Who Knows the Dark E-Book

Tere Michaels

• Herausgeber: Dreamspinner Press
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 324

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2015

Beschreibung

The Vigilante: Book Two A wanted man after the destruction of the Iron Butterfly Casino, Nox Boyet must flee the island of Manhattan—the only home he's ever known. Together with Cade, Sam, and the rest of their ragtag group, Nox must find a place to hide from the District Police and the violent group of unknown drug dealers on his tail. The solution—the Creel family farm in South Carolina. But home isn ' t quite sweet for Cade, the prodigal son. As Cade struggles with his own secrets, shadows of the past threaten not only Nox's life, but his relationship with his son, Sam. Nox knows there will never be peace unless he finds the answers to all his questions—and the answers lie back on the island. Cade and the others must choose their paths—find safety or follow the Vigilante into the darkness of the city? The city where Nox will come face-to-face with the past.

Leseprobe

Readers loveWho Knows the Storm

byTEREMICHAELS

“Who Knows the Storm is a great, fast-paced action/thriller with a strong focus on family.”

—Boys in Our Books

“A whole lot of suspense, an element of danger and a well woven storyline made this book a must read…”

—MM Good Book Reviews

“…this book IS sexy! Who Knows the Storm IS definitely worth checking out!!”

—The Blogger Girls

“This is a story that I will enjoy reading again and again.”

—Prism Book Alliance

“This was the appetizer round… I am ready and waiting for the next course.”

—It’s About The Book

By TERE MICHAELS

Groomzilla

One Holiday Ever After (Multiple Author Anthology)

One Night Ever After (Multiple Author Anthology)

FAITH, LOVE,ANDDEVOTION

Faith & Fidelity

Love & Loyalty

Duty & Devotion

Cherish & Blessed

Truth & Tenderness

THEVIGILANTE

Who Knows the Storm

Who Knows the Dark

Published by DREAMSPINNER PRESS

http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com

Published by

DREAMSPINNER PRESS

5032 Capital Circle SW, Suite 2, PMB# 279, Tallahassee, FL 32305-7886  USA

www.dreamspinnerpress.com/

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of author imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Who Knows the Dark

© 2015 Tere Michaels.

Cover Art

© 2015 AngstyG.

www.angstyg.com

Cover content is for illustrative purposes only and any person depicted on the cover is a model.

All rights reserved. This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of international copyright law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction, fines, and/or imprisonment. Any eBook format cannot be legally loaned or given to others. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact Dreamspinner Press, 5032 Capital Circle SW, Suite 2, PMB# 279, Tallahassee, FL 32305-7886, USA, or www.dreamspinnerpress.com/.

ISBN: 978-1-63216-708-8

Digital ISBN: 978-1-63216-709-5

Library of Congress Control Number: 2015944003

First Edition October 2015

Printed in the United States of America

This paper meets the requirements of

ANSI/NISO Z39.48-1992 (Permanence of Paper).

No one saves us but ourselves. No one can and no one may. We ourselves must walk the path.

―Gautama Buddha

True love is selfless. It is prepared to sacrifice.

―Sadhu Vaswani

There is only one day left, always starting over: it is given to us at dawn and taken away from us at dusk.

―Jean-Paul Sartre

BEFORE

THEYACHTsailed under the skeleton of the Verrazano Bridge, around the rusted pylons, and headed south. The captain and crew moved in perfect tandem, all armed, with two of the men patrolling the dock with eagle-eyed attention. Nox leaned against the port railing, welcoming the sun on his face and shoulders after being in that dark restaurant for so long. He watched the horizon, not the disappearing skyline behind him. He would rather think about the future.

Except….

A noise alerted him to the presence of someone else on the deck. He turned his head to find Rachel, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders, coming to stand next to him. They hadn’t seen her for dinner, or the quick head count Nox insisted on.

His back stiffened; despite her seeming change of heart, Nox still couldn’t relax around Jenny.

Rachel.

“I meant what I said.” Nox let his gaze briefly rest on the choppy water below.

Rachel turned slowly to face him; in the scant light, he saw one eyebrow raised and a smirk of amusement on her face. “My word wasn’t good enough the first time?”

“I don’t trust you,” he murmured, low and urgent. Sam slept belowdecks, with Mason keeping watch. The crew, sleeping in shifts, was nowhere near. Cade had been in the shower when Nox had said he needed some air.

“You should learn to let go of the past, Nox. It was a long time ago, and we’re all different people,” she said, steely and calm.

“You’re still a murderer.”

Rachel laughed. “So are you, my darling.”

They stood in silence as the boat streamed through the water and out to sea.

“I’m curious—is Mr. White dead?” Rachel asked, breaking the quiet as the sun set completely in the distance.

Nox tightened his grip on the railing. “Yes.”

“You know, then?”

“Yes.”

“Mmm.” Rachel pulled the blanket around her shoulders to shield her neck and jaw. “Another thing to keep from young Sam.”

“He’s never going to know,” he responded calmly, finality in every syllable.

“About Mr. White? About your shared lineage?” Rachel tipped her head to one side, that smirk still dancing around her mouth. Behind them, a light went on, bathing them both.

“None of it.” He reached out, grabbed her upper arm, and squeezed it. “They’re all dead—my mother and father, that piece-of-shit rapist.” Nox paused. “Jenny.”

Rachel stared at him long and hard, then smiled. “True,” she said softly. “And Rachel is just some nice woman who helped you and Sam in your time of need. A friend of Cade’s. You’re his devoted father, who would do anything to protect him. All is right in his world.”

Nox’s stomach knotted. Every instinct reminded him Rachel could not be trusted. He didn’t answer her, just kept their gazes locked until she looked away, and then he dropped his hand from her arm.

“Change of subject?” Rachel asked.

He was just about to turn away, eager to check on Sam. Eager to crawl into bed with Cade. He paused a moment, though, his muscles tense as he waited. “What?”

“We got away pretty easily,” she said, head tilted to one side. “No one’s after us so far.”

Nox frowned. “I made sure….”

“Someone knew you were at the restaurant. They sent Damian and I there, but not the cops,” she mused. “Damian got a boat, found the only trustworthy crew in the city, apparently. Got an injured teenager, a cop, and several people with warrants out for their arrest all the way here without even a tail. For suspect number one, you sure didn’t attract attention.” At the end of her little speech, she paused. “Ever wonder—why didn’t they just kill you?”

Her words took him aback, moving him a literal step back; then he turned on his heel and let his conflict over Rachel’s question fuel him down belowdecks. His emotions focused his physical movement, even as his mind bounced around.

Sam being let out of jail.

The warning when they could have easily put a bullet in his head. Getting out of the Iron Butterfly in enough time to save their lives.

In the master stateroom, Sam lay curled up under the blankets, Mason’s upper body spooned around him, one leg on the floor, his sidearm visible. Protecting Sam.

Nox felt gratitude and a pang of sadness at the same time, anger whooshing out of him like a pricked balloon. He’d done his best, getting them away from the city, away from the people trying to hurt them. Wanting answers took a backseat—at least for a moment.

He closed the door quietly and made his way to the smaller bedroom on the opposite side of the deck.

Nox moved in the darkness, making his way around the tiny stateroom. Their gear was stashed on top of a dresser in the corner, moonlight creating patterns as it shone through the round window over the bed. He stripped down to his underwear, silent and stealthy, his gun tucked under the mattress for the best access.

Clad only in boxers, Cade slept on, flat on his back, arms akimbo.

A spike of relief shot through Nox as he settled next to Cade. The mattress dipping roused Cade; he turned his head with a quiet sound of confusion.

“Shhh, go back to sleep,” Nox whispered, but Cade struggled to open his eyes even as he pulled Nox closer.

“Everything okay?”

“Fine.” Nox pressed a kiss against Cade’s ear. “Everything’s fine.”

Cade sighed, winding around him until Nox was a prisoner in the bed, trapped by the bulk of his lover’s body. Cade used him like a mattress, pressing him down as he got comfortable.

“Go to sleep,” Cade murmured into Nox’s chest. “We’re safe. Go to sleep.”

Nox didn’t argue, didn’t share the turmoil burning through his brain. They weren’t yet safe—they’d gotten away. Nox’s main concern was elevating their circumstances so Sam would be all right. So Cade was safe. They were going to South Carolina, and maybe everything would be okay.

Even as Nox’s heart steadied, with Cade in his arms, his brain refused to quiet.

Why didn’t they just kill you? Why?

Interlude

NOXBOYETis tired.

No—no, he’s exhausted.

He’s depleted of everything—hope and energy and the ability to raise his head off the pillow.

And the only reason he hasn’t gotten the gun hidden in the top of his closet and blown his brains out is the child sleeping next to him on the bed. Killing himself would mean killing his brother—his flesh and blood, his everything.

His son.

The snow is piled up outside, higher than the first floor windowsills. What little progress has been made repairing the neighborhood—the backhoes in the distance, the delivery of building materials to the store on the corner—was obliterated by the nor’easter dumping wet snow amid lightning and wind for the past three days.

There isn’t even the hope the National Guard will come by and offer to rescue them, because the Guard are long gone, like most of the people who used to live here.

Nox feels the weight of living push him down into the mattress. He’s moved most of their supplies up here to his bedroom. Canned food and bottles of water, the lanterns and flashlights—remnants of his mother’s paranoia—are all stacked around the bed in easy reach. Wadded-up towels block every window and door in a futile attempt to keep out the cold air.

He doesn’t want to get out of bed, out from under every blanket in the house.

The townhouse shakes and shudders under the assault. He vaguely wonders if it wouldn’t be a blessing if it crashed down on top of them—while Sam is asleep, and while Nox just doesn’t give a damn.

For five years he’s been pushing through. He’s protected his brother and raised him as best he can. Sam is a good kid with a friendly smile; he has more patience under the circumstances and hardship than Nox could have imagined having at that age. In his limited capacity of “fatherhood,” Nox thinks Sam is actually the strongest person in their fractured little family. So many days when things don’t go right—when the neighborhood violence feels like it’s going to come through the walls, or more mundane things like electricity fluctuations or water shortages that mean he can’t wash clothes or flush the toilets, or Sam is scared or sick or mad—Nox wants to cry with the helplessness.

His biggest accomplishment since that terrible day five years ago is keeping himself and Sam alive.

Sometimes it’s not enough.

The realization that he’s almost twenty-one, that they are alone—utterly and completely alone—has infected his bones like a vicious virus lately. The lack of adult human contact cuts into him in a way he didn’t imagine possible. He wants his confused mother and his distant father with a hunger that brings him to his knees.

He just wants more.

Sometimes he thinks of joining those people on the streets, the ones who live in the burned-out and abandoned houses that surround them. They take what they want and join together in gangs and packs to survive. There’s no honor, he knows that—how many of them beg him before he destroys their weapons and drugs? How many of them offer to give up other dealers?—but it tempts him. They wouldn’t care who he really is; they would help him hide from…

The drug dealers who had killed his father.

The tangled web wraps around his neck and squeezes. In the end he just has Sam and his own cracked moral compass.

Sam startles in his sleep, whimpering a little as he tightens his grip around the stuffed cat in his arms. It is an old toy from Nox’s childhood, a memento found in his mother’s closets a few years ago, and a reminder that Natalie—for all her difficulties and delusions—had loved him.

He cried for a day, clutching the stupid orange tabby while Sam gurgled clueless in his makeshift bassinet.

That cat stays in Sam’s arms while he sleeps, as they both hope to ward off the night terrors that seized Sam recently. Another thing that makes Nox feel so helpless.

So, so helpless.

“Shhh, it’s okay, Sam,” Nox murmurs, brushing his hand over Sam’s too-long curly black locks. They both need baths and clean clothes and clean sheets and something fresher than the endless cans of beans and soggy vegetables they’ve been consuming.

Or maybe the house will fall down on top of them, and it will all be blessedly over.

Now

SLEEPELUDED Nox.

Cade’s gentle puffs of breath, his nearness and warmth as he lay with his back to Nox, the gentle rocking of the boat—they were so alien, so triggering to Nox’s insomnia that even the act of closing his eyes felt impossible. The questions hanging over his head gave way to the spiraling paranoia that had plagued him for so long; he felt like he was in the guillotine, awaiting execution.

Any second the blade could drop.

Were they really safe?

Was the ship being followed?

Where was his gun?

His body jerked, provoking a disruption in Cade’s gentle breaths. Nox held perfectly still until Cade’s rhythmic breathing settled, then zeroed in on the shadowed spot where the gun was.

The Sig, even hidden within his reach under the mattress, felt too far away.

If he were home, he would still be on patrol—circling the blocks of his territory, knocking off dealers and wandering users.

He’d still be performing an exercise in futility.

Nox blinked up at the shadows, his body humming with unspent energy and anger. All those nights, all those years, sacrificing his sanity and his body, protecting his corner of the city—they meant nothing in the end. The bigger picture spoke of something far uglier than people a few hits and bad decisions away from death wandering into his neighborhood.

He needed to find out more about the man in the warehouse, the one behind the death and disaster raining down on the city.

He wanted to know where Mr. White got his messages. He needed the names of the people who killed his father, the ones who gave the orders to kill everyone at the sanitarium. Every last person who had contributed to the destruction of his family—Nox thirsted for their identities.

And then what?

Maybe he’d storm back into the city and kill them all, a bloody-handed avenger to punish them for all the destruction they’d brought to his family.

Maybe he’d bring their wrongdoings to light—and in this fantasy someone cared, someone took the weight of retribution from his hands and let him go free.

When Nox thought about his life, when he traveled the extremes—wealth to poverty, normalcy to chaos—he felt keenly aware of his lack of power. He saw the manipulation, the decisions made by people he’d never met, turning his reality into a nightmare.

But in the end, it was the knowledge that Sam would have died with his mother that shook Nox to his very marrow and fed his anger. Maybe he could walk away from all of it, but not from Natalie, and not from Sam.

He gasped in the dark, the weight of knowledge pressing down on his heart. The pounding thud of its beat filled his ears until it was the only thing he heard.

One choice he’d made, one decision.

That was all it took to change the course of his world.

The decision to leave the city made perfect sense—Sam needed a safe place, and Cade didn’t belong in that mess. Sailing down the coast was logical.

And none of that very sensible thinking stopped the clanging alarm in his head.

Nox wanted safety. Almost as much as he wanted revenge.

If he didn’t have Sam, he wouldn’t rest until every last one of them paid for their crimes. But because of his son, he had changed his course.

Logic and vengeance battled each other for his commitment, for his allegiance. And now, panting and gasping in the dark, Nox had another decision to make.

TIMEPASSED with Nox’s body fighting his brain to peace. He needed to sleep, to relax—his mind wasn’t even forming coherent thoughts. He had a sliver of moonlight and the rock of the boat to keep him company, along with Cade’s heavy weight against him.

With a sharp intake of breath, Cade began to move, rolling back against Nox with a shiver. Instinctively Nox reached around to pull him close, and their bodies shifted together like matching puzzle pieces. Cade made a sound of contentment as they touched, then deepened the contact as he ground his hips back—against Nox’s suddenly interested dick.

Distraction beckoned. For a moment he could shove aside his incessant circular thinking, push aside the exhaustion and inability to rest that were wearing at him. He trailed his hand down Cade’s arm, following the curve of muscles and warm skin, then circled his wrist for a moment before retracing his path back to his shoulder.

“Mmm,” Cade murmured, twining his legs between Nox’s as he arched sleepily, opening his body—curve of neck, open knees—like an offering that Nox couldn’t refuse.

Nox didn’t hesitate. He let his hands wander over Cade’s chest, teasing pecs through the thin material of his shirt. Cade twisted in response, reaching back to grasp Nox’s hip.

The request was now quite clear.

Even the diversion of a tempting Cade in his arms—the press of his dick against the firm tease of Cade’s ass, the wordless insistence of satisfaction—couldn’t shut down Nox’s brain. As much as he wanted to sink into Cade’s body….

Nox slid his arm underneath Cade’s shoulder and pulled him closer against his chest; he pressed his free hand against the inside of his thigh, urging his legs open wider. Cade made a sleepy sound of confusion that morphed into a guttural purr as Nox tucked his hand up through the leg opening of Cade’s boxers.

The sweat-damp warmth of Cade’s cock teased under his fingers; Nox let himself play for a moment at the crease of his inner thigh. He manipulated the soft furred sac until Cade started to move his hips. He clasped Cade’s dick with a smooth hand and stroked slowly, root to tip, until Cade rocked and moaned, chasing his own pleasure against Nox’s hand.

It felt surreal, almost confusing in the silent intimacy of actually knowing a lover, knowing how he sounded when he was close, knowing the jerk and twitch of his body and letting that sound, that scent ignore your own desire.

Like Cade used his hand, Nox used Cade’s body to get off, everything damp and rough and speeding up as they fed off each other’s need. Nox’s breath stuttered as Cade ground roughly against his dick, caught in the trap of Nox’s hand and the cradle of his hips.

His hand slick and his orgasm close, Nox rolled them both over, pressing Cade into the mattress. The eager groan, muffled by the pillow, spurred Nox on—he locked his knees on either side of Cade’s hips, bracing himself with his free hand.

The sharp sting of rubbing against his shorts, rutting against Cade, kept everything in focus. He rocked with abandon, slotting his covered dick in the valley of Cade’s ass, feeling the stiffening of Cade’s body as he spilled over Nox’s palm.

It hurt as he pulled his hand free, and somehow that fed more movement, faster until the combination squeezed his balls and he came in his shorts somewhere around the small of Cade’s back.

He collapsed next to Cade, breathing frantically. The sway of the boat caught up with him for a moment, knocking the ground out from under him until he felt like the bed was floating.

Cade didn’t turn over or say anything. His quiet gasps didn’t morph into anything else.

They lay there in silence, Nox closing his eyes until the room regained gravity.

Exhaustion snuck up on him, his body overwhelming his mind as he finally dropped off to sleep.

CHAPTER ONE

SOMETIMEBEFORE dawn, Cade gave up trying not to be so damn awake.

Lying facedown on a bed next to a sleeping lover with come drying in his shorts was in no way a new experience, but something about the circumstances—and this particular man—kept his eyes stretched open to the point of pain.

The past few days left him weary and bruised, inside and out. The memory of Billy’s dead, bloody body followed him through dreams and moments of stillness; he wanted to move and run and distract himself until he couldn’t feel the slick on his hands. The violence he wanted to outrun was currently breathing beside him, of course, leaving him with a fluttering anxiety in his chest.

He gathered up the scattered clothes, strangely unnerved by the fact that he could sneak out of the bed and putter around the room without Nox waking up. Shouldn’t he be jumping up like a crazy person, gun in hand and trigger finger itchy, not lying there, still as a stone and breathing shallowly?

It was just a flicker of movement when Cade stepped close to the bed to get his boot; he realized Nox hadn’t been asleep at all. An act, pretending so he could… what? Watch Cade?

A knot formed in Cade’s stomach; he moved faster after that, eager to remove himself from scrutiny. He disappeared into the bathroom with his clothes and a tiny grooming kit, raced through a whore’s bath—enough water to clean off the come and layer of sweat permeating his skin—and dressed before he headed out to the main space.

For somewhere quiet and safe to freak the fuck out.

The galley of the yacht wasn’t huge, but it was sufficient and reasonably stocked with a few perishables and a great many cans; the first mate had showed Cade where everything was and how to operate the cooktop the night before, when they’d all wearily eaten lukewarm soup before tumbling into bed.

“It started with a letter,” he muttered to himself, as he made too much bacon and turned every slice of bread into overbuttered toast. “A stupid letter, because I couldn’t say no.”

He could regret it—saying yes to Mr. White’s request, going back again to confirm his suspicions about his mysterious client “Patrick Mullens”—but something about his involvement in this hot mess felt like…

Predestination.

It was a word he would never say aloud to anyone, but in his bones, he felt it. Whatever the outcome of this crazy ride—which would most likely end with him in an early grave—it felt meant to be.

A fucked-up fairy tale.

“Morning.”

Cade turned to find Rachel in the doorway, dressed uncharacteristically casual in black jeans, boots, and a long-sleeved gray T-shirt, her long red hair in a braid over one shoulder. She was familiar—comforting in a way, even if Nox bristled and growled every time she breathed. Whatever her sins of the past, it was because of her they had been able to save Sam and get out of the Iron Butterfly alive.

“Hey. Please tell me you like bacon and carbs.”

“If there’s coffee, I’ll like anything.”

Cade gestured toward the oversized coffee machine currently chugging its way through the last stages of brewing.

“Far be it from me to minimize our current dire situation, but I already miss room service,” Rachel said lightly as she leaned against the counter to watch Cade put the last of the greasy bacon on the platter.

He snorted in response. “Room service, heat, my closet at the Butterfly.” His heart squeezed a little as he thought about Killian, his friend and dresser, and the other people he’d worked with for the past few years. How many of them were dead in the rubble of the casino back in the District?

Rachel seemed to recognize his frown, her own face softening in response. “Maybe we can ask Damian to access a list of who….”

Cade was already shaking his head. He didn’t want to know names, connect them to the faces of friends and coworkers. He could barely keep it together as it was.

“I just wish I knew where Alec disappeared to,” he murmured.

Rachel turned to unhook the pot from the coffee machine. “He left,” she said, her voice back to its usual cool take-no-prisoners tone. “He took off before everything went down.”

Cade picked up the platter and exhaled. “We both know that’s not true, Rachel.”

Resolutely Cade walked to the table to place their makeshift breakfast in the center. There was already a stack of small plates and napkins, and the small container of jam from the yacht’s refrigerator. It would have to do until they arrived in South Carolina.

Another thing he didn’t want to think about.

“What do you think happened, then?” Rachel asked from behind him. She came to the table, coffee mug in hand.

“You lied and said he was working when he wasn’t….”

“Trying to keep Zed off his back.”

Cade shook his head. “No one had seen him for over a week, he didn’t answer his phone, his apartment was cleared out.”

“Right. He left. I tried to cover for him, to see if he’d come back, but he didn’t. Not even a call.” Rachel sat down on one of the two padded benches flanking the table. If Cade closed his eyes, they were back in her office, Rachel strong and in control and Cade hoping to stay on her good side.

But his eyes were open, and gratitude didn’t mean obedience, not now.

“That’s not really your style, Rachel,” Cade murmured, looking her right in the eye.

She tilted her chin, defiant and poised, even as a fugitive, even plunked down in the middle of the ocean, sans makeup and security guards.

“I covered for you, my love, many times.” She exaggerated cocking her head to one side, as if examining him. “Alec had a big mouth, which tended to get him in trouble. He asked the wrong questions of the wrong people.”

Cade’s breath wavered.

“I told him he might reconsider his working and living arrangements and not leave a forwarding address.”

“He wouldn’t leave without saying good-bye to me,” Cade said softly. “We were too good friends.”

Rachel dropped her gaze to her coffee mug and gripped the white porcelain sides. “Cade, you have a great deal to learn about loyalty.”

Before Cade could respond, he heard shuffled footsteps behind him.

“God, is that coffee?” Damian moaned.

Once upon a time, Cade would have been dodging Damian and his angry scowl, afraid of the consequences of a bad night or complaining customer. Now, he poured a cup of coffee for a middle-aged, round-shouldered Korean man who was just as homeless as he was.

They sat around the little table, picking at the bacon and toast in between cups of coffee. It felt like old times—if old times didn’t include Damian existing three feet away from Zed, or Rachel in one of her sexy get-ups, slinking all over the floor like the administrative siren of hell.

“What happened at the Butterfly?” Cade finally asked when he couldn’t manage one more piece of greasy, singed meat. He threw a crust of bread on his used napkin, then looked at his two former supervisors in turn.

Neither would meet his gaze.

“Alec left.” Cade emphasized the second word sarcastically. “Those men showed up with Sam…. I’m not so naive to think there wasn’t organized crime in the District, but at the Butterfly—that wasn’t how we operated, at least not out in the open.” He exhaled loudly even as he dropped his voice. “They killed Zed. Why? We all knew he had less than savory connections—did he suddenly change his opinions on working with fellow criminals?”

Rachel and Damian had a wordless conversation, one that left Damian ruthlessly shredding his napkin onto the tabletop.

“About a year ago, some men showed up to talk to Zed. He wasn’t very happy to see them,” Damian muttered. “They wanted a larger cut, for protection and….” He darted a brown-eyed gaze to Rachel, then Cade. “They wanted him to start distributing from the casino.”

Cade frowned. “Distributing what?”

“Drugs, darling. More specifically Dead Bolt. Make it available to the guests.” Rachel lifted and dropped her shoulders. “Add it to the menu, as it were.”

“Are you kidding me?” Cade tried to imagine their clients high on that crap, euphoric, and then the ugly fallout—well, at the very least he’d heard the stories and seen the results, usually under a tarp in the alleys around the less stringently controlled casinos. “And he said no?”

“He said maybe—and show me my cut of the money,” Rachel repeated the man’s quip. “They balked, he refused, and then all of a sudden….”

“Bomb threats,” Cade said suddenly, as things clicked into place.

“Bomb threats. A lack of the police protection we previously enjoyed. Zed agreed to a smaller cut to get his security back, but he didn’t want the drugs in his casino. Not around his people.” Rachel leaned back, then ran her fingers through the ends of her pale red braid, and twisted the hairs almost absentmindedly. “He knew where it would lead and, well, I don’t think he wanted the temptation for himself.”

With a sharp sound of frustration, Cade finished the dregs of his cold coffee. “So they killed him, took over the Butterfly, and blew it up? Why bother? They could have just kept it. Done what they wanted after he was dead.”

“It’s the—was also the—smallest casino on the strip.” Damian stroked his temple as if to soothe a headache. “Maybe they made it an example. This is what happens when you don’t do what we say. We aren’t afraid to do what we want.” He shrugged. “That’s my guess at least.”

“I still wonder…,” Rachel began, then stopped, lips pursed.

“What?” Cade eyed her shrewdly. Rachel didn’t wonder anything—she knew, and if you were lucky she shared the information.

“The text I got, to send us to the restaurant. We wouldn’t have found you otherwise.”

Damian piped up immediately. “I’ve been thinking about that. Maybe it was one of the employees—you know there had to be spies. Someone afforded us the same courtesy you gave Alec.” He gestured toward Cade. “And him.”

“Hmmm” was all Rachel contributed to that scenario.

“Convenient,” Cade muttered. The information flooded his already overwhelmed brain as he tried in vain to make the right connections.

His nerve endings jangled with too much everything—stress and adrenaline and memories and threats yet to come. He stood up abruptly, plates clattering.

“I’m going to… uh… I’m going to talk to the captain. See what’s happening,” he said.

“Shouldn’t our great protector be doing that?” Rachel asked, all big eyes and faux frown.

“He’s sleeping,” Cade said. “And he earned it.”

Desperate for some fresh air, he left them sitting at the table.

CADESAT on the cold deck, regretting wearing only a sweater as the wind whipped by. The captain assured him everything was fine. There might be an edge of a storm to get through farther out to sea, but they were on point to arrive sometime after midnight.

And no, no one seemed to be following them.

Instead of going back downstairs, Cade settled in and watched the increasingly choppy gray water.

“Hey, Cade?”

He turned to find Mason Todd standing behind him, smartly dressed for the weather in a heavy jacket and knit cap, hands shoved in his pockets, pale and looking like a frightened teenager.

“Yeah. Hi.” Cade shaded his eyes as the sun burned behind Mason’s broad-shouldered form. “What do you need?”

“I talked to the captain….”

Cade smirked. “Me too. He must be really enjoying all the paranoid cops and nosy hookers on board.”

Mason shrugged. “I’m sure he doesn’t care so long as the cash is in his pocket.”

Cade’s neck was starting to hurt, so he patted the deck next to him. “Have a seat.”

Mason settled down beside him, folding his long body next to Cade’s. They sat in silence until Mason coughed awkwardly.

“So—quite a ride,” Mason said while Cade leaned back on his elbows. It was a yacht; maybe he’d just pretend he was on a vacation and not fleeing from prosecution and people trying to kill him.

“You could say that.”

Mason wrapped his arms around his knees; sometimes Cade forgot the rookie was barely twenty years old and clearly fueled by White Knight Syndrome.

“Regrets?” Cade asked, because he was curious. And because he didn’t assume everyone was as crazy as he was.

When Mason didn’t speak for a few long moments, Cade worried that the answer would be yes, and while Nox would be delighted, Sam would be heartbroken. And frankly Cade didn’t want that kid any sadder or more disappointed.

“No,” Mason murmured finally. “I took a solemn oath to uphold the law and I… I don’t think that’s what I was doing in the city. I was just allowing the wrong people to stay in power.”

Cade felt the motion of the boat under his body; it was strangely relaxing. He watched the squalls on the water and felt the bite of the wind against his skin, stinging from the cold water, the briny smell of the ocean. “And now? What do you think you’re going to do?”

A tiny shrug was all he got.

I feel ya, kid, Cade thought.

CHAPTER TWO

NOXWOKE up with a start.

He remembered falling asleep for what felt like a moment after the distraction of Cade’s body and his own orgasm, but it hadn’t lasted long.

Now he lay awake with his eyes shut, trying to find a place to rest his mind. When Cade woke up, Nox hid behind the illusion of sleeping, hoping to avoid conversation.

Whatever Cade wanted to know, it was fairly certain Nox didn’t have an answer for him.

Blankets tangled around his waist, Nox pulled himself upright, blinking in the light streaming through the high round window of the cabin wall.

The moment of hazy respite ended as his panic spiked back into action. How long had he slept? Gripping the sheets, Nox listened. The boat continued to move, albeit a bit rougher than last night, and there was neither silence nor chaos above deck. The smell of coffee and slightly burned bacon wafted in from under the door, and voices were heard moving close and then far away. A wash of something—shame? Embarrassment?—drove him to move quickly. Sleeping so late and so soundly was at complete odds with his usual habits.

Nox tumbled out of bed, skin pebbling from the coolness. He found a stack of clothes that weren’t his—jeans, a black turtleneck, socks—on top of his boots, and everything else he’d been wearing before bed gone. His other weapons were tucked into his shoes, his gun unmoved from the mattress.

Cade had apparently done some housekeeping.

Cade.

The young man’s presence in his life had been necessary these past few weeks. He couldn’t have ever imagined needing help, but Cade was there—getting Sam out of jail and then helping Nox rescue him from the Iron Butterfly.

And the rest….

He didn’t have any excuse for how far he had dropped his guard since he first laid eyes on Cade Creel.

Dressed after a quick washup in the adjoining bathroom, where a tiny men’s grooming kit had awaited him, Nox breathed in and settled his jangling nerves as he opened the door.

The scent of breakfast drew him down the narrow corridor and past the staterooms. Even Sam’s room was empty—and therefore devoid of the hovering Mason Todd—and Nox walked a bit quicker.

The part of his life that was “Nox and Sam” had suddenly expanded in ways he didn’t know how to navigate.

In the main space, where the kitchen was, Nox stepped into a crowded gaggle of passengers tightly squeezed onto two benches around a square table. Plates of bacon and toast and full mugs of coffee crowded the space, as conversation swelled then died off when Nox’s presence registered.

A band of felons and escapees turned to face him and flinched, as if a black cloud had just stepped in front of the sun.

His spine stiffened.

“Dad!” Sam, of course, was the first to greet him, his voice hoarse but cheerful. His glasses long gone, he blinked myopically from under a knit cap, wisps of hair poking out around his face. Swimming in an oversized navy sweater, he was tucked between Mason and Rachel—much to Nox’s jaw-clenching displeasure. “There’s real coffee!” Sam added and followed that up with a ragged cough.

“Sounds good,” Nox murmured, sliding his hands into his pockets, where he felt comforted as his fingers touched the handle of his knife like it was a talisman. “How are you feeling?”

The tiny smile on his son’s face gave him the smallest measure of peace. “Better,” Sam croaked, then shrugged when his voice seemed to fail him. “Upright at least,” he mouthed.

Nox couldn’t muster a smile, but he felt his expression soften. “Don’t push yourself.”

“Mason and Rachel…,” Sam started again, but the wheeze-cough of his lungs stopped him in his tracks. The wet sound had Nox moving toward the table out of instinct.

“Mason and Rachel are taking excellent care of you,” Rachel interjected, patting Sam on the back as Mason held him by his shoulders. She flicked her gaze to Nox, a charming smile on her face—which stopped him in his tracks. “Some things you don’t forget, right? Like riding a bike.”

Nox felt the telltale signs of anger return—a flash of red, a throb in his temples, the squeezing of his fists against the fabric of his pants—and tried briefly to decide between shooting her or tossing her overboard. Before he could open his mouth, something else filled his sight.

A smiling Cade.