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Vince hadn’t meant to share. But the words just started flowing the longer he held Scotty. It was as if the younger man’s story had slashed a hole through Vince, allowing his own fucked-up tale to come pouring out. They all three had those kinds of stories, didn’t they?
Zander stood off to the side, expression shuttered. He didn’t speak, didn’t share, but Vince had no doubt Zander had a fucked-up story in him. From his stance, he knew the hitman wouldn’t be sharing, but for a moment when their gazes held earlier, there’d been the briefest solidarity that flowed from Zander to Vince. Or maybe that had all been in his head.
He didn’t like thinking about his past. Not now. There’d been moments when that was all he’d thought about, when his inaction as that fourteen-year-old boy had guided his acts as an adult with grave results. He would forever regret the things he didn’t do, and though his therapist had tried to get him to see it was all out of self-preservation and therefore understandable, sometimes Vince was convinced it was cowardice.
Scotty made a sound and Vince held him tighter. The younger man didn’t deserve the kind of life he’d been dealt. Vince wished there was something he could do to save Scotty. But with a bandaged shoulder and the clock on his own life ticking down thanks to stoic Zander over there, his options were zilch.
He brushed his lips to Scotty’s temple, then stiffened when he caught himself. What the hell was he doing? He jerked his head up to find Zander watching him—them. What was he thinking? Vince couldn’t read him. Was he thinking Vince had lost his mind? What did he think about Vince’s story? Did Zander regard him as a coward too? Not that it mattered. The guy killed people for a living. He had no business judging anyone. He lifted his chin at Zander, daring him to say something slick.
A muscle twitched at his temple, but Zander kept his mouth shut at least.
“Hey.” Vince leaned away, gripping the back of Scotty’s neck and tugging his head back. Scotty met his gaze with wet lashes and eyes, the tip of his nose red. The sight fucked with Vince. He didn’t like it, didn’t know what he could do about it. “You hungry, thirsty?”
Scotty licked his lips and then mumbled, “Hungry.”
“Get something from the vending machine,” Vince told him softly, smoothing Scotty’s hair. “Go on.” He couldn’t help pressing his lips to Scotty’s forehead. Shit. He should stop that, didn’t want to confuse Scotty. But all the younger man did was blink those big eyes at him. “Go.”
Scotty did, easing past Zander in the doorway.
“You need to protect him,” Vince told Zander when Scotty was out of earshot. “That uncle of his can’t keep doing what he’s been doing to Scotty.”
Zander scowled. “What the fuck do I care about the addict and his uncle?”
If Vince could, he would plant his fist in Zander’s face. But he couldn’t, so instead, he sighed. “You heard his story?—”
“Yeah, a story.”
“I know you want me dead.” And he probably should be more upset than he actually was. Maybe getting shot had numbed him more than he’d realized. “But just… Scotty deserves a chance. Please.” Things he never thought he’d do: beg a hitman to spare someone’s life. Someone who’d shot him, at that. “Protect him.”
Zander stalked closer, expression harsh, eyes blazing. “You’re mistaking me for somebody who cares.” He sank onto his haunches in front of Vince, lips twisting. “You couldn’t save the other one, so you’ve decided you’ll take a do-over with the junkie?”
The words were a slap to the face, leaving Vince gaping. “Stop calling him that, and this has nothing to do with Dav?—”
“It has everything to do with him,” Zander snarled in his face. Then he grinned. “You mentioned consequences before. Your inaction had consequences. What kind of consequences were they?”
Vince gaped at him. “Are you serious?”
Zander leaned in closer. “Oh, I’m dead serious.” His breath warmed Vince’s chin, smelling like some kind of chocolate from the vending machine. “You tell me and maybe I’ll think about saving your Scotty after you’re dead and buried.”
The reminder of his impending demise squeezed at Vince’s throat. “Get out of my face.” He couldn’t even summon force behind the words and Zander knew it because his eyes mocked Vince. “Get the fuck out of my face.”
“Make me, Fed.”
Vince’s good arm moved before he could formulate the thought, grabbing Zander by the throat, fingers digging into his flesh. Zander stilled. Vince did too. Fuck, he stopped breathing. All he had was his one fucking arm. Zander had Vince’s gun and who knew what else. He could end Vince and bury him before Murray DuBois showed up. And where would that leave Scotty? How could Vince have been so stupid? Acting without thinking?
Zander’s lashes lifted, all kinds of weird shit swirling behind his eyes as he grinned. The gesture was crooked, brutal. If that was the last thing Zander’s victims saw when he came for them then Vince understood why the hitman was so feared. Vince’s fingers spasmed, digging deeper into Zander’s flesh because apparently his limbs had stopped working and his arm wouldn’t let Zander go. Fuck!
“Look at you,” Zander murmured, calm as ever. “You got that violence inside, don’t you, Fed? You wanna choke me out with your precious Scotty just outside the door?” He lifted a brow, eyes laughing at Vince. “What would your new pet think about you then? Think he’ll let you hug him and kiss him after that?"
Vince squinted. “Are you jealous of Scotty?” He cocked his head, furrowing his brow as he stared into Zander’s eyes as they morphed from laughter to fury in an instant.
Zander scoffed. “What the fuck is there to be jealous of?”
Vince studied him, fingers flexing against his skin. Zander didn’t once try to get away from Vince’s grip on his neck. He just stayed there, curved dark lashes hiding his thoughts each time he blinked. “I think you’re jealous of Scotty, yep.” He hit the “P” hard on yep. “I think you wish you were the one getting my hugs and kisses.”
The pulse under his fingertips went crazy and Vince held back a smile, easing his grip. He didn’t move his hand, simply relaxed the pressure. Zander didn’t move away. There was a wildness in the other man’s eyes that kicked up Vince’s breath until he was panting, then Zander was panting, pulse fluttering under Vince’s touch, and Vince couldn’t look away because something… Something wouldn’t let him. He didn’t like it, didn’t want it, but whatever that unnamed thing was it kept his gaze locked with Zander’s. Kept his hand at Zander’s throat.
From Zander’s expression, it seemed as if he also wanted to move but couldn’t.
