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"Thanks, Carter."
Carter shrugs, feeling hot and stupid. He goes to drink his wine only to realize he already drank it all. "Sure."
"Is that what you want?" Nolan asks after a few minutes. Carter still knows what he's referring to.
"I don't know."
"Does Travis want it? I wasn't sure if he's kinky or not…"
"Oh, he wants it." Carter laughs softly. The way his body shifts rustles the sweatshirt. A wave of Travis's scent fills his nose and he sighs. God, he misses him. "But I think he'd give it up for me, if he had to."
Nolan hums softly. "That's because he loves you so much."
"What if that's not enough, though?" Carter asks, finally voicing the question that's been haunting him for weeks now. "What if us loving each other just isn't enough to make it work?"
"Then it's not." Nolan shrugs. "But you'll never find out if you don't try."
Carter sighs. "Yeah, I guess."
"Hold on." Nolan hops up, running off toward the kitchen. Carter frowns but does as told. He nibbles on his food while he waits.
When Nolan comes back, he's holding a bottle of tequila and grinning. "This shit is getting deep. We need tequila."
Carter laughs softly. "Damnit, Nolan. I really didn't want to like you."
Chapter Three
The building - if you can really call the pile of shit a building - that Mica is hiding out in reeks of stale beer and cigarettes. There’s a man dozing in a folding chair on the first floor, watching an old movie in black and white, the Spanish slow and faded.
With a silencer on his rifle, the only sound is a puff of air when Travis puts a bullet between his eyes. The man slumps forward. The movie keeps playing.
Exchanging a glance with Keats, he holds up two fingers and waves them to the stairs. Keats heads that way, leaving him behind. Travis walks slowly, keeping his boots quiet as he moves. Every time he opens a door, his heart lurches, then steadies. The second to last door is the one he wants - exposing a staircase that leads to a basement.
There’s another TV playing down there, this time the movie in English. It’s loud and violent. If Travis and Keats had made any sort of mistake noise-wise, there’s no way anyone in the basement heard.
Travis creeps down the stairs, flinching when they creak. He hears the springs of a chair squeak. Fuck.
He skips a stair, then jumps down to skip the remaining 6. His legs vibrate when he lands, but he already has his rifle raised and his finger on the trigger. “Freeze.”
His heart pounds in his ears. It takes a second for everything to sharpen - two men. One fully dressed apart from a wet, hard cock hanging out of his open pants, one naked apart from the tight black collar around his throat.
“Boss!” Mica exclaims, his hands remaining raised in surrender but his lips turning into a grin. “Thank fuck. Rumor was you died!”
“Put your hands on your head.”
Mica’s smile slowly melts. “W-what’s going on, Roarke?”
“Put. Your. Hands. On. Your. Head.”
“What the fuck?”
Travis shoots, missing Mica by inches. The naked man screams and drops to his knees, putting his arms over his head and curling into a ball. Travis raises a challenging eyebrow at Mica.
The piece of shit puts his hands on his head.
“Stay where you are. Don’t move a goddamn muscle,” Travis orders, moving forward until he’s closer to the naked man. He tilts his chin but doesn’t take his eyes off of Mica. “Are you here on your own free will?”
“Don’t answer that!” Mica growls.
