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“What’s wrong?” Sven asked.
“It’s five-thirty in the morning, that’s what’s wrong,” Geoffrey mumbled. He scratched his chest over a fresh-looking hickey.
“Go back to bed, Geoffrey,” Sven said, kissing the top of his head. “I got this.”
“You don’t even know what this is yet.” Geoffrey crossed his arms. “There are plenty of other coworkers you could have picked, Roycehole. Several I know who get up with the birds.”
Royce merely winked at him, chuckling when Geoffrey hissed at him. “Can Marc stay here with you two this morning?”
Sven narrowed his eyes. “Where are you going?” His gaze moved to Marc. “And why does he look so worried?”
“Personal business,” Royce answered. “I just need to leave Marc with you for a few hours.”
“I feel like a fucking child being dropped off at his babysitter’s.” Marc’s shoulders slumped, and Royce rubbed his back. The man kept wearing these ridiculously soft sweaters Royce couldn’t resist.
Yeah, he told himself. It’s the sweaters.
Geoffrey nodded. “You should feel like that. Sven’s a good babysitter. Want coffee? I want coffee.” He patted Sven’s belly, kissed him right over a nipple, and shuffled off. “Come on, Marc. Roycehole won’t talk with us standing there.”
“I really hate that name,” Royce muttered as Marc followed Geoffrey with one last worried look over his shoulder. He knew Marc wanted to go with him badly, but there was no way on Earth he was letting the man anywhere near his uncle.
“Don’t blame you.” Sven, also in sleep pants and no shirt, held out one big, beefy arm. “Come on. We’ll talk in the guest room.”
Royce followed Sven into the room but shook his head no when offered a seat on the bed. “Like I said, it’s some personal business, and I didn’t want to leave Marc alone. We just left the hospital. His older brother was poisoned.”
“Sounds like the police need to be brought in.”
Royce nodded. “I think so, too, but they’re both pretty devastated by the thought of family doing this. Either way, they’re going to have to confront them at this point.” He smirked at Sven. “I should make you come as backup with that sister of theirs. She’s something else.”
“Think she’s the guilty one?”
“My gut is telling me no. She has trouble with Marc’s sexuality, but you can tell she loves him and is trying. I can’t get a read at all on Gabriel. Talk about remote.”
“You should easily recognize remote.” Sven stared at him. “What’s with the personal bullshit? We’re friends, and I’ve worked with you long enough to know when something is upsetting you. Is it Marc? Do you want Rowe to put someone else on him?”
The image of someone else on Marc made him see red. “Fuck, no.”
Sven ran a hand over his blond beard, his stare piercing. Then he grinned. “Recognize jealousy when I see it. Really? You? I seem to remember getting a hard time over Geoffrey. From you, especially. Sleeping with the client, Royce?”
“It’s not like that.”
“It never is.” He crossed his arms, causing the insane amount of muscles there to bulge. “You’re not going to crack on this one, are you? The personal business?”
Royce shook his head. “This is my own mess, and I’m going to get myself out of it. I just need to know that Marc is safe in the meantime.”
“Of course he is. That is, if he survives whatever Geoffrey uses to make the coffee. He’s pretty much useless this early.” His smile showed blinding white teeth and even more blinding fondness.
“You are so fucking whipped, Sven.”
“And completely happy about it, too,” Sven shot back.
“Then go rescue Marc. And thanks for watching him.” Royce held out his hand and Sven shook it. “I’ll call when I’m on my way back.”
“You’d better.”Chapter NineteenTwo of Corbin’s bodyguards came out to meet him when he pulled Marc’s car into the driveway of the address his uncle had given him. He stared at the massive house as real worry bled into his chest. Had Corbin rented this place? He hoped like hell that his uncle hadn’t purchased the house, because the last thing he wanted was the Karras family to start moving their operations there. The house was fucking ridiculous with a grand entry and a service entrance—both at the front. A wraparound porch covered the entire first floor.
He got out and eyed the two silent men. The chill that had settled in overnight had dissipated some, but it could be found in each man’s expression.
Neither was happy to see him.
He pulled the boxed painting from the trunk of the car, then walked toward the house, ignoring them as they walked in on either side.
“Don’t need bookends,” Royce said. “Not feeling wobbly at all.”
“Shut up, Alesandro. You lost your right to speak when you walked out on family.”
He stopped on the porch and set the box safely against the brick wall before facing the one who’d spoken. The man had to live on carbs and fat, because his over-six-foot frame took up a hell of a lot of space. “Never tell me to shut up,” he said softly, staring into eyes that did look a little familiar. “And the name is Royce.”
