Chapter 39
Jack
Apathetic, I raise the gun and fire. The man jerks once before crumpling, the echo of the shot swallowed by the damp warehouse walls.
"Dispose of him at the waste site," I say flatly, holstering my weapon. "Police have been cracking down on our district lately."
The others nod, already moving, already efficient. Just another body. Just another night.
I turn away, lighting a cigarette as the metallic scent of blood seeps into my suit. The smoke doesn't cover it—it never does. I stare at the concrete floor, ash crumbling at my fingertips.
How much longer?
How much longer until this cycle chews me up too?
My phone buzzes in my pocket. A lifeline. A leash.
'Done?' the message reads.
'Done', I type back, fingers steady even though my chest feels hollow.
I flick the cigarette, grind it under my heel, and head for the next target—
"Jack?!"
The shout drags me back. The gun, the warehouse, the blood—all of it dissolves. I blink, and I'm not in that place anymore. I'm in my living room.
Ciel is leaning forward, concern etched on his face. His robe has slipped off one shoulder, his golden eyes sharp and worried.
"Uhm. Yeah," I clear my throat, forcing my voice even. "What is it?"
"You weren't responding for a sec." He tilts his head, scanning me like he always does, as if he can see past the armor.
"My bad. Must've dozed off."
From the TV, a burst of gunfire rattles the speakers. Some B-grade action flick Nolan insisted on watching. Cops and gangsters, cheap squibs, the works.
No wonder my mind slipped.
"Should we go to bed?" Ciel asks softly.
"It's okay." I reach for his hand, grounding myself in the warmth of his skin.
"Excuse me, some of us are watching the movie," Nolan mutters from the other couch, not looking away from the screen.
I smirk. "My bad, little doggy."
He scowls, predictably.
We fall back into silence. On screen, the villains are rounded up neatly, either cuffed or riddled with bullets.
I wish real life wrapped up that clean. But it doesn't.
I would know. For all my horrible actions, I never saw a glimpse of bars.
But that me is gone now. This is my new life.
*
After I place Ciel in bed, I head back downstairs to see if Nolan needs help with anything.
Except he doesn't.
The kitchen's spotless, the counters wiped, the leftover cups stacked neatly in the sink. The living room cushions are fluffed, the blanket folded in a perfect square. Even the TV remote's lined up on the table like it belongs in a store display.
I sigh and drop onto the couch, stretching out.
"What are you doing here?" Nolan's voice cuts in.
I glance up. He's leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, damp hair from his shower sticking to his forehead. His eyes flick to me with that usual mix of annoyance and… something else.
"I came to help," I say.
"Doesn't seem very helpful, what you're doing."
"Not my fault I found you already did everything," I shoot back with a shrug.
He rolls his eyes, muttering something under his breath, and in true Nolan fashion he finds something—anything—to keep busy. He grabs a perfectly clean towel and starts folding it like it owes him rent.
Seriously.
"I think you missed a spot," I say.
"No, I did not," he grinds out, but sure enough, he stomps over anyway like he's going to prove me wrong.
The second he's within reach, I act. One quick tug, and he stumbles forward, landing squarely across my lap.
"Jack!" He jerks, immediately trying to scramble up, but I've already got an arm hooked around his waist. He's warm, solid muscle pressed against me, thighs tense under the thin fabric of his shorts.
Wow. Broad, carved legs.
"What are you doing? Let me go." He squirms, palms flat on my chest, trying to push off. It only makes me tighten my hold and drag him closer until his hip brushes mine.
"Relax," I murmur, smirking. "You'll wrinkle the towel."
He growls, actually growls, and I have to bite back a laugh. The vein in his neck is working overtime, his blue eyes blazing down at me like I'm the world's most annoying puzzle he can't solve.
"Jack." His voice is low, warning. "I swear to God—"
"You'll what?" I cut in smoothly, tightening my grip on his waist. He stiffens, eyes narrowing.
"I think we've both come to the realization," I continue, tone maddeningly calm, "that you're all bark and no bite, little doggy."
His glare sharpens, like he wants to carve me open with his eyes alone. For a second I think he's going to throw a punch, or finally snap one of his dramatic threats—but he doesn't. He just… burns holes through me.
"Thought so." My smirk deepens, deliberately taunting.
His jaw works, fists curling against my chest—but he doesn't hit me. Doesn't push me away.
The tension coils tight, electric.
For a second too long, I let it sit there between us—his weight on my lap, my hand steady at his waist, his breath harsh in my face.
"Cute," I murmur, softer now, just to watch him twitch.
And twitch he does. His glare drops to my mouth—quick, almost invisible—but I see it.
I wasn't supposed to notice. I wasn't supposed to feel that sharp jolt of heat crawl up my spine.
I'm supposed to tease him. That's all this is ever meant to be—pull his strings, watch him bristle, collect his glares like trophies.
It's not supposed to get this far.
This is a bad idea.
I'm in love with Ciel.
But fuck me if Nolan doesn't look kissable right now.
His lips are parted just slightly, his breath brushing hot across my face. His chest rises and falls against mine, and the line between banter and something else entirely blurs so fast I almost miss the shift.
I glance down at his mouth.
Don't do it, Jack.
This will fuck everything up. This isn't playful tension anymore. This is dangerous. This is different.
Jack Carter, of all the dumb shit you've done in your life, don't add this to the list. Don't you dare kiss the man who's not only your rival but also your omega's best friend.
But just a little taste—
Won't hurt, right?
Just a tiny bit.
My hand tightens on his waist before I catch myself. His eyes flick up, wide, and for one reckless heartbeat I almost close the distance. Almost.
No.
I suck in a breath and force my fingers to unclench. I let go, loosening my grip, pulling back like I haven't just had a war with myself in the space of three seconds.
He blinks. For a fraction of a moment—barely there—I think I see something flash across his face. Not relief. Not anger. Something that twists low in my gut.
Disappointment.
He shoves away, fixing his shirt with jerky movements, glaring at me like that look never happened.