What you doing, Agent?” Mateo pulled on a white t-shirt, covering up a chiseled chest

covered in tattoos, and tugged it down over the waist of his black-and-white basketball shorts.
“You just gonna sit there?”

Shane shrugged. “Nothing else to do, is there?” He looked past Mateo. “Where’s J.P.?”
Laughter flashed in Mateo’s dark eyes, chasing some of the shadows away. “J.P. huh?” His

lips twisted into a grin. “He’s in the shower.”

“He wants me to leave.”
“Yeah, well.” Mateo dropped into the chair opposite Shane and bent over to tie the laces on

his sneakers. “Boss man has some issues. He doesn’t know what he wants.”

Shane huffed a pained laugh. “Must be nice, the not knowing.” He met Mateo’s gaze and

found it surprisingly lacking in pity. “I wish I had the luxury of not knowing what I wanted.”

“I get that.” Mateo nodded and Shane knew he understood.
Mateo glanced at his watch and Shane lifted a brow. “Hot date?”
“If only.” Mateo shook his head. “It’s going to be a scorcher today. Some of the guys and I

are headed to Coney Island.” He grinned. “Get us some sun, some eats and some who knows
what else. You know how it is.”

Despite the flippancy of his words and the grin on his face, Mateo didn’t quite pull off the

carefree thing. There was a weightiness to his voice that spoke of pain. “I’ve never been to
Coney Island so I have no idea how it is.” Getting fucked in a secret hideaway didn’t count as
part of the Coney Island experience, even if it was located in the middle of it all.

“Dude.” Mateo shook his head. “How is it you’re here all this time and haven’t been to the

boardwalk?”

Mateo sounded genuinely surprised and Shane laughed at the incredulity in the other man’s

expression. “York didn’t leave me that much free time.”

“That’s fucked, man.” Mateo pushed his chair back and got to his feet. “Totally messed up.”
“What’s messed up?” Pablo entered the kitchen in shorts, his upper half bare although one

would’ve been hard-pressed to find skin not covered in those mouthwatering tattoos. He wore
flip-flops and silver droplets of water glistened on his face and freshly shaved scalp.

“Your boy here has never been to Coney Island. Like, never.” Mateo sighed as Pablo shot

Shane a look he felt in his groin. “What else haven’t you experienced, Agent? Ever had you
some Junior’s?”

“What’s Junior’s?” Shane grinned when Mateo grabbed his chest and staggered in fake

outrage. He did know what Junior’s was, but he hadn’t had time to check that out either.

“Seriously?” Mateo sized up Pablo. “Your boy’s coming with us to Coney Island and maybe

tomorrow we’ll force feed him some of Junior’s cheesecake, see how he likes it.”

“Whatever.” Pablo turned away and opened the fridge, his actions stiff, his voice cold.
Shane met Mateo’s gaze and mouthed a thank-you. Any time he had left he wanted to

spend with Pablo. The man teetered between hot and cold, his eyes pulling Shane in, giving him
hope while his voice and words pushed him away.

Right now Shane chose to put his hopes into the actions Pablo had yet to take. He had yet

to kick Shane out of his house, something he could’ve easily done. Could still do. Shane
crossed his fingers behind his back and went for the bag he’d brought with him the night before.

Upstairs in Pablo’s bedroom, memories of the time they’d made love in the wide bed

flooding his mind, he changed into shorts and a t-shirt and hurried back downstairs to where
Pablo and a few of his men waited.

While the other guys were loud and boisterous, laughing and ribbing on each other, Pablo

remained quiet as they climbed into a black SUV and drove off. All during the drive to the
beach, Shane felt Pablo’s eyes on him, heavy and hot. Weird, because while Pablo sat up front
with designated driver Mateo, Shane was squeezed in between three huge guys arguing an
age-old question over the booming hip-hop music—Biggie or Tupac?

Shane shut his eyes and let it all wash over him. Where he was and who he was with. Why?

Why was he seeking out a relationship with a man who kept pushing him away?

He had two days with Pablo. Two days to see if what he felt was reality or fantasy.
Two days.

* * * * *

Coney Island was packed with people. There was barely any space on the boardwalk to

stand much less walk. The noise, from people and the music, was deafening.

The hot sun beat down on Shane’s exposed neck and shoulders with a vengeance, turning

his skin a darker shade than usual. He should have remembered sunscreen.

Some of the men went straight for the beach while Pablo, Mateo and Shane stood in the

unending line for hot dogs. Well, Pablo and Mateo did. Shane sat at a table nearby with a
couple, hiding from the sun under their too-small umbrella.

He ate the hot dogs and even some cotton candy, turned out both Mateo and Pablo had a

bit of a sweet tooth. What he loved, loved, was the funnel cake. He ate three of those, bought
by Pablo without a word.

They walked the boardwalk until Shane’s feet hurt, the crush of people bumping him into

Pablo, who held him steady with a finger hooked into Shane’s belt loop. They barely spoke, the
people with and around them doing much of that, but every time Shane looked up, Pablo’s eyes
were there. On him. Touching and caressing where his hands didn’t.

They spent as much time in the cool water as they did on dry land, alternating between

swimming—everyone but Shane—and eating. Those men could eat.

As the sun went down and the temperature grew cooler, they stood around as Mateo, the

designated daredevil of the bunch, took a ride on some sort of bungee jump thingie. Shane
watched with his heart in his throat as Mateo flew over the crowded boardwalk and back with
only a flimsy harness strapped to his middle.

Fuck.
The men laughed and egged Mateo on, filming him on their cell phones. Shane just stood

and watched, his hand fisted in the back of Pablo’s t-shirt. Finally they made their way back to
the car, Shane with two more funnel cakes and a bottle of water for the road.

By the time they pulled up in front of Pablo’s house, Shane was dead on his feet and down

one funnel cake. All the men piled into Pablo’s house, bringing noise and sand with them.

“Use the bathroom downstairs,” Pablo ordered them. The first in a long time Shane had

heard his voice.

“Hey, Agent,” Mateo called as Shane climbed the stairs. “Enjoyed yourself?”
“I did.” Shane licked powdered sugar off his fingertips. “Thanks for including me.”
“Anytime.” One of the others, Reggie, smiled at Shane.
Shane smiled back then sobered when Pablo scowled at him. He made his way to the

bedroom and put the last of his cake on the dresser before taking a quick rinse in the
bathroom. When he came back out, towel knotted around his waist, Pablo sat at the edge of
the bed, innocence on his face, powdered sugar dusting his lips.

Shane stood and watched him. “What did you do?”
“What?” Pablo licked his lips. “Nothing.”
“You ate my cake?” Shane charged at him. “Son of a bitch, you ate my cake!”
Pablo shackled his wrist. “I bought it so technically it’s mine.” His calloused fingers caressed

Shane’s skin and he faltered.

“But you ate it all.” He winced at the whiny note in his voice. Damn it.
“I’ll make it up to you,” Pablo whispered. “Downstairs in the fridge, there’s three different

types of cheesecake from Junior’s.”

Shane blinked. “What?”
Pablo smiled at him, warm and wide, those eyes naked for the first time. “I had one of the

other guys buy you the cheesecake you never got to taste.”

”That’s— Why?” Shane frowned.
“Why not?” Pablo shrugged. “You’d never had it. I wanted to give you something, a first, to

make you remember.” His words dipped lower the longer he spoke.

“Fuck. J.P., don’t you get it? I won’t be able to forget this and it will have nothing to do with

the cheesecake or what you bought me.” Shane touched the pad of a finger to the corner of
Pablo’s mouth then sucked on it, tasting the sugar from the stolen treat.

Heat leapt in Pablo’s eyes and Shane lunged at him, taking his mouth, licking and sucking at

the sugar he no longer saw but could still taste. Pablo’s arms went around him, pulling him
close, his erection riding Shane’s hip.

Pablo opened his mouth and Shane plunged inside. They moaned then Pablo’s hands were

in Shane’s hair, tugging, pulling, as they took the kiss from zero to sixty in a blink.

So good, the taste and feel of Pablo in his arms. On his skin. Shane fumbled with the zipper

on Pablo’s shorts as Pablo moaned into his mouth. Their teeth clinked. Pablo’s hands left
Shane’s hair, a palm closed around his erection and he whimpered.

That. The feel of Pablo touching him. Nothing compared.
He finally freed Pablo’s naked cock and circled him, squeezing as he swiped a thumb over

the wet head. Pablo shuddered in his hold. Shane moved in closer, bumping Pablo with his
knees, and his lover tumbled backward onto the bed. Shane didn’t wait for him to gather his
equilibrium; he crawled astride Pablo and ground against him, painting his abdomen with clear,
sticky fluid.

Pablo grabbed his ass cheeks and squeezed, breaking the kiss to mouth Shane’s earlobe.
“Fuck.” Shane skated his lips over Pablo’s jaw, trembling at the scratch of coarse hairs he

knew would leave their mark later. “Need you, J.P. So much. Please.” He rolled his hips,
digging his fingers into Pablo’s shoulder before he realized his lover had stiffened up on him and
not in the sexy way.

Below him, Pablo lay unmoving except for his chest that rose and fell rapidly. Against

Shane’s belly, Pablo’s cock pulsed and his breath was loud, ragged.

Shane lifted his head and Pablo’s fell back onto the mattress. “J.P.?”
Pablo’s eyes flew open, tortured, pained.
Shane’s stomach dropped. He reached out a hand. “What’s wrong?”
Pablo rolled away from underneath him, scrambling off the bed and zipping himself up. “I

can’t. Shane.” He shook his head, color vivid on his cheekbones. “I can’t give you what you
need. I’m sorry.”

Shane sat there with his jaw open, a familiar burning behind his eyes, as Pablo disappeared

out the door. He fisted his hands in the sheets and gritted his teeth, anything to keep from
yelling at Pablo to come back, stop being so afraid of whatever he was feeling. To give them a
chance.

No begging, he chanted silently. He was still a man, still a proud man, although he’d

deserted that part of himself. His pride. He’d given that up in hopes of being with Pablo.

There was no being with Pablo. Shane saw that now. He recognized it. And he mourned the

loss of that in private, in the darkness of Pablo’s bedroom as life went on downstairs and all
around.

Later he gathered himself, took a breath and went downstairs. Pablo was notably absent,

but a couple of his men, Mateo included, were playing video games. Shane joined them and
they ate one of the cheesecakes, a strawberry confection that tasted like sandpaper in his
mouth.

Hours later the men called it quits and went off to bed. Shane climbed the stairs and did the

same. Pablo still hadn’t made an appearance and his bed was cold.

Empty.
Shane fought sleep, but eventually gave in. He woke twice during the night, reaching out.

Each time he opened his eyes, he found himself clutching the pillow and nothing else.

When morning came he was still tired and the man he loved was still absent.
He dressed and brushed his teeth then made his way downstairs.
Mateo and Reggie were in the living room, just hanging around.
“Where’s J.P.?”
Mateo kept his face carefully blank, shrugging the same time Reggie spoke. “Philly.”
“Stupid idiot!” Mateo slapped the back of Reggie’s head.
Shane stood in the middle of the room, frozen in place. Pablo had gone to Philly. Back to the

arms of the man he kept there, but had said he no longer did. He no longer had someone in
Philly. That was what he said. He left a willing and eager Shane, naked in his bed, to drive
hours to another state in order to be with someone else.

Someone not Shane.
Probably someone who didn’t have all the pesky complications Shane did. Who didn’t

develop feelings the way Shane had.

“Well, that’s that then.” Shane pivoted and made his way back upstairs. First things first,

change his flight. The sooner he got out of New York the better.

The sooner he got away from Pablo, the sooner the memories would fade. He made it to

the bedroom in one piece, but collapsed onto the bed the instant the door closed behind him.

Chapter Ten

Shane managed to get his flight changed to an earlier one on the original day so he still had

hours to go before he was rid of all things Pablo Castillo. He forced a smile on his face and
hung with the guys in the house but they tiptoed around him.

He ate because he had to and stayed indoors, using the soaring temperatures as an

excuse. He also called his family, checking with his brothers and sisters and his parents, who’d
been beside themselves since he called them from the hospital. He reassured them he was fine
and would be back in Atlanta soon, but his brother who’d always known him best could
somehow tell things weren’t as honky dory as Shane put it. Still, he couldn’t bring himself to talk
about Pablo right then over the phone so he promised Rich they’d talk when he got home.

He spoke to his niece, Sophia, who couldn’t wait for him to get home since he promised to

take her to a tea party with her school friends. Shane couldn’t wait either.

Familiar things. He could deal with them. Easily. His life would continue without Pablo. He

wouldn’t die even though sometimes the pain in his heart made him believe he would.

He’d move on.
Put it all behind him.
He repeated the words over and over, but as he lay in bed that evening and the bedroom

door opened silently, heralding Pablo’s arrival, Shane had no idea how he would. He felt Pablo’s
presence on his skin but kept his eyes closed, leaving the first move to the other man. Pablo
crept in, floorboards creaking under his feet.

Shane listened as drawers were pulled open then shut. Pablo continued moving then the

shower went on. Shane opened his eyes.

How wrong was this? Wrong on so many levels. He lay in his lover’s bed while said lover

washed away another man from his skin in the bathroom. How wrong was it and what was
wrong with him that he’d allow it, accept it without a word in protest?

Is this what love is? If so he didn’t want it. He didn’t want the pain and the heartache. Not

the what-ifs and maybes. He doesn’t love me. That was the message Pablo was trying to get
across, the one Shane had been trying so hard not to hear.

Time to pay attention, Shane. Cut your losses and walk away. He stared up at the dark

ceiling unblinking as a hot tear slid from the corner of his eye. Maybe he deserved it, losing
himself in the exotic heat of Pablo’s touch.

The bathroom door opened, a ball of moist heat infiltrating the room ahead of Pablo. He

stood there, backlit from the light in the bathroom, toweling himself off without a care.

“You really hate me, don’t you?” Shane spoke in the dark room, watching as Pablo flinched.

“You must really feel nothing for me, to cut me open so fucking deeply.”

“Shane—”
“No!” Shane bolted upright and leaned over, turning on the bedside lamp to see the

bastard’s face. “You left me here, naked in your bed, to go fuck someone else? You drove
hundreds of miles away, to another state, to pay another man for the use of his body when you
have me?” He pressed a fist to his chest where the pain resided. “When you had me?”

Shame and regret flitted across Pablo’s face. “I can’t deal with you. With this.” He waved a

hand between them.

“What’s there to deal with, J.P.?” Shane barked a laugh. “You had me, right on the edge. All

I needed was a touch from you, a look, and I’d fall over. I come free, but I guess you figured
you’d spend your money and avoid the hassle of the pesky after-fuck emotions I bring. Is that
it?”

“It would never be easy with you, Shane. Nothing simple.” Pablo shook his head. “I wouldn’t

be able to walk away afterward.”

“So that’s it?” Shane swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood. “You pay him to

leave?”

“I don’t pay him.” Pablo grabbed Shane by the hair and dragged him close enough to feel

the heat of his breath as it fanned Shane’s cheek. “I didn’t pay him, pretty boy. I didn’t fuck him
either. I showed up at his door and talked his ear off about you.” He buried his face in Shane’s
neck, inhaling deeply. “Even when I’m miles away you’re with me. I told him about you then got
drunk and fell asleep in his guest room.”

His hold on Shane trembled, loosened. “I can’t get you out of my mind.” Stark pain bled from

Pablo’s eyes. “I have to. I gotta leave you alone.”

“No.” Shane shook his head. “Don’t.”
“Yes.” Pablo kissed him. Hard. Bruising. A press of lips and teeth. “I don’t know how.” He

pulled away, meeting Shane’s eyes. “Tell me how. Show me. How do I let you go?” He didn’t
wait for a response, not that Shane had one. Pablo’s mouth was on Shane’s, tonguing, thrusting
deep, as Pablo dipped a hand under the elastic waistband of Shane’s shorts and stroked him.

“Oh God!” Shane rolled his hips, fucking the palm that held him so tight. He released Pablo

and pulled down his shorts. “Please.” He wanted Pablo, wanted the other man inside him, but
he also didn’t want to say something to chase him away again.

“Fuck. Shane.” Pablo dropped to his knees, swallowing Shane with a dip of his head.
“Christ.” Shane held the back of his head and thrust forward, burying himself down the wet

cavern of Pablo’s throat. “God, so fucking good.” He rode that mouth as he stared down at
Pablo staring up at him. “J.P.”

Pablo made a sound that traveled down Shane’s length to his balls and he rose up on his

toes.

“Jesus, J.P. You—I’m gonna come.”
Pablo pulled away with a wet pop and pushed Shane backward. He tumbled onto the

mattress, half his body off, and Pablo was on him, tugging on a condom he got from who the
fuck cared where, squeezing lube onto fingers he pushed inside Shane.

“Yess.” Shane lifted his legs and grabbed the back of his knees. The pressure, the burn.

God. Too soon Pablo’s fingers disappeared and before Shane mourned the loss something
bigger, hotter breached him. “God, J.P. Fuck me.”

“Yes.” Pablo rolled his hips then withdrew before slamming back in. To the fucking hilt. His

balls slapped against Shane’s naked ass.

Grabbing on to the sheets, Shane arched and lifted his legs higher, opening himself wider.

Pablo plunged into him, their groans mingling.

“J.P.” Shane fought for words that Pablo kissed away. Their tongues fucked as Pablo

fucked Shane, drawing loud grunts and soft whimpers, filling Shane to the brim and beyond.
Every time Pablo drove into him, battering his gland, Shane shuddered. Words fell from his
mouth to Pablo’s, words of love and need that his lover swallowed.

Pablo canted his hips forward and froze, the head of his cock pressed up against Shane’s

prostate. He lifted his head and stared down at Shane, his brow wet with sweat, eyes
glittering. “Shane.”

Shane sank his teeth into his bottom lip and gazed up at the man he loved, the man he

couldn’t see himself not loving.

“When you look at me like that…” Pablo moved inside him, slow and steady.
Shane inhaled sharply at the intense heat.
”Everything you feel is in your eyes, Shane, and I can’t—I can’t look away.”
Shane cupped his cheek. “Then don’t.”
Pablo pulled out then slammed into him. Shane cried out at the pleasure, raw and almost

painful. His nerves hovered on the precipice, one blast and he’d be falling over.

“This right here?” Pablo sped up his thrusts, fucking Shane with hard and punishing strokes.

“This right here is it, better than anything.”

He circled Shane’s erection, straining between them, and pulled. Shane thrashed back and

forth, fingers tearing at the sheet.

“Better than everything, Shane.”
Shane came all over them, his cream spilling into Pablo’s palm and dripping onto his

stomach. “J.P. Oh God. Oh God.”

“So beautiful.” Pablo rode him with his eyes open, the distinct widening of his eyes and

nostrils, the fingers sinking into Shane’s skin the evidence of his impending climax.

Shane tightened his muscles around him and Pablo’s hold on him faltered.
“Fuck!” Pablo pounded into him then stilled. Shane clutched him close, pulling him down to

take his mouth.

The kiss was still as hungry as when they started, still as raw. They ate away at each

other’s mouth until Pablo rolled off Shane and got up. He took care of business in the bathroom
then came back, pulling Shane into his arms without a word.

Rough hands slid up and down his back and Shane drifted off.

* * * * *

The crack and boom of thunder woke Pablo. He jerked upright with a softly snoring Shane

wrapped around him. With a lick of his dry lips he extracted himself from Shane’s clinging limbs
and rolled off the bed. He walked over to the window, pulled it open and stood there staring up
at the dark sky.

Raindrops flew at his naked chest, the soft summer breeze cool enough to bring a sigh to

his lips.

Behind him the sheets rustled as Shane shifted in the bed, but Pablo didn’t look back.

Couldn’t make himself look back. He’d been chock-full of good fucking intentions when he came
back from Philly. He’d stay away from Shane and when the time came, push him out the door
with an “it’s been real” wave. Hell, after Reggie confessed to telling Shane where Pablo had
been he’d had the perfect out. No way would Shane want him after thinking he’d been with
another man.

One look into those pain-filled green eyes and he’d been coming clean.
Not good.

This wasn’t the first instance of him being out of his element, off his game. He never stayed

overnight in Philly, never got more personal than he had to with Levi. They had an agreement, a
clear-cut set of rules and he’d broken every last one of them. He showed up unannounced and
talked.

Talked.
About the man he’d run out on. The man he was trying to escape. For his part Levi was

most gracious, listening to Pablo moan about the dangers of being with Shane—who he had the
good sense not to name. Levi even accepted his apology for dropping out of his life then
swooping back in. And it was Levi who told him to go back to Shane. To tell Shane everything.

Like how he felt and why.
Despite his circumstances, Levi remained a romantic. Pablo harbored no such weakness.

There was no way he could be with Shane, no way they could make it work when they lived in
different states and operated on opposite sides of the law.

And there was also no way Pablo was allowing anyone the chance to hurt him as deeply as

Angelo did. Angelo’s rejection had laid him flat and what he felt for Shane made his feelings for
Angelo look like a schoolboy’s crush.

Right now, as he stood staring up into the sky, raindrops melting on his skin, the only person

alive with the power to hurt him lay asleep in bed mere feet away. Pablo tried looking back on
the past few weeks, at the moves he’d made in both business and his personal life. Was there
anything he could’ve done differently? Any way to avoid the outcome he faced at the moment?

He could’ve walked away from Shane that night on Mateo’s boat. Could have shot him right

then when Shane came at him. Kissed him so hungrily.

Should have thought things through.
Shit. He wiped his palm over his scalp.
Shoulda. Woulda. Coulda. Hindsight being what it was, there really was no way to tell if

they’d have ended up someplace different.

Moments like now, with Shane’s body still imprinted on his skin, his scent still clinging to

Pablo’s nostrils, he didn’t want different. He wanted Shane.

“Hey.”
Pablo stiffened at the sleep-infused word. He glanced over his shoulder.
Shane sat up in the bed rubbing his eyes, the sheets twisted around his naked lower half,

hiding him from Pablo.

“Hey.”
“What time is it?” Shane looked around the room with a frown, his hair rumpled, Pablo’s

whisker burns on his neck and cheek.

“A little after two a.m.” Pablo turned back to the window. “It’s pouring out. The thunder woke

me.”

The bed creaked and then Shane’s arms were sliding around him, the other man’s chin

pressed to his shoulder. Once again Pablo was hot, overheating fast with the warmth of
Shane’s naked skin pressed to his.

“I like thunderstorms,” Shane murmured against his skin.
Pablo nodded. “Yeah, me too.” Lightning flashed, a jagged blue-silver streak that pierced

the darkness for a brief moment.

“Hmm.” Shane made a contented sound in his ear. “Tell me. What else do you like?”
Pablo swallowed. “Uh. I like coffee instead of tea, but iced tea instead of soda. Chocolate,

no vanilla.”

Shane’s chuckle reverberated through Pablo. “Nice. What else?”
“I read the newspaper every day. I always vote and I really liked The Notebook.”
“Dude.” Shane burst out laughing. “The Notebook, really?”
“Hey.” A flush heated Pablo’s cheek and he was very glad Shane couldn’t see. “It was a

good movie.”

“Who did you watch it with?”
“The sister of a friend of mine wanted to go and she asked me to be her date.” In fact

Catarina had bribed him into going along. “Now you know my deep dark secret.”

“Good to know.” Shane moved away and stood shoulder to shoulder with him.
“Your turn.” Pablo tugged on Shane’s hair. “Share some of your deep and darkest.”
“I don’t really have secrets…” Shane paused. “Except one.”
He didn’t speak for a while and Pablo glanced at him. “You don’t have to share if you don’t

want to. You know that, right?”

“No, it’s—” Shane shook his head. “You’ll be the only person aside from blood family to

know this.” He took a deep breath and stared outside. “I fathered my niece.”

“Whoa. What?” Did he say he had a child? “You have a child?” Shane slept with women?
“Believe me, it’s not as sordid as it sounds.” Shane grabbed Pablo’s hand and linked their

fingers. “My brother and his wife were having problems conceiving for years until finally we
learned Rich’s swimmers weren’t up to par.” He turned to Pablo, eyes solemn. “I was front and
center to their struggles to get pregnant. Rich and I, we’re best friends and I saw how much not
being able to have a child affected him and Heather. I offered to help. Jacked off in a cup.”

Pablo couldn’t even imagine being that selfless. “That’s— Why did you offer?”
Shane shrugged. “I’m a gay man, J.P. I never saw kids in the cards for me. Never saw

myself settling down with anyone and raising a family. I had the opportunity to make my brother
and his wife happy, give them a child they’d love unconditionally and me an excuse to spoil the
kid rotten.”

Wow. “That bit of information wasn’t included in the folder I got on you, the real you.”
“Yeah, well.” Shane smiled. “Maybe your information guy is slipping. You should fire him.”

He bumped Pablo’s shoulder lightly.

Pablo got it. He knew what Shane just did. He’d trusted him with something so important as

the life of someone he loved. “What’s her name?” He’d gone hoarse so Pablo cleared his throat
and tried again. “What’s your niece’s name?”

Shane’s smile grew ten times wider. “Sophia Belle, but she insisted she should’ve been

named Clementine after a character in one of her favorite kid shows. She wants to be a
princess-ballerina-mermaid who helps sick animals.” He chuckled. “She’s six.”

Pablo tightened his hold on Shane and tugged him into his arms. With his free hand, he

cupped Shane’s cheek and gazed into his twinkling green eyes. “You love her.”

Shane nodded. “I love her.”
“Does she look like you?” Pablo brushed his thumb over Shane’s nose and cheek. “Does she

have your eyes?”

Shane’s expression went soft, his lips parting under Pablo’s touch. “She has my eyes, but

Rich and I do have the same eyes.” His breath hitched when Pablo leaned forward and kissed
his brow. “She doesn’t know the mechanics of it all, we haven’t told her I’m the one who
fathered her. Maybe when she’s eighteen or so. For now I’m just Uncle Shay.”

“Uncle Shay.” Pablo repeated the name with a smile. “And you’re trusting me with her?” He

allowed the smile to leak off his face. “You’re trusting me with knowledge of just where to poke
if I want to hurt you?”

“You don’t need her if you want to bring me to my knees and we both know that.” Shane

met his gaze squarely. “I also know despite whatever else you’ve done, you have never hurt
women and children.”

“Don’t put me on some fucking pedestal, Shane. I’ll only come crashing down on you.” Pablo

tried to pull away, but Shane held him firm.

“I don’t have you on a pedestal, J.P. I know who you are. I know the things you’ve done.”

Shane smiled, but his voice was sad when he continued. “I know and I still care. I still want you.
Still love you.”

Fuck. “Shane, let’s be real.” Pablo sat on the window ledge, the cold and wet surface

dampening his pajama bottoms. He pulled Shane to stand between his knees and stared up at
him. “It doesn’t matter how or what we feel. The fact remains you’re sworn to uphold the law. I
make it my personal duty to break that motherfucker every chance I get.”

Shane tugged his bottom lip between his teeth and gnawed on it.
“Shane, listen to me,” Pablo begged. “I can’t see any instance where we could work, where

us together wouldn’t cause strife and maybe even cost you your job. I haven’t even touched on
the long-distance thing.”

“That could be dealt with,” Shane spoke up. “The distance. I could transfer.”
“And when it’s public knowledge that you’re fucking me and your colleagues start voicing

their opinions? When your superiors give you that choice between your job or me?” The words
fell from him in torrents and he saw the impact of it on Shane’s face. In his eyes. Simply
speaking the words hurt him, he could only imagine how Shane felt. But he needed to voice
them. Needed to put it out there.

Shane shook his head. “It’s you. I choose you every time.”
“How long before you start resenting me for costing you the thing you love?” Pablo lifted

Shane’s hand and brought it to his lips. “I can’t be in your life. Not like I am now. You can’t be
with me, giving me a pass, yet still hunting the other bad guys out there. That would make you
a hypocrite. And Shane, you’re anything but.”

“I can get another job. I can’t get another you.”
“Damn it, Shane. You’re not listening to me.”
“You think I’m not listening?” Shane snarled and spun away. “I hear every word you’re

saying, but they’re all excuses, aren’t they?” He met Pablo’s gaze with wild, angry eyes. “How
long?”

Pablo frowned. “What?”
“How long?” Shane repeated. “How long before you stop seeing him when you look at me?

Before you stop punishing me for whatever he did?”

“Wha—” Pablo’s head reeled. “Who are you talking about?”
“He hurt you.” Shane continued as if Pablo hadn’t spoken. “Whoever this guy is or was, he

trampled all over your feelings. I can see that. But I’m not him. I see it in your eyes, you want
me, but you keep holding back because of him. Because of what he did. You’ve got us stuck in
a holding pattern because of someone else.”

Pablo shook his head. “That’s not true.”
“No?” Shane slid his fingers through his hair. “I’m here, ready to walk away from all of it. For

you. But it seems to me you put more effort into what you don’t have than what you do. What
are you prepared to do for me, J.P.?”

“I’m prepared to watch you walk away,” Pablo shouted. “I’m giving you up and you might not

understand it now, but someday you will and you’ll thank me then.”

“Fuck you!” Shane yelled back.
“Don’t you get it?” Pablo got in his face and grabbed Shane by the neck. He hauled the

other man closer still, until he couldn’t tell where he began and Shane ended. “I am not the kind
of man you settle down with, Shane. I’m not the kind you bring home to meet the folks. I’m the
kind who can get you killed, who almost cost you your life just days ago. Or have you
forgotten?” He spat the words in Shane’s ear. “You fuck with me and you die. I won’t survive it,
don’t you get that? I can’t watch you get hurt because of me.”

His voice broke right then, his anguish spilling over in his words. From his eyes. The pain of

sending Shane away, even knowing it was the right thing to do, shattered something in his
chest, the magnitude of it buckling his knees.

Strong arms wrapped around his waist, held him upright. He pulled away, bracing his weight

on Shane’s, and stared into his lover’s eyes. “Shane.” He hated how much need came across in
that one word. How much love. How much want. Wanting what he couldn’t have was bad
enough. Having had it, having tasted it and knowing how much he was losing, knowing what he
was giving up was the worst.

“Let me love you.” Shane kissed his neck, his throat. “Let me help you ease the ache,” he

murmured against Pablo’s shoulder. He pushed Pablo’s pants down and stepped back, all that
hope in his eyes. He simply stood there, waiting for Pablo to go to him or walk away, turn his
back.

Their last few hours together and Pablo didn’t want to spend it fighting, debating. He wanted

in Shane’s arms. He wanted all that love focused on him one last time, he wanted to be selfish
and take.

Be taken.
He held Shane’s gaze and stepped out of his pants, standing before the man he loved in

nothing but his skin. All he had left was what he felt and he couldn’t find the words in his
suddenly dry throat so he moved forward and stepped heart-first into the arms of the man who
could destroy him.

Rip him to shreds. Annihilate him.
Shane held him tight, kissing his neck and moving downward, taking his time. Pablo’s heart

rate kicked up, his breath roughened and he didn’t want to be anywhere else. He’d thought he’d
been in love before, but this.

Nothing compared. Everything paled in contrast to the bright, shiny glow that was Shane.
His lover reversed their positions and pushed at Pablo’s shoulder. He moved backward,

dropping onto the bed and crawling to the middle. Shane came with him, his touches so soft,
face open and honest. Pablo couldn’t bear to look him in the eye, but he lacked the faculties to

turn away.

Straddling him, Shane bent his head, his wet and nimble tongue flicking at Pablo’s nipples

while his cock, hard and hot bumped against Pablo’s.

A groan ripped from his throat and he tipped his head up, giving over to it all—the pleasure

and the pain. Twin emotions he craved as Shane caught one of his nipples between his teeth
and bit, hard enough for Pablo to arch and grip the sheets, yet soft enough for him to beg.

“More. Shane, please.”
Shane responded with a sly grin and sank his teeth into Pablo’s chest, over the tattoo he’d

gotten when Angelo left him. He rocked into Shane, their hard-ons grinding together, both caps
wet and pulsing hot.

“Let me kiss your scars.” Shane dipped lower, kissing the raised scar from Pablo’s father’s

machete. He licked Pablo’s stomach and dragged his tongue over every ridge in his abs.

Pablo’s muscles contracted and he squirmed under the gentleness, unused to the soft.

Unused to being the one receiving.

Finally, finally Shane’s mouth closed around his cock, sucking him into the wet cavern gently.

Pablo gasped up at the ceiling.

“Ah Shane.” He rolled his hips then reached down and cupped the back of Shane’s head,

thrusting into him slowly, agonizingly slow. Shane’s lashes fluttered and his eyes opened,
brilliant green, sparkling with lust and desire and so many emotions Pablo wanted to bottle up
and explore at a later date when his balls weren’t churning, when his body wasn’t aching.

Sure fingers cupped his balls, squeezing gently, rolling them around. Pablo widened his

thighs and held Shane’s stare. His lover was perfection, gorgeous lips stretched so wide around
his length, cheeks bulging, eyes…telling. His fingers moved away and Shane released Pablo
with a twinge of regret on his face. Quickly enough Shane’s fingers replaced Pablo’s cock in his
mouth and Pablo watched, stroking his own dick as Shane sucked on his fingers, wetting them
in preparation.

Pablo’s body clenched, both in fear and anticipation. He’d never been breached, never

allowed another man inside him, but he wanted to give Shane something. Something all his
own.

Shane removed the fingers from his mouth and brought them to Pablo’s entrance.
“Relax.” Shane kissed the inside of his thigh and pushed one finger in. “Let me in, J.P. I

won’t hurt you.”

Pablo knew that. He knew no matter what he did, how far or hard he pushed, Shane would

never hurt him and that knowledge helped him to relax, to breathe in, to push down when the
fingers inside him became two.

“That’s it,” Shane whispered to him. “Open up for me. Let me love you.” He sank the two

digits deep and Pablo jerked. Shane hissed. “Fuck, babe. You’re all tightness and heat in here.”

“Christ.” Pablo rocked on his fingers, the burn exquisite. “Christ. I’ve never— You’re my

first.”

Between his legs, Shane stilled. Pablo opened his eyes and looked down. Shane was

staring up at him, his lips parted, cheeks red.

“What?”
A small smile played at the corners of Shane’s mouth. “You were my first.”

“Yeah?” Pablo couldn’t help the answering smile that comment brought to his lips.
Shane nodded and hooked the fingers inside Pablo. “Yeah.” He grabbed the tube of lube

from the night table and squeezed some directly onto Pablo. “You were my first and it was
what I needed. What I wanted.” He continued working those fingers inside Pablo, the lube
easing the way for one more. “Now it’s your turn.” He wiggled his fingers, pressed against
Pablo’s gland.

“Oh my God.” Pablo stared, unblinking as fire arched through his body. His entrance

clenched around Shane’s fingers. “Oh fuck, Shane. Please.” He rocked furiously on Shane,
trying to take the fingers deeper still, trying to recapture the fire.

“This?” Shane pulled his fingers a ways out then plunged back in.
“Fuck!” Pablo bent his knees and looked down, keeping his eyes on Shane’s fingers sliding

in and out of him. He palmed his cock and tugged as he commanded Shane, “More. Again.”

Shane gave him what he asked for, fucking him with three fingers, opening him up. Pablo

rode him as he jerked off. Who knew bottoming was this fucking good? He should’ve done it
before, but then the moment, this moment wouldn’t be happening. He grabbed Shane’s hair with
his free hand and when his lover looked up, Pablo nodded.

“I want you. Please. Inside me.”
As Shane pulled his fingers away, donned a condom and lubed up, Pablo waited to feel

shame or regret, or anything negative, but all he felt was right. And achy. Needy.

Shane straddled him and Pablo lifted his legs, wrapping them around Shane’s waist. Above

him, Shane stilled for a moment.

Pablo looked up into his eyes and waited.
“I love you, J.P.” He took himself in hand and pushed in. “Love you. Love you.” His limbs and

lips trembled.

Pablo smiled up at him. “I’m yours.” He pushed down and down and Shane pushed in, his

invasion stinging, bringing a fresh pinch of pain. Pablo breathed through it, sinking his fingers
into Shane’s hip and helping to guide him in.

He groaned at the pressure, the sensation of being filled. Shane held him tight, his jaw

working, corded muscles in his neck bulging, evidence of his strain.

“Jesus.” Shane bottomed out, his heavy balls slapping against Pablo’s ass. “Fucking God,

J.P. You feel so good.” He lowered himself on his arms and kissed Pablo. “You feel like fucking
heaven, baby. All that heat and soft strength stretched around my dick. You hold me like you
never want to let me go.”

He didn’t. Pablo buried his fingers in Shane’s hair and kissed him, sticking his tongue down

his throat and wiggling until Shane’s breath hitched and he thrust in.

Hard and deep.
“Ugh. Shane.” Fucking pleasure brought whimpers and Pablo couldn’t control the sounds

falling from his mouth. “Fuck me hard.”

“I will.” Shane caught Pablo by his left ankle and hooked his leg around his waist. He

pressed in, hitting Pablo’s prostate as he spoke against his ear. “I’ll fuck you good and hard.
Fuck you down. Make it so no one else compares.”

Jesus. As if Pablo would allow anyone else to go where Shane was right then. He took his

lover’s mouth, drinking down his words, and grabbed Shane’s ass cheeks, pushing him deeper
into him.

“Oh God. Shane. Feels so good.” He dug his heels into the mattress and lifted his lower

half, taking it all as Shane pounded into him. “So good.”

“I know. I know.” Shane spoke into his mouth. “Why do you think I keep coming back to

you?”

Pablo rolled his hips. “Because you love me.”
He felt Shane’s smile. “Yes. And because your cock has my nose wide open.”
“The way yours has me.” Pablo nipped his neck and licked the salt off his skin. Shane

shuddered and sank his teeth into Pablo’s shoulder. “Shit!”

Shane reared back and grinned at him. “Grab your cock, J.P. Show me how you work

yourself when I’m not around.” Shane sat back on his haunches and tilted Pablo’s ass up until
he was almost folded in two, his cock still inside him.

Pablo did as commanded, taking his erection in hand and tugging.
Shane groaned. “Yes.” He pushed in then pulled out. “Just like that. Let me see you.” Shane

thrust into him again and again and Pablo stroked himself, dipping his pinky into his slit, swiping
his thumb into his pre-cum that he offered to Shane.

His lover licked it off with a moan. They repeated the process until Pablo’s balls drew up and

the telltale heat swamped his spine.

“Fuck.” His arms and legs trembled as he fought to keep his wits. “Gonna come, Shane.

Gonna fucking—”

“Do it.” Shane slammed up against his gland and Pablo erupted, shooting his shit into his

palm and all over his stomach.

“Fuck. Fuck.” His eyes rolled back in his head. “Shane!”
“Right here.” Shane pounded into him, his groans bouncing off the walls, his nails biting into

Pablo’s skin, leaving marks, no doubt.

Pablo clenched at the thought and Shane yelled, “Oh Christ. Oh fuck!” He collapsed onto

Pablo’s chest with a grunt.

Pablo held him, both their bodies quivering with aftershocks, their breaths ragged and their

heartbeats erratic. Shane got up once to get rid of the condom and after that Pablo held him.
He held him until the sweat on their skin cooled and the pounding of their pulses slowed to a
more normal speed, until hot tears escaped Shane’s eyes and slid down Pablo’s naked chest.
He held Shane through the raging weather outside, until the sun peeked through the clouds.

He held him until his arms cramped and even then Pablo held him tighter.
All around them in the house voices laughed and joked, his men waking up and going about

their day. And in the little cocoon he had, the one he shared with Shane, he blinked away the
tears and held his lover close.

He held Shane until the phone call came, until Mateo yelled the message though the door.
The car service will be here in an hour to take Shane to the airport.
Only then did Pablo force himself to let go, to move away. Force his limbs to separate him

from Shane. He sat in the middle of the bed while his lover took a shower, while he got
dressed.

They spoke no words. None were necessary. His marks were already visible on Shane’s

skin, his scratches. His bites.

His marks.

They told the story Pablo couldn’t make himself speak. Said the words when he couldn’t

bring himself to.

When Shane was all dressed in a crisp gray shirt tucked into black pants, the sleeves rolled

up to his elbows, and black shoes, Pablo got up. He unhooked the silver chain around his neck,
the one he took from his mother the day she died. The one he’d never taken off since that day,
and gave it to the man he loved. Shane stood silent while Pablo put it on him, touching the cross
pendant with reverent fingers when he was done.

They stared each other down, Shane’s eyes red-rimmed and swollen. Pablo imagined his

didn’t look any better but he wasn’t about to find out. He broke eye contact and sat back down
at the edge of the bed.

Shane stood at the door, his packed duffle bag at his feet.
Outside a car honked.
Pablo flinched.
“Car’s outside,” Mateo yelled from downstairs.
Pablo looked away. He couldn’t meet Shane’s eyes. Couldn’t see the pain in them. He’d

never recover.

The bedroom door opened with a click and he turned back. Shane’s back was to him, his

hand on the knob. Shane took a step then slammed the door shut.

“Tell me to stay.” His back remained to Pablo, his hand rested on the knob. His voice was

wet, scratchy. “Tell me to stay. Beg me to stay. Order me to stay.”

The tears rolled down Pablo’s face with no hope of him ever reining them in. “Shane.”
“Don’t make me go.” His lover was begging and Pablo knew, he knew how much that cost

Shane. “I’m not finished with us. Please. Don’t make me leave you.”

“I’m sorry.” Pablo cleared his throat. “Shane. Go. Please. Go.”
His lover’s shoulders shook. The hand on the knob trembled. Then Shane opened the door

and disappeared. The sound of the door closing hit Pablo square in the chest and his knees hit
the floor.

He doubled over with his arms wrapped around his middle, biting his lip until he tasted blood

to stifle the words. The words he wanted to yell at Shane.

Come back.
Stay.
Never leave.

Chapter Eleven

Syren came by weeks later, looking worse than Pablo felt and sporting a swollen lip.
“Rough times?” Sprawled out on the floor of his living room, Pablo lifted an eyebrow as

Syren dropped onto a chair.

“I could ask you the same, no?” The man managed to smirk and still look fuckable, in spite

of the lip situation. Making a show of looking around the room and peering up the stairs, Syren
asked, “Where’s your agent friend?”

“Who knows? Gone.” Pablo kept his voice short, curt. He didn’t want to talk about Shane.

Bad enough the man intruded on his every waking thought. Even his fucking dreams. Each time
Pablo closed his eyes, he saw Shane at his bedroom door, heard him begging Pablo not to
make him leave.

Syren grunted. “You sent him away, yes? Your choice, so why do you look like you want to

kill someone?”

“Fuck, what are you? My shrink?” Pablo moved onto his stomach and buried his face in the

cushion he’d been using to prop his head up. “Are you here for a reason or just to invade my
Goddamn privacy?”

“Hmm. Can it be a little bit of both?”
Pablo rolled his eyes and sat up. “Okay. Just say what you came to say and let’s part ways

before I shoot you.”

Syren clucked his tongue. “I’d watch that temper, Mr. Castillo. Not attractive.”
“Oh my God!” Pablo chucked the cushion at his head and Syren ducked out of the way.

“Why don’t we talk about you, hmm? About the swollen lip and the person who caused it?
Found yourself a boyfriend, did ya?”

Syren swiped his tongue over said bottom lip, color rising on his face. Oh dead giveaway

right there. Pablo laughed and Syren fidgeted in his seat.

“Yes, well, I have some business to discuss with you, Castillo.”
“I bet you do.”
“Faro business.”
Pablo sobered quick. Oftentimes it was hard to remember that Syren and Faro were one

and the same. The small man wore both identities with well-practiced ease, but the heaviness
in Syren’s voice, the darkness in his eyes hinted at his torment. How the other man could stand
it, dealing so intimately with the man he worked in the shadows to take down, was beyond
Pablo.

Syren’s will and self-control had to be forged of steel. No way could Pablo be so near to the

man who wiped out his family and sold him to slave traders.

“Delatorre is suspending all North American weapons shipments indefinitely.”
Pablo cocked his head to the side. “What?” Could they do that? And could his journey to

going legit be that easy?

“Some in-house machinations have made it impossible for the Delatorres to continue the

weapons trading part of their business.” Syren’s lips quirked up. “The main supplier of our
weapons has had a…change of heart, shall we say?”

Uh-huh. “This is your doing? Part of your plan to deal with the Delatorres?”

“Could be.” Syren shrugged. “These things happen. Of course, Delatorre isn’t a stupid man.

His eggs aren’t all placed in one basket. Which is why the other baskets are burning to the
ground as we speak.”

Fuck. “Meaning you’ve begun. Whatever your plan is, you’ve put it in motion.” Pablo stared

at Syren, at the serene calm surrounding him, the strangely colored hair and those eyes. “Are
you sure about this?” Pablo asked. “It’s a very complicated thing you’ve set out to do.”

Syren had been staring off into the distance and at Pablo’s words he snapped his gaze to

him. “I’m sure.”

Cold as ice, those words. Calm as ever too. Pablo shivered. “You’ll be okay after all this?

What will you do?” All these years Syren lived and breathed to take down the Delatorres. That
was his sole purpose. Pablo didn’t think the other man catered to an “after”.

“What will I do?” Syren wrinkled his nose. “You mean if I’m not outed and killed?”
“Uh. Yeah, that.” Dude was so matter-of-fact. “What else do you want to do? Your life will

not be ending with the Delatorres’ demise.” At least Pablo hoped not. He liked Syren.

“My life.” A heavy sigh made its way past Syren’s lips. “I hope to be happy. Everyone wants

that, no?”

“You think we deserve that? People like you and me, do we deserve to be happy?”
Syren barked a brittle laugh. “Deserve? No one cares about who does or doesn’t deserve.

People make stuff happen for them. You and I, men like us, we take our happiness whether or
not we deserve it.”

Ain’t that the truth.
“Wise words.” Pablo eyed Syren up and down. “What will make you happy after all this?”
Shadows moved in Syren’s eyes. His lips parted and he hesitated. “I-I’m not sure yet.” He

shook his hair away from his forehead. “You?”

Shane. Pablo didn’t speak, he simply held Syren’s gaze and the other man smiled, a bit

sadly.

“Yes. Your agent.” Sinking into the couch, Syren folded his arms and grinned at Pablo. “We

would’ve set your big bed on fire, you and I.”

Uh. Pablo blinked, caught in the sudden heat blazing out of Syren’s gaze. “We would have?”
Syren nodded. “Burn it to ashes.”
Well. Okay. “How do you know my bed’s big?”
Syren’s expression mocked him. “You like big things.”
His body responded to that open suggestion, but Pablo held himself in check. Fact is, he did

like big things. “I kinda do.”

Syren waved his words away. “But our time has passed. You should go after your agent.

Beg him to take you back.”

Yeah. Not like Pablo hadn’t imagined that a million times over in his mind. “Giving me advice

on love now that you’ve put me out of a job?”

“You could always step into the other sections of the Delatorre stronghold.”
“Drugs and human trafficking?” Pablo shuddered in distaste. “I’ll pass.”
“What will you do?”
“Who knows?” He did. He knew what he wanted to do, had known since the door closed

behind Shane, but he wasn’t ready. Time wasn’t right. “Maybe take a vacation. Never been on

one.”

“Alone or with the agent?” Syren stood and made a show of straightening the dark suit he

wore.

“Why are you so interested in my life?” Pablo asked. “You need to hurry up and deal with

Delatorre so you can find someone and I can interfere.”

The strangest smile crossed Syren’s face, as if he had a secret. A big one. Pablo frowned

at him, but Syren said, “I was just with your friend and his husband. It would be nice to see you
and him back in the same room again. Even the same state. He misses you. Maybe you should
visit?” He raised an eyebrow, but really that was more a command than a question.

Strangely enough, hearing the word husband in reference to Angel and his cop didn’t make

Pablo want to hit something. Or shoot the cop. Things were looking up. “Maybe I will visit.”

Syren left him a little while later and Pablo sat alone in his house. Pondering shit. Like his life

and how badly he’d fucked it all up. Like his friends and what he had to offer them now that
their gun business was on hold. He’d planned a speech for Syren on why he’d be stepping back
and away from the gun thing, but Syren’s plans took that away from him.

And now?
He was literally out of business, because in order to get Shane back he needed to be out of

the game. He could do it, could walk away, but he had people counting on him.

He picked up his phone and called Mateo over. When the other man made his appearance,

Pablo filled him in on the new developments.

“That’s it?” Mateo sat across from him at the kitchen table, caution in his gaze. “Just like

that we’re out of the game?”

“The Delatorres are imploding, from the inside out. It’s only a matter of time before they

take anyone associated with them along for that ride. We have the chance of getting out ahead
of the fray.”

Mateo knew Pablo had an inside source in the Delatorre camp, but he had no idea that Faro

and Syren was the same man or that Syren had his own agenda. Pablo wouldn’t share Syren’s
story with Mateo.

“Okay.” Mateo sat back. “But what do we do? After this. Go legit?”
Pablo shrugged. “We can do anything. The guys can do whatever they want, but I’m telling

you, Teo. Los P is going defunct. I’m out.”

“Wow.” Mateo stared at him as if he’d grown two heads. “Wow.”
“I wish I could say I’d grown a conscience. I wish it was a righteous move, but it’s not.”

Pablo shook his head. “I’m being one hundred percent selfish here. I’m doing it for him. I want
him and to have him I need to be legit.”

“Well.” Mateo cracked a smile. “At least you’re being honest.”
At least. “I don’t know how this will work. Or even if it can work, but I have to know. Have to

try.” He pushed a hand into his pocket and fingered the slip of paper Syren had given him
before he left. An address in North Carolina. “Here’s the deal. Take whatever weapons we
have in the warehouses over to St. Michael’s.”

Mateo’s eyes widened.
“They’re enrolled in the buy-back program over there. Have the guys bring them in, they’ll be

safe.” The mayor of New York and the NYPD had initiated a gun buy-back program where

anyone could walk off the street and turn in guns at designated sites all over the city with no
questions asked. In return they received bank cards—two hundred dollars for each operable
handgun, twenty dollars for shotguns and rifles.

“That could work.”
Pablo snorted. He could only imagine how the news would take that. A cache of guns

dropped off by the local gang. “On second thought, have Reggie and them use the guys around
the neighborhood. I’m sure they could use the money.”

“And what will you be doing?”
“Gotta make some moves.” Pablo squeezed the piece of paper in his palm, crumpling it.

“Gonna take a trip.”

Mateo raised an eyebrow. “Atlanta?”
I wish. “North Carolina.”

* * * * *

The taxi took him as far as the bottom of a steep hill. Pablo had to walk all the way up as

the hot sun blazed down on him. He shrugged off the suit jacket he wore and draped it over his
arm.

A little bit better.
Leave it to Angel to build a house out in the middle of no-fucking-where. The place was

barely on a Goddamn map. Sure, he could’ve let his former partner know he was coming over
for a visit, but hell, where was the fun?

He still had no clue why he was even there. Sure, he’d love to see Angel, but man. His

stomach was knotted, had been knotted since he boarded the flight out of JFK.

He stopped at the gate and barked a curse. Place was a fucking fortress with a paneled

gate so high he couldn’t begin to see over it.

Paranoid much?
Still it was nice to see Angel wasn’t lax on his security simply because he lost his mind and

fell in love with a cop.

You fell in love with a DEA agent so what have you lost?
Nothing but Shane, whom he would be getting back as soon as he saw Angel.
He checked his watch. Four-thirteen on a Saturday afternoon. Angel had to be home, right?

He pressed the tiny button mounted to the left of the gate and waited.

“Did you forget your keys again?” The voice crackled around him, warm humor bleeding

through. Not Angel’s though.

“Uh.” Pablo pressed the button, holding it down as he spoke. “Um. I—I’m looking for

Angelo.”

Silence lasted for about a heartbeat then the voice barked, “There’s no Angelo here.”
Crap. Right. Pablo licked his lips and tried again. “This is Pablo and uh, I guess it’s Rafe,

now?”

Rafe. Stupid name.
The cop’s curses came through the intercom loud but not all that clear. Mutterings of “Holy

fuck” and “Crap” and “Answer the fucking phone!” He quieted then addressed Pablo. “He knows
you’re coming?”

Pablo laughed. “I didn’t know I was coming, so no.”
The cop sighed. “He’s not home. He’s doing some shit in town and refuses to answer his

Goddamn phone.” He sighed again. “You wanna come in and wait for him?”

That tone said he really wished Pablo would say no. Pablo smiled. “Sure.”
The gates opened with a low, mechanical hum and Pablo walked through. A long

cobblestoned driveway led to a house painted charcoal gray with white shutters. From the well-
kept grounds to the three-story structure, everything looked inviting. Everything said family and
commitment and…

Crap. He was tearing up.
A sliding door opened and a man stepped out onto the wide wraparound porch, wearing a

white t-shirt and dark jeans, which he wiped his hands on. The frayed hems of his jeans
dragged on the floor, over his bare feet. He pushed his hair out of his eyes and looked on as
Pablo approached.

Man. Pablo hadn’t considered seeing the cop, which was bad, and now he got to be alone

with him.

Fucked.
He felt the other man’s gaze on him, assessing as he stepped onto the porch and held out

his hand. “Juan Pablo Castillo. People call me Pablo.” He looked up into the cop’s clear gray
gaze and smiled in what he hoped was a friendly manner.

The cop took his hand in a strong, dry grip and shook it firmly. “Gabriel Soto-Ashby.” He

grinned and Pablo blinked. “People call me Gabe.”

Wow. Okay.
The cop—Gabe—released his hand and motioned Pablo to a seat at one of the benches

along the porch. “Take a load off. Drink? We’ve got any kind of liquor and iced tea.”

“Thanks.” Pablo sat. “Uh. Iced tea.” He needed to be clearheaded for this one although,

man, he needed a shot of whiskey in the worst way.

“All right. Be back in a minute.”
Gabe disappeared inside the house and Pablo sat back, staring up at the blue, cloudless

sky. Well, fuck.

Angelo made it happen. He carved out a life for himself, away from all the violence and

drama he’d grown up with. Now more than ever, Pablo understood that need to be more, to
want more, to want to give more.

“Here you go.” Gabe appeared, a glass of iced tea in one hand, a Bud Light in the other.

Pablo took the glass with a nod and raised an eyebrow at the beer.

Gabe smiled. “Figured one of us would need this. Figured it might be me.”
Huh. Pablo sipped his tea then met Gabe’s eyes. “Always thought if we ever met face-to-

face I’d be shooting you.”

“Yeah?” Gabe’s eyes twinkled, but he didn’t laugh. He took a mouthful of beer then

swallowed. “Angry that he left the gang? Or that he left you?”

“Both.” Pablo shrugged. “More the second though.”
Gabe simply nodded. They sat in silence, the scent of salt tingling Pablo’s nose. He sniffed.
“Is that—am I smelling the sea?”
“Yeah. We’ve got a private beach in the back.”

“Dude.”
“I know, right?” Gabe winked and took another swig of his beer.
They lapsed into another round of silence, not too uncomfortable, until Gabe broke it.
“When did you know you were in love with him?”
Pablo inhaled more salt. “I can’t pinpoint a timeframe. I just looked up one day and the

brotherly love had morphed into something I couldn’t explain.” He shook his head. “Or maybe I
was always in love with him.”

“Why didn’t you tell him?”
Pablo stared at him, wide-eyed. “For all the same reasons he never came out. The gang.

Our culture. And for me, I didn’t want to see hate or disgust in his eyes when he looked at me.”

Gabe nodded again. “I get it. He told me you saw us together.”
Heat washed over Pablo at the memory. “It was really beautiful to watch,” he said softly. “I

was angry and devastated, but I was also awed at the way you trusted each other so…
implicitly.” He cast a sidelong glance at Gabe. A goofy smile played along the edges of the
other man’s mouth and his eyes had gone all dreamy and shit.

“How do you make it work?” Pablo asked. “What made you decide it was him and no one

else?”

Gabe sobered and placed his beer bottle on the floor next to his feet. “You don’t know

anything about me, do you?”

Pablo shook his head and Gabe smiled.
“Until Angel, I was as straight as a fucking arrow. I had a girlfriend. Been living with her for

years.”

“Shit. Really?”
“Yes.” A faraway look came into Gabe’s eyes. “I hated him for making me feel the way I

did. I hated myself for needing him when I knew I shouldn’t.”

Wow. Heavy shit.
“I knew all his faults, all his crimes, all his dark deeds and yet…”
“You still wanted him,” Pablo whispered.
“I did and I made a choice. Loving him was what I wanted, being with him was what made

me happy. The job didn’t.”

“What did you do when he went off to jail?” Angel spent two years in jail on weapons

charges before faking his death. During that time Pablo hadn’t spared a thought to Gabe and
what he might have been going through.

Gabe shrugged at his question. “I quit the job and isolated myself in the Poconos. My

brother was not happy—he’s a marshal. I tried dating other men. Ugh.” He made a face.
“Disaster. I compared everyone to Angel.”

“And now?”
“Now we work to make sure our relationship works. We’re in it for the long haul.” Gabe

twisted the gold band on his ring finger. “We made a conscious decision that no matter what life
threw at us, we’re working it out, no one’s leaving. No one’s walking away.” He leveled a steady
gaze at Pablo. “Why did you come?”

“I—I’m in love with someone.”
“Ah.” Gabe shifted on the bench.

“A DEA agent.”
“Fuck. Dude.” Sympathy was all over Gabe’s face.
Pablo snorted. “Yeah.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I sent him away. Forced him to leave.” Pablo bit his lip. “I have to go to him. Ask for

forgiveness.”

“Why did you send him away?”
“There were too many obstacles stacked against us.” Pablo brought his gaze to the sky. “I

needed to get rid of a few before I could go to him. Be worthy of him.” Jesus. He sounded like
a chick.

“Did he ask that of you?” Pablo shook his head and Gabe continued. “He’s law enforcement

so he knew going in who you were, right? And he got involved anyway, fell in love anyway?”

“He was undercover.”
“Sounds like he knew his own mind, Pablo. He knew the costs and he chose to pay them to

be with you.”

“‘He did.” Pablo coughed to clear his throat. “The thing is, he’s the one sacrificing for me.

Giving shit up for me.” He swallowed. “I just, I wanted to be able to do the same and I had to
send him away to do that.”

“Did you tell him all that?”
“No and I know, I’m an idiot.”
“Well, yeah.”
The gates at the end of the driveway hummed open and a black Jeep pulled in. Gabe

jumped to his feet, the widest, brightest smile on his face. Fuck. It hurt to look at him like that.

Gabe went to the car and Pablo stood where he was as his childhood friend exited the

vehicle, barely managing to slam the door shut as Gabe molded to him. Angel wrapped his
arms around Gabe, lifting him off the ground as they kissed.

And kissed some more.
Pablo stood with his hands in his pockets and smiled. It was nice seeing that. A twinge of

jealousy itched his chest. He wanted that. Wanted that with Shane.

The house and commitment.
The kisses to welcome him home.
He wanted it and he’d get it.
“Hermano.” Angel walked up the porch steps hand in hand with Gabe. “Welcome. Finally.”

He released Gabe and opened his arms and Pablo went to him, hugged him tight, squeezing his
eyes to hide the moisture.

“Angel.”
Angel kissed him on the cheek. “Come. Gabe said you talked?”
Pablo nodded as Angel led him back to the bench. They sat next to each other, Gabe in

Angel’s lap.

“I like the house,” Pablo said.
“Wait ’til you see inside,” Gabe gushed. “You’ll stay for dinner?”
“Uh, yeah?”

Gabe slid his fingers through Angel’s shoulder-length hair.
Angel smiled up at him. “Where’s your shoes, babe?”
Gabe frowned down at his feet. “Umm. I was distracted. We had a guest. Our first guest.

Your mother and Kane don’t count and don’t get me started on Syren.”

Pablo laughed.
“Didn’t we agree you’d stop walking around barefoot?” Angel asked his husband.
Gabe shrugged. “You talked. I ignored you.”
Christ, they were hilarious.
“Come on inside, hermano.” Angel stood. “We’ll order in some crap and you’ll tell me about

the poor bastard you’re pining after.”

* * * * *

Pablo’s phone rang as he pounded his carryon into the overhead bin. He slammed the thing

shut and pulled out his cell, frowning at the unknown number displayed.

“Yeah.” He folded his frame into the window seat, using his shoulder to hold the phone to his

ear as he buckled in.

“Uh… Is this J.P.?” The woman’s voice was soft, tentative, but she used a name only one

other person ever did and that had Pablo’s hackles rising.

“Who is this? Where did you hear that name?” He barked the questions, ignoring the purple-

headed granny next to him.

“Sorry.” Words left the woman in a breathy rush. “I’m Heather Ruskin, Shane’s sister-in-

law.”

Jesus. “What’s wrong?” His heart leapt into his throat, smothering his words. “Where’s

Shane?” Please.

“No. Nothing happened.” Heather sighed. “He’s…not himself. He told us about you and I

snuck your number from his phone last night at dinner.” She paused. “Look, I don’t do shit like
this, but he needs you. His brother and I have never seen him so broken and frankly, we’re
scared.”

Pablo sat back and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Why did you call me, Heather?”
“You need to call him,” she said. “If you care, if you love him, throw him a fucking lifeline.”
Fuck. He liked her. “Would it help to know I’m just as lost and broken as he is?”
“A little, not much.”
Pablo laughed. The sign to turn off all electronic devices blinked on. “Gotta go, Heather.

They want us to turn off our phones.”

“Uh, sure. Where are you?”
Pablo smiled. “On a plane. I’ll be in Atlanta in a few hours.”

* * * * *

Shane eyed the buzzing phone on the car seat next to him as he drove home from work.

Another phone call from Heather, no doubt. He knew what she wanted to tell him.

Call Pablo.
Call him.

No. Why doesn’t Pablo call him, huh? Why did he have to make the first move?
Pablo sent him away and every time he thought about it, bile rose in his throat. He’d begged.
Begged.
Go, Shane.
Well fuck him, he’d go and he’d keep on going. He’d hoped getting back into his normal

routines would help, keep him too busy to deal with the memories. Not so much. Everywhere he
went, he saw Pablo.

Every time he closed his eyes he heard him, felt him. Tasted him.
He’d been questioned a million times by his superiors about what happened with York, how

Shane managed to get his ass chopped up. He told them what they wanted to hear, hell, he
told the shrink they sent him to the same story. What he never divulged was what he and Pablo
shared. That shit was not for public consumption.

But Jack knew. And every time they saw each other at work, Shane felt those censorious

eyes on him. He had no apologies. He harbored no regrets. It was up to Jack if he wanted to
spill, if he wanted to fuck with Shane.

So far he hadn’t.
Probably pitying him like Rich and Heather did.
He didn’t want their pity, he wanted Pablo.
He pulled into the parking space in front of his apartment building and grabbed the box of

pizza off the backseat. He made it into his building and into the elevator, juggling his keys, cell
phone and pizza in one hand as he used the other to punch in the number to his floor.

He’d eat, get drunk and fall into bed. His normal routine since he’d been back. Good thing he

didn’t have to take Sophia to the zoo as originally planned. The trip was postponed by Heather
via voicemail earlier that day.

Apparently, he needed to get some rest.
Shane snorted as he stepped off the elevator. Rest. He turned left toward his apartment

and stopped, frozen in his tracks.

Pablo was leaning against his door.
Pablo.
At his door. His arms folded uber-casual-like across his chest. Dressed in a dark hoodie

pulled over his head, dark shades, distressed jeans and heavy boots.

And oh God, Pablo was at his door.
Shane blinked and blinked again. Just to make sure. To make sure his insomnia wasn’t

fucking with his mind, having him hallucinating up in that bitch.

Still there.
He walked closer, slowly, then faster. Until they were separated by just a breath. Shane

closed his eyes and inhaled Pablo into his lungs, his heat, his musk of faint sweat and that
citrusy cologne.

“You’re here.”
Rough fingers cupped his jaw and his eyes flew open.
“I’m here.”
Pablo removed the sunglasses. Their gazes clashed and Shane pushed him into the door,

taking his mouth, kissing him deep and long and hmm.

He broke away and pushed the hood off Pablo’s head. “Fuck you, J.P.” Pablo opened his

mouth and Shane was on him again, grinding, kissing, tongues twisting.

Sweetest kisses that rocked him. Had him hard and aching in a heartbeat.
Shit. He moved away and brandished the keys. “Inside now.” He thrust the pizza at Pablo

and unlocked the door in record time. He barged into the place then turned around and yanked
Pablo in.

He grabbed the pizza and dropped it on the table next to the door along with his keys and

cell phone. Pablo just stood there, quiet, teeth tugging on his bottom lip.

“Fucker.” Shane slammed him into the door, kissing him, plunging his tongue deep when

Pablo opened for him. He attacked his lover’s belt, unbuckling and unzipping him in record time.

“Ugnn. Shane.” Pablo pushed into his hand and Shane turned him around, his face to the

door.

With Pablo’s jeans around his ankles, Shane stroked the other man’s already wet-tipped

cock. “You’re here? Why are you here?”

He retrieved the tiny packet of lube he’d had for forever in his wallet then returned to

stroking Pablo. “Why are you here, J.P.?” He ground his cock into the crease of Pablo’s ass.
“You send me away then you show up?”

“Fuck.” Pablo shuddered when Shane dipped his pinky into his slit. “You know why.”
“Do I?” Shane slicked himself and two fingers then pushed them into Pablo. “Do I?” He sank

his teeth into Pablo’s shoulder as he rocked onto him. “I gave you what you wanted. I left.” He
guided his cock to Pablo’s entrance and thrust in.

“Fuck. Fuck.” Pablo’s muscles grabbed at him, clenched around him.
Shane shuddered then withdrew and pushed in. “Christ.” The feeling. Indescribable. “Never

thought I’d have this again,” he whispered. “You let me go.” He pounded into Pablo, taking out
his anger and pain on his lover. “You let me go.”

Pablo took his punishment with loud grunts, his head banging against the closed door with

each of Shane’s thrusts. “Shit. Been needing this, Shane. Been needing you.”

Shane buried his face in Pablo’s shoulder, muffling his gasping sobs as he took him. “I love

you,” he whispered. “So fucking much.”

“I love you too, pretty boy.”
Pablo pulled away and Shane stumbled back, but his lover just faced him.
“Come here.”
Shane went to him and Pablo wrapped his legs around Shane, guiding him back inside.

Shane bottomed out with a gasp and Pablo kissed him.

“You’re fucking me raw,” Pablo whispered and Shane froze.
Holy God. “I—I’m clean.” Christ. “I was tested in the hospital and it’s only been you and

rubbers since then.”

Pablo grabbed his hair and kissed him, brutal and wet. “It’s only been you. No one else

since you. No one.” He held Shane’s gaze and Shane slid in then out and back again.

“Tell me.” Pablo pulled him close and licked his lobe. “Tell me what you want from me.”
So fucking easy to do. Shane punctuated each of his demands with a sharp thrust, watching

Pablo’s eyes dilate and his nose flare. “I want you. Every fucking day in my bed. In my house. I

want to go to sleep in your arms and wake up the same. I want to be the only man in your
heart. The only man to own you, body and soul. I want your clothes in my drawers and your
food in my fridge. I want dinners with my family and you. Just you.” He angled his hips and
thrust.

Pablo’s mouth opened in a silent scream, his body clenched, and hot cream sprayed

between them as he came.

His release triggered Shane’s and he let go, flooding Pablo, marking his territory. He

groaned into Pablo’s mouth. “What do you want from me?”

Pablo panted against him, his arms tightened. “I want all those things too. And I want you.

All day. Every day.”

Then all else was secondary. “Done.”

The End

About Avril Ashton

Caribbean transplant, Avril now lives in Brooklyn, N.Y., with a tolerant Spousal Equivalent.

Together they raise a daughter who loves reading and school (not so much school anymore).
Avril’s earliest memories of reading revolve around discussing plot points of Nancy Drew and
the Hardy Boys with an equally book-mined mother.

Always in love with the written word, Avril finally decided to do the writing in August of ’09

and never looked back. Spicy love scenes, delicious heroes, and wicked women burn up the
pages of Avril’s Stories, but there’ll always be a happy endin; Av remains a believer of love in all
its forms.

Avril welcomes comments from readers. You can find her website and email addresses on

her

author bio page

at

www.ellorascave.com

.

Tell Us What You Think

We appreciate hearing reader opinions about our books. You can email

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Also by

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Love the Sinner

Ellora’s Cave Publishing

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Sinner, Savior

ISBN 9781419943386
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Sinner, Savior Copyright © 2012 Avril Ashton

Edited by Grace Bradley
Cover design by Syneca
Photos: Andrei Vishnyakov/Fotolia.com and Ike Hayden/Shutterstock.com

Electronic book publication December 2012

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