“Oh? How so?”

  “My mom’s parents left Cuba to come to the US back in the sixties. She was about sixteen at the time. My grandparents tried to convince their families to leave Cuba, but few did. They were adamant that the unrest going on at the time would pass. It didn’t. It got worse. A few family members came over in the eighties, but most still held onto the hope that things would change for the better.” Saint shook his head as he dried his hands.

  “Anyway, my mom and grandparents were living in Miami. It’s where she met my dad. He was in the Navy and on leave. They fell in love and got married. Not long after, doctors told my parents that it was unlikely she could have children. My mom was forty-two when she got pregnant with me.”

  “She spoiled you, didn’t she?” Val teased.

  “Oh hell yeah, and I was a little shit when I was a kid. Way too smart for my own good. I took full advantage. Then my dad retired from the Navy and was around all the time.”

  “Let me guess. That’s when you went from spoiled to Sailor.”

  “You bet your ass.”

  Val wanted to know more about what had prompted Saint to join the Navy. He opened his mouth to ask when a knock sounded at the door. Turning to head for the front door, he found Saint already there. How…? Damn, the man was fast. And quiet.

  Saint carefully peeked through the blinds of the window beside the door. “It’s Frank.” He opened the door with a bright smile. “Morning, Frank.”

  “Morning. Man, it smells good in here,” Frank said as he walked into the kitchen. “Don’t suppose you troublemakers left me any?”

  Saint snorted. “Are you kidding? It’s bacon. We left you the grease.”

  “Assholes.” Frank shook his head and went straight to the kitchen like usual. He got himself an espresso cup, added his normal two teaspoons of cane sugar from the silver sugar canister, and poured some espresso. “I talked to King this morning. Jack’s gone through all the club’s footage and found when one of the bastards who jumped you cut the wire on the camera facing the end of the lot.”

  Val frowned. “Your guys said they were on their way but got held up.”

  “Yeah.” Frank took a sip of his espresso. “Jack showed me the footage. The brawl out front was a diversion.”

  “What?” Saint took a seat next to Val. “The fight was a fake?”

  “Oh, it was real. Some asshole in a black hoodie and mask walks up to a group of guys standing out on the sidewalk and punches one of them. It was a shitshow.”

  “And the cameras didn’t get any of their faces?” Val asked, liking all this less and less.

  Frank shook his head. “They knew where the cameras were. They’d staked out the club. This was a planned attack.” He met Val’s gaze. “What the hell have you gotten yourself into?”

  “Me? I didn’t get myself into shit.”

  Saint placed a hand on Val’s shoulder. “Is there anyone who might be holding a grudge against you or want to do you harm?”

  Frank snorted, and Val grunted. Yeah, plenty of those. “I was an openly gay fire chief and a hard-ass who refused to back down.”

  “In other words, the list would be too long,” Saint replied.

  “Bingo. But why now?” That was what Val couldn’t understand. Well, one of the many things he couldn’t wrap his head around. “I was the fire chief for years, and yeah, I had a bunch of altercations, but no one ever tried to blow me up. Speaking of which, why would someone go from planting a bomb to sending a group of thugs to beat the shit out of me? It makes no sense. Don’t suppose King’s found anything?”

  “Other than confirmation that the new fire chief is a dickbag?” Frank finished his espresso and washed out his cup. “The man won’t even take King’s calls. Which, of course, meant King showed up at the fire station. Bless his little cowboy heart, Mason thought it would be a good idea to tag along. Now everyone in this room knows that if someone is going to lose his shit and punch out the fire chief, it isn’t going to be King.”

  Saint cringed. “Don’t tell me Mason punched the new fire chief.”

  “He would have if King hadn’t grabbed him. I would have let him, considering the asshole had made a snide remark about gay first responders. He knew exactly who Mason was and let his distaste be known.”

  Quite frankly, Val was surprised King had bothered to go down there. They knew the asshole wasn’t going to be any help. Then again, if anyone could get someone to come around, it would be King. The guy had a way about him. Like he always knew what to do or say. In this case, it was to keep Mason from getting his ass thrown in jail.

  “You need to watch your back,” Frank said, concern filling his gaze. “The police haven’t found anything, or we’d have heard about it. Maybe the two incidents aren’t related, or maybe this guy’s got a bigger plan, but you’re the common denominator in both instances, so please. Be careful.” His face lit up, and Val braced himself. “Hey, I have an idea.”

  Val managed not to groan. He didn’t need any of Frank’s bright ideas. Despite his scowl, Frank ignored him and turned his attention to Saint.

  “You’re on leave for a while, right?”

  “Um, yeah.”

  “What if you help Val out with the tavern?”

  No, he did not. Fucker.

  “It’ll give you something to do, you can keep an eye on Val until we have some answers, and it’ll help Val out.”

  Val did his best not to talk through his teeth. “Can I talk to you for a sec?”

  “Sure.”

  Frank followed Val down the hall into his bedroom, where he closed the door.

  “Are you out of your damned mind?”

  “What? It’s a great idea. You get help, and he’s not bored. Win-win.”

  “No. Not win-win,” Val hissed. “It’s a horrible idea, and you know it.”

  Frank’s shit-eating grin told Val he knew precisely why it wasn’t a good idea.

  “You mean because he’d be around you for hours, sweaty, wielding power tools and using those big muscles to move things. Is that why?”

  “Fuck you.”

  Frank laughed. “Why are you so wound up? You need to get laid. Maybe find yourself someone younger and hotter who’s good with their hands.”

  Val opened his mouth and then closed it. He thrust a finger at Frank. “I know several ways to get rid of a body. No one would ever know.”

  “Ooh, ouch.” Frank put a hand to his heart.

  “Everything okay?” Saint called out.

  Val glared at Frank some more before opening the door and marching back to the kitchen. If he refused, Frank would insist he talk to the Kings about protection, and Val wasn’t about to hire a bodyguard. Which was worse? Having a stranger following him around all day, every day, or having Saint around, sweaty, breathless, and wielding a hammer.

  “Maybe Frank isn’t wrong,” Val conceded. Not because of the sweaty, breathless, hammer-holding part but because Val didn’t want the alternative.

  “Wow.” Frank shook his head with a laugh. “You can’t even say I’m right, can you?”

  “Never.” Val turned to Saint, hoping he didn’t regret this. “Feel like helping me work on the tavern? I can pay you.”

  Saint tapped his chin and looked like he was giving it a lot of thought when Val knew he was full of it. “Only if I’m paid in food.”

  “Deal,” Val said, holding out his hand to shake. The moment Saint’s palm touched his, Val knew he was screwed, and not in a good way.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “Tell me I’m doing the right thing,” Saint said as he stuffed clothes into his duffel bag. His phone lay on the bed in speaker mode.

  Ryden had called to check on him, and Saint had brought him up to speed on everything that happened the night before. Everything except the whole masturbating with Val thing. Well, not with Val, but…. He wasn’t ready to share that with his best friend just yet. Mostly because he still couldn’t believe he’d done that. He had intended to knock on Val’s door and apologize. He hadn’t expected to hear Val’s moans as he pleasured himself. Just the memory of it had his face burning. Now was not the time to be thinking about it.

  Saint cleared his throat. “I mean, he said he wanted to be just friends. Working all day in an enclosed space with him while he walks around in a sweat-soaked T-shirt and his ass-hugging jeans, bending over….”

  “Ass-hugging jeans, huh? Aw, my little gay bird has realized he’s an ass man. Spread your wings, little bird. If you intend on spreading anything else, make sure he at least buys you dinner first.”

  “Fuck off,” Saint said, ignoring Ryden’s cackles. “And yes, I’ve realized a lot of things. Like this might be the worst idea ever.”

  “Or the best,” Ryden offered. “Maybe spending some time together is what you both need. What if it turns out that you two don’t get along all that great when you’re alone? I mean, you’ve only really spent time with him when you’ve had friends around, right? Or when you’ve been on the job. This is good.”

  “Hm, I hadn’t thought about it that way.” It was true that until last night and this morning, they’d never really spent any significant time together alone. What if they annoyed the hell out of each other? What if they didn’t get along or were too different to have made things work anyway?

  “That’s why I’m the brains, and you’re the—No, wait. I’m the brains and the brawn. What does that make you, then?”

  “The one who’s never been arrested?”

  “Oh!” Ryden barked out a laugh. “You motherfucker.”

  This time it was Saint’s turn to cackle. He loved being the only one who could joke with Ryden about his arrest. It had been a dark time for him. He’d hit rock bottom and couldn’t find a way out, making him a danger to himself and others, especially Mason.

  If Lucky hadn’t stopped Ryden when he had…. Saint shook his head. He didn’t even want to think about it. Ryden had been arrested. But Mason had refused to press charges. Instead, Mason decided to do everything he could to help Ryden.

  Part of Ryden’s recovery had been to talk about his past and everything that led to that night on the yacht with Mason. Saint had been the first person Ryden had opened up to about it. He still had no clue why Ryden had chosen him, but he was grateful because from that day on Ryden had become the brother Saint had never had.

  “So you think I’m making the right decision?” Saint asked.

  “I do. Hold on a sec.” It sounded like Ryden had moved his phone away from his face, but Saint could still hear him. “You look like one of those tiny bananas. With a bow tie.”

  What the hell? Who was he calling—oh no. Saint pressed his lips together and waited. This would not end well.

  “Ow! What the hell, Jay! I can’t believe you threw your book at me!” Pause. “Yes, it fucking hurt! It has pointy edges. But you knew that, didn’t you? You can’t just throw books around like weapons!” Pause. “Excuse me?” Pause. “Yes, I know what a book is! Just for that, I’m keeping this.”

  It was so hard not to laugh. So. Hard.

  “Sorry,” Ryden grumbled, coming back on the line. “Can you believe that little fucker threw a book at my head? Like, what the hell? I think he drew blood.”

  “You called him a banana. With a bow tie.”

  “If he’s going to wear bright yellow to work, he needs to accept that he looks like one of those little Chiquita bananas. I was only stating the obvious.”

  Saint hummed. “Is that what that was? Or is it because you’re attracted to him, and much like an adolescent, you don’t know how to express it, so you tease him.”

  “What?” Ryden’s laugh sounded a wee bit forced. “He is so far removed from being my type, he’s on another planet. And even if he was my type, there is no way I would be attracted to him and his ridiculous bow tie ensembles. Again, I ask, who the hell owns that many bow ties? Not if he were the last gay in the galaxy.”

  “Last Gay in the Galaxy. Sounds like sci-fi porn. Also, I don’t think it’s a good idea to keep Jay’s book.”

  “I’ve been injured and deserve compensation.”

  “And you’re going to take that in the form of a book you’re never going to read?”

  “That’s not the point.”

  “What is the point?” Saint asked with a chuckle as he finished packing his bag. Before Frank left, he’d suggested that maybe Saint should stay at Val’s for a few nights, just in case, and because Val and Saint had been too speechless and lost in their own thoughts to reply, Frank had taken that as their agreement. Sneaky bastard.

  “Don’t you sass me. I get enough of that at work.”

  He wasn’t wrong. Saint zipped up his bag and swung the strap over his chest. He grabbed his phone off the bed. “Okay, I’m heading out. Wish me luck.”

  “You don’t need luck. You have those biceps. And if there’s any ass-hugging, I want to know about it.”

  “There isn’t going to be any ass-hugging,” Saint said on his way to the door. “Give Jay his book back.”

  “Whatever. Bye.”

  “Bye,” Saint said, mimicking Ryden’s raspy drawl.

  “Fucker.”

  With a chuckle, Saint hung up. He left his apartment and descended the two flights of stairs like he always did. Unless he had a load of groceries, he tended not to use the elevator. When his job often required him to stand in the same spot for long periods, he got his steps in any way he could. Hitting the gym when he could and training sessions at work helped keep him in shape.

  He pulled out his car’s key fob and hit the button to unlock his truck. Sometimes he considered parking in one of the guest parking spaces since they were farther than his assigned one, but then he remembered the crushing humidity and came to his senses. Of course, that was mainly in the summer months. There was a lovely breeze right now, and—What the hell?

  Saint frowned at the piece of paper in his windshield. For a moment, he thought he’d gotten a citation for parking in his own damned spot. Never knew around here. As he approached, he discovered it was folded. His neighbors left him a note. Their cat probably got out again.

  Taking the white piece of paper from the windshield, Saint unfolded it, his heart slamming in his chest.

  “What the fuck?”

  STAY AWAY FROM SERRANO OR YOU’RE NEXT.

  Saint remained close to his truck as he quickly but cautiously hurried to the back and peeked out, scanning the parking lot for movement. Nothing. There was no one around. Whoever had put this on his windshield was long gone. The note looked like it had come from an inkjet printer. He could go to the police, but he’d been working private security long enough to know turning this in would get him nowhere.

  The state of Florida classified written threats as a second-degree felony, but technically, the note didn’t say they would kill him or hurt him. He also had no idea who’d placed it there. The chances the local police could track down what printer this came from were slim. But Saint knew someone—or rather someone’s boyfriend—who could.

  Saint folded the note and stuck it in the zippered pocket of his duffle bag, and after a quick scan of the underneath of his truck, he quickly got in and drove off. No way in hell was he leaving Val alone now. Thank goodness Frank had volunteered to stay with Val until Saint returned. There was no longer any doubt that someone was targeting him, and they weren’t done.

  Tapping the button on his steering wheel, his truck’s Bluetooth connected to his phone, and he gave the command. The line rang, and Mason picked up.

  “Hey, Saint. How are ya feeling? Better, I imagine, since you’re gonna be helping Val with his tavern.”

  “Damn. News travels fast. I only agreed to help this morning.”

  “Yeah, but Frank told Joshua, who told Colton, and what Colton knows, Ace knows.”

  “Which means everyone and their mother knows. Great. He’s turning into his mother.”

  Mason chuckled. “I’ll let you tell him that. So, what’s up?”

  “Someone left a note under my windshield wiper. I found it a few minutes ago. It said, ‘Stay away from Serrano, or you’re next.’”

  Mason cursed under his breath. “Well, guess we have our answer. I don’t suppose Val’s gonna let us handle this in an official capacity?”

  “He’s made it clear he doesn’t want a bodyguard.”

  “But he’ll let you fill in unofficially?”

  “Looks like it.”

  “Okay, then do that. Whatever you need, let me know. I’ll send Jack over to pick up the note. Send me the tavern’s address.”

  “Um, can you send someone more discreet? I don’t want Val to know.”

  “Saint….”

  “Just until we know a bit more. All that’s going to do is worry him. I’m going to be there, keeping an eye out. If I feel like I need to tell him, I will.”

  “I don’t like it, but I get it. I’ll see what I can do. Stay safe.”

  “I will. Thanks.” Saint hung up and did his best to get to Val’s tavern as quickly and safely as possible. He hoped Val wasn’t against having him around longer than planned. He’d have to get Ryden to bring him more stuff from his apartment, but he’d worry about that later.

  It wasn’t until he was getting closer that he realized the address Val had given him was in St. Augustine’s historic district, just off Charlotte Street.

  “Holy shit.” Saint pulled into one of the parking spaces. The only other vehicle there was Val’s SUV. Where was Frank? And how the hell had Val snagged himself a property in this district? Some of the buildings around here were worth millions. Saint grabbed his duffel bag and got out. He closed the door and set the alarm as he took in the one-story structure that resembled a house, much like most of the shops and restaurants in the area.

  There was no sign yet, and although it still looked abandoned, Saint could see the incredible potential, especially with the wrap-around porch. He could easily picture strings of tiny bright white lights decorating it as people enjoyed a beer or a cocktail outside in the cooler months.