Nathan's Pov
A black SUV awaits as we walked down the steps. Two men in suits were standing beside the doors, the air's cold enough to sting but I barely feel it, my head's been locked in this one relentless rhythm for hours: deliver Carson, clean up the mess and get home. Behind me Greg hauls Carson to his feet he stumbles like a drunk, wrists bound and his mouth working uselessly under the gag pathetic.
"Walk," Greg ordered giving him a shove that sent him lurching forward. The SUV swallows us in silence and I took the passenger seat. My eyes fixed on the road ahead, if I look at Greg, if I even glance backwards I'll lose the last thread of composure I've been holding onto since this clusterfuck started.
Fifteen minutes later, we pull up to a squat nondescript building with no windows, no sign only a steel door waiting to end Carson's relevance. Inside the air smells of concrete and disinfectant, we move down the short corridor, my footsteps echoing too loud in my own ears. At the reinforced cell door I unlock it and step aside
"Inside" I said, and carson hesitates like he has a choice, greg fixes that with a shove so hard the man nearly eats the floor. The cell door shuts with a weighty finality the locks engaging one by one. The cameras hum to life overhead and I let myself look at Carson once then I turn and walk out.
Back in the SUV, back in the city, back in the goddamn elevator and the second the doors close everything I've been holding in snaps. I've barely hit the button for my floor before I've got Greg pinned against the mirrored wall, my mouth on his hard enough to bruise. He growls against my lips, fisting his hand in my hair yanking my head back just enough to nip my jaw.
"Been holding that in all goddamn day," I mutter my voice rough and too close to breaking. Greg's laugh is low and filthy cutting straight through me
"Then stop talking," and I do by the time the elevator reaches my floor I'm breathing like I just ran a marathon and greg doesn't look any better. His hair is mussed from my grip, his lips swollen and his shirt hanging off one shoulder where I tore the buttons clean through. The door slides open but neither of us moves at first, caught in that moment where the air between us feels electric and alive. Then Greg smirks and steps out and I follow slamming the door shut behind me.
"Upstairs," I rasp. He walks slow enough to make me crazy and I'm on him before he's halfway there spinning him and shoving him back against the wall. The impact shakes a picture frame loose; My mouth is on his throat, my teeth dragging down his skin and he lets out this low sound of approval or challenge, I can't tell which and he fists a hand in my shirt to drag me closer.
Greg kissed me desperately. Every touch felt like a confession and honestly It wasn't gentle. It was raw and hungry, just how I like it.
When we finally made love, it was all about need. It was beautiful in the best way possible Afterward, when the world finally went quiet, he just pulled me close, his heartbeat still wild against mine. I sprawled across Greg's chest, his dark hairs rough against my cheek my body molded into the solid wall of him.
The room still smells like sweat and sex, heavy and satisfying as my finger lazily draws circles on his chest, chasing the slow rise and fall of his breathing. He hums, a sound that rumbles under my ear content
"That was… something," I murmur my lips brushing against his skin. Greg chuckles, his hand sliding down to grab a firm hold of my ass.
"Next time," he says, squeezing
"I'll let you fuck me." I lift my head to look at him heat already sparking in my gut but the shrill buzz of my phone cuts through the haze, the damn thing keeps going until I finally reach for it, Bailey.
"Did anyone ever tell you that you're an annoying fucker?" I snap as I answer. "Good evening to you too, asshole," he fires back. "I'll take that tone as proof you're still in bed. Get your ass up and open your damn door." I sit up, blinking
"What the hell are you doing in this part of town?"
"You'll see. Open up."
"It's Bailey. I'll be back," I tell Greg who just kisses me lazily before sinking back into the pillows a satisfied grin on his face.
With a groan I roll out of bed scooping clothes from the floor, I barely had time for the quickest rinse cold water, harsh soap, no more than two minutes before dragging on lounge pants and a shirt. My hair's still damp sticking up at odd angles when I pad barefoot to the foyer.
When I open the door, Bailey's standing there with a duffel slung over his shoulder and two bags stuffed with food and groceries. I take one off his hands while closing the door.
"You look like shit," he says narrowing his eyes at me, then his gaze sharpens suspiciously "And why do you have a satisfied look on your face?" I roll my eyes following him into the kitchen. My apartment is its usual clean, meticulous self, save for the shattered picture frame still waiting to be replaced. Bailey tosses his duffel to the side and starts unloading things onto the counter like he lives here.
"You're coming to Nonna's estate, right?" he asks without looking at me. I lean against the counter my arms crossed
"Do I have a choice?"
"Nope." He smirks his eyes flicking up. "And don't try to slip out of it. Our mom's will have both our asses if we're not there." I grunt, stealing an apple from the grocery pile.
"She'll just have mine you'll charm your way out of it like always." Bailey's grin sharpens.
"Yeah but I don't walk into family dinner looking like I just got railed six ways to Sunday."
I freeze mid-bite my cousin's too damn observant for his own good before I can reply, the sound of footsteps behind us shifts the air. Greg walks in, clean and dressed, a plain black lounge pants clinging to him like sin. He doesn't say anything at first, just heads straight for the fridge, the tension in the room tightening by the second. Bailey's eyebrows shoot up as he glances between us, then lets out a low whistle.
"Well… that explains the look on your face."
Greg shuts the fridge, water bottle in hand, and finally turns. He meets Bailey's grin with a slow, knowing smile. "What look would that be?"
"The 'I've-been-thoroughly-ruined' kind," Bailey says, smirking over the rim of his soda.
"Careful," I warn, taking another bite of apple. "You're still sleeping under my roof." Bailey laughs, unbothered.
"Yeah, yeah. Nana's expecting us tomorrow anyway. I'll behave." He takes another sip before adding, "Well, at least until morning."
Greg chuckles under his breath, leaning against the counter. "You sure you two don't need a chaperone for this trip?"
"Nah," Bailey says. "You'll come later, right?"
"Once I wrap up business," Greg answers. "You know I can't leave things half done."
"Classic you," Bailey mutters.
A while later, we drift to the living room the glow of the TV casting lazy light across the space. Bailey boots up Call of Duty, tossing me a controller like it's a challenge.
"You ready to lose?" he teases.
"You've been saying that since we were twelve," I shoot back.
Greg drops onto the couch beside me, close enough that our knees brush. He doesn't join in, he watches, his one arm draped casually behind me. Every now and then, he leans in to murmur a comment, It's distracting as hell.
Bailey, of course, notices. "You two are disgusting," he says, laughing as I get sniped.
"No wonder I'm winning."
"Keep talking," I mutter, resetting the match.
We play until the room grows quiet — half-finished drinks on the table, the hum of the game menu looping softly. Bailey's already half-asleep on the couch, mumbling about Nana's estate. Greg's hand finds mine, his thumb brushing lightly over my knuckles.
"Don't stay up too late," he murmurs.
"Never do," I whisper back, even though we both know that's a lie.