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Unexpectedly, a quick gesture caught Zach's attention. The bartender — Jonas, Zach knew — caught his eye, and repeated his gesture for Zach to come closer. Zach approached warily, hackles raised in anticipation of a come-on, but Jonas's expression was oddly serious.
"Hey, I don't mean to pry into your business," he began, "but I saw you dancing with that guy."
Zach's eyes narrowed. Was he really going to pull some jealous shit? In a place likethis? "Yeah? And?"
Jonas leaned in, voice lowered. "That guy… he's dangerous, man. Like,reallyfucking dangerous. Word on the street is he's involved in some underworld shit."
Zach froze, his mind racing. It made sense. The kind of guy that Wyatt was… he wasn't exactly going to be a kindergarden teacher. "What kind of shit? Drugs?"
He could handle drugs. In fact, if Wyatt could dick him downandget him cheaper weed, Zach would propose to him right then and there.
"Fuck no, not drugs. That guy's a killer."
Zach's breath left him in a rush. Wyatt was clearly dangerous, but a killer? No. That couldn't be right.
Could it?
But Jonas didn't look like he was bullshitting.
Flashes of their encounter raced through Zach's mind. The way Wyatt carried himself, that coiled power barely restrained beneath the surface. His muscular frame built for violence, his quick reflexes and strength. The eyes that had seemed to look right through Zach, assessing his weaknesses in a blink.
Oh god. It was possible. Horrifyingly, dangerously possible.
Zach's pulse raced. A weed habit was one thing, but getting involved with some mafia kind of shit was something else entirely.
He should run. He should get out of here while he had the chance.
But even as he told himself that… he knew that he wasn't going to.
Because despite the warning bells screaming in Zach's mind, part of him thrilled at the thought of someone so deadly wanting him. Of having a man who could end lives with his bare hands completely at Zach's mercy, even for just a few fleeting moments.
It was sick. Twisted. But the sheer intensity of it called to everything broken and reckless inside Zach.
"Thanks for the heads-up, but I can handle myself."
Jonas shook his head. "Your funeral, man."
Zach didn't reply. Wyatt's order echoed through his mind again.
Stay.
Zach's blood raced with fear and adrenaline. But beneath it all, desire still simmered hotly under his skin. However unwise, he knew he wouldn't — couldn't — resist whatever pull Wyatt exerted on him.
Wyatt had told him to stay… so Zach was going to stay. Consequences be damned.
The door opened again. There was a new tension in Wyatt's powerful frame as he returned, barely leashed violence simmering beneath the surface.
Wyatt looked at Zach — and then at the bartender. Jonas flinched away, desperately trying to look casual — like he hadn't just been talking about Wyatt behind his back.
It didn't work. Wyatt knew; Zach could see it in the narrowing of his eyes. Wyatt could read the situation perfectly.
When Wyatt looked back at Zach, he simply cocked one eyebrow.
What now?
Zach's pulse quickened, but not from fear. He met Wyatt's intense stare head-on. He could see the warning there, the chance that this new knowledge would scare Zach off for good.
But Zach had never been one to do the sensible thing. Caution was for those who had something to lose.
