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.

Sinner, Savior

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

Avril Ashton

Love the Sinner

Ellora’s Cave Publishing

www.ellorascave.com

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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