“Stop.”

  Lucky frowned at him. “Stop what?”

  “Stop thinking I’m going to regret saying yes to moving in with you.” Mason pushed the truck door open, and Lucky quickly took off his seat belt, jumping down and closing the door. He walked around the truck to meet Mason.

  “Why don’t we go upstairs and have some of Red’s sweet tea out on that pretty balcony of ours.”

  Lucky hadn’t missed the “ours,” and his heart beat a little quicker at that, but he’d wait until Mason said whatever it was he wanted to say. They headed round the front, following the white concrete step stone path that cut through the front garden, the three palms offering great shade in the summer, along with the veranda that stretched from one side of the house to the other. They climbed the stairs to the front door, the spotless white pillars and railing giving everything a quaint touch. Lucky loved his house. His cousins teased him about the pink siding, purple window shutters, and the four white rocking chairs lined up outside, calling it a “doll house,” but he didn’t care. He took pride in his home, paid a gardener to keep his grass and shrubbery perfectly trimmed and bright green. Someone came once a week to dust and clean.

  The back of the house faced the beach, with a balcony stretching along the length of the second floor. It was peaceful, private, and Lucky often sat outside on the comfortable lounge chair just watching the ocean. Inside, they dropped their bags by the door, and left their shoes there as well. Mason had learned quickly about not walking through his immaculate tiled floor with his dirty boots. Shoes by the door. His madrecita’s rules were now also his rules.

  “You go upstairs. I’ll bring the drinks,” Lucky told Mason.

  With a kiss to his cheek, Mason left, and Lucky smiled like a fool. He poured them each a glass of Red’s sweet tea, then went upstairs to the den and the doors that led out onto the balcony. He stopped in the doorway, admiring the view. Not of the ocean, but the beautiful man stretched out on one of the patio chaise lounge chairs like he’d been there all along.

  Lucky placed the glasses on the table between the two chaise lounges, smiling when Mason spread his legs and patted the chair.

  “No, you’re injured.” He held his hand out to Mason. “You should be leaning on me.”

  “Twist my arm,” Mason drawled, allowing Lucky to help him sit up. He slid forward, and Lucky squeezed in behind him. There was enough room for both of them, Mason stretched out between Lucky’s legs, his back to Lucky’s chest. Lucky wrapped his arms around Mason and let his chin rest on Mason’s shoulder.

  “This is nice,” Lucky said, feeling the breeze of the cool November air and hearing only the sounds of the waves crashing against the shore off in the distance.

  “And just think, we can do this anytime we like.”

  “Mason, are you sure? It’s not too fast?”

  Mason sat up with a grunt, ignoring Lucky’s protest for him to take it easy. This man was going to be the death of him. Lucky sat up, and Mason shifted so he was straddling the chaise as well and they were facing each other. He took Lucky’s hands in his, giving each palm a kiss.

  “Darlin’, if you want me here, I want me here. Quite frankly, even if you didn’t want me here, I’d want me here, so it’s up to you. It’s your home. You’re inviting this grumpy-ass cowboy to live in. I can’t guarantee that by the end of the month you won’t wanna feed me to the sharks.”

  Lucky snorted. “I have better ways to torture you.”

  Mason waggled his eyebrows. “Sexy ways?” Lucky laughed, and Mason smiled warmly at him. “I love your laugh. I love everything about you.”

  “Even when I drive you crazy?”

  “Especially when you drive me crazy. It took me a stupidly long time to find where I belonged, and now that I know it’s at your side, I’m not going anywhere. You’re stuck with me, darlin’.”

  “Promise?” Lucky asked, his voice quiet. He wasn’t so naïve as to believe in forever, or even a lifetime, but the way Mason was looking at him, the way he brushed his fingers down Lucky’s jaw, was enough for Lucky to believe in them.

  “Promise.” Mason brought their lips together, and Lucky surrendered to Mason’s kiss, to his strong arms, and the promise of adventures ahead.

  Lucky thought back to everything he’d been through, to the man he’d once been and the man he was now. When he’d been given the nickname Lucky by the youngest of their brothers in arms, Lucky and Spider joked that it was because Lucky was always boasting about all the men and women he’d gotten lucky with, but Pip had gotten this knowing smirk, like he knew the real reason. He’d been right. It had nothing to do with getting laid. He was lucky.

  Maybe nothing was forever, but what mattered was right here in front of him right now, and Lucky would cherish that for however long he had it, because although the stakes were high, love was worth the risk, and whatever challenges they faced, he was all in.

  Epilogue

  King took a sip of his coffee, watching the pedestrians hurry from one place to another. The café was busy, but then it usually was during this time of year. There was a sharp chill in the air, what with the weather in the high forties during the day, but it was nice. He finally got to wear some winter clothes, but soon it would be fucking freezing, and King wouldn’t mind being back in sunny Florida. His phone rang, and he answered.

  “How’s the weather in jolly old England?” Ace asked, his English accent making King grunt.

  “That was terrifying. Please, don’t ever do it again. It’s not raining.”

  “I love your sunny disposition and positive outlook on life.”

  King held back a smile. “How’s Mason taking to his new role?”

  “He’s happy as a hog in mud.”

  “You’re exhausting.”

  “Seriously, though. The man was born to lead. The team loves him.”

  “I knew they would.”

  “Did you? Hmm.” Ace’s exaggerated gasp made King smile. He could always count on his best friend to give him something to smile about.

  “What?”

  “Holy shit!”

  “Don’t hurt yourself.”

  “Ha-ha. You, sir, are a dick. That’s why we could never agree on any of the applicants and why you kept vetoing our choices. You were holding the team leader position open for a certain cowboy. How long were you going to wait?”

  King shrugged even though Ace couldn’t see him. “Not much longer. I was waiting for the right opportunity.”

  “Like an investigation from IA, a freelance job, and him getting shot? Did you know he was going to ask you for work?”

  “I may have planted the seed.”

  “How?”

  “Remember the fliers?”

  “I wondered why you insisted on having fliers distributed at the sheriff’s office. Ooh, sneaky. Right place, right time. Mason ran, and then you stuck him with Lucky.”

  King grunted. “Their inability to see how crazy they were about each other was frustrating. Forced proximity. They were either going to end up killing each other or sleeping together. My money was on the latter. After that, it was only a matter of time until one or both gave in.” King finished his coffee and nodded a thank-you to the barista who cleaned off his table.

  “Damn. You orchestrated this whole thing.”

  “I helped things along.”

  “You’re a little terrifying. I love it.”

  “How’s Ryden doing?” King had been worried about the guy, but Red had a long talk with Ryden at the hospital, and the two had bonded. Red, Mason, and Lucky had taken the guy under their wing, and King was glad Ryden had let them.

  “Dr. Bradbury said he’s doing great. He’s in a place now where he knows he needs help and is willing to accept it. He hasn’t missed any sessions, and we take turns checking on him. He and Santos have become best buds.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Yep. Ryden says he doesn’t feel so outnumbered now by the snake eaters on the floor,” Ace said with a laugh. “I’m glad you found a job for Ryden, King. It’s really boosted his confidence.”

  “Risk assessment is a good fit for him. He’s out in the field and using his skills to asses for danger.” It was a safe role for Ryden. “We’ll see how he does further down the line.” Security wasn’t in the cards. As much as King hated saying it, they couldn’t have an armed security officer with impaired vision. Not when people’s lives were on the line, but that didn’t mean Ryden couldn’t fill a host of other life-altering roles. The man was sharp, smart as a whip, and a genuinely sweet guy. He was a bit hotheaded, but the Kings worked with their fair share of hotheads every day.

  Ace went quiet, which was never good. When he spoke up, his tone was void of its usual playfulness. “How much longer?”

  “As long as it takes.”

  “King, it’s almost Thanksgiving. Can’t you just knock him out and shove him on the plane?”

  “That’s kidnapping.”

  “Like that fucker hasn’t done worse?”

  “If we’re doing this, it has to be done right. You know that as well as I do.”

  Ace sighed. “Yeah, I do.”

  A man in a brown suede jacket, black scarf, gloves, and hat left the coffee shop, and King stood.

  “I need to go.”

  “Stay safe.”

  “Always.” King hung up and returned his phone to his coat pocket. He paid the bill, and left the café. Baseball cap pulled low, he crossed the street, keeping a safe distance between him and his target. With his gloved hands shoved in his jacket pockets, he walked at a steady clip. His clothes, messenger bag, and brisk pace, along with his knowledge of the city, allowed him to blend in with the London crowd. With the holidays approaching, Oxford Street was busier than usual. His target stopped at the newsagent, and King slowed, pulling out his cell phone like he was taking a call. He turned to the older lady selling flowers and purchased a small bouquet of roses.

  “That’ll be twenty-one pounds.”

  King smiled pleasantly and handed her twenty-five pounds. “Cheers, love. Keep the change,” he replied in his perfect West London accent. She thanked him, and he turned in time to see his target leave the newsagent. King remained in pursuit, heading toward the Oxford Circus tube station. He tapped his Oyster card to the reader, the barrier barely having a chance to close between him and the person in front. His target headed for the Central Line Westbound platform and King stayed close yet kept enough distance between them so as not to arouse suspicion. His target walked to the end of the platform, and King stopped near the center, using the flowers to keep his face partially hidden.

  Air whipped around him, the sound of sparks and clacking filled the underground followed by a whoosh, as if a plane was landing. A very old, rickety plane. Pedestrians moved closer to the yellow line as the brakes shrieked, slowing the train before it came to a stop. The doors slid open, and the early afternoon crowd stepped off. King stepped up and moved to the end of the car, then propped himself against the small, high seat next to the emergency exit to keep an eye on his target.

  The repetitive beep sounded a warning that the doors were sliding closed before the train started rolling forward, the sticky brakes causing the train to lurch before it smoothed out. A woman not hanging on stumbled, and King caught her before she hit the floor. He steadied her with a smile, accepting her soft-spoken “cheers” as she sat, and then he resumed his seat.

  Despite the crowded car, the only noise came from the train itself and a group of teenagers standing by the doors chatting and laughing. His target sat at the far end, as far away from everyone as possible. He lifted his gaze occasionally to look around before he went back to texting. After removing his cell phone from his pocket, King pressed his thumb to the screen and unlocked it, and the man’s text appeared on his phone as he composed it.

  They loved it! I’ll tell you all about it when I see you.

  King’s fists tightened around the flowers, the painful prick of the thorns digging into his palm reminding him to recenter himself. Patience. The manila envelope beneath his coat tucked into the waistband of his jeans burned at his back, or at least it felt that way. A reply text came through the cloned phone, appearing on King’s screen.

  Are you sure you don’t want to meet at the pub or something? I can come by the studio during the day, no worries.

  King heard the desperation and fear in the young man’s voice. The response was expected, but it still turned King’s blood to ice.

  You trust me, right? I just want to help you. There are only two spots left.

  Several heartbeats later….

  Okay. I’ll be there.

  King turned away, his jaw muscles working as he gritted his teeth. The lights flickered, the wires and cables outside the windows flying by as the train sped through the tunnel. When the train pulled into Notting Hill Gate station, King stood. He casually left, stepping down just as the sick bastard passed by. King lost himself in the crowd despite his size and height. He stood on the right side of the escalator as his quarry stood several steps ahead of him. When they left the station, King crossed the street while his target made a right. He walked opposite him, the trees and parked cars along the street of the posh neighborhood helping to conceal him, not that the guy would have noticed. He was too busy thinking about what he was going to do to the innocent young man waiting for him.

  The converted Victorian house was worth a mint, much like the rest of the homes in this neighborhood, the rent of which was on par with any apartment in New York City, but price didn’t matter to this guy. He had the cash to burn. Depraved monsters often did. The guy jogged up the steps to the front door, his smile wide as he greeted the pretty blond man standing by the door. The kid was in his early twenties—twenty-one or two at most. King crossed the street, and even from this distance, he saw the young man’s fair skin flushed a bright pink, and not from shyness or pleasure. He flinched when the older man put a hand on his shoulder. King slowed down, waiting for his target to close the door. As soon as he did, King went up the stairs.

  It was a little after three when King slipped inside the house. He listened to the sounds around him, took note of the mail on the floor outside people’s doors. It was a Friday afternoon. In this neighborhood, most people would still be at work or out shopping, meeting up with friends, or having a few pints at a pub. No one was home in this house. He’d made sure of it. A voucher for a free meal at the five-star Thai restaurant on the High Street wasn’t something folks would pass up.

  Taking the steps two at a time, King reached the top floor. He stepped up to the door and leaned in to listen.

  “Please, don’t.”

  “You want to make it in this business? This is what it takes. It’s par for the course, babe. Just relax.”

  King took a few steps back, ran his gaze over the doorframe, then slammed his boot against the door with all the strength he possessed, splintering the frame and ripping the door off one of the hinges.

  “What the fuck?”

  King moved his gaze from the asshole to the young man with his jeans unzipped and tears in his eyes. He smiled softly at the kid. “It’s okay, love,” King said, his fake accent laid on thick. “You’re okay now. Why don’t you come here, away from him?”

  The young man looked at the predator beside him, then at King. He scrambled off the couch and darted over, launching himself at King, who gently wrapped an arm around the trembling boy.

  “It’s okay. You’re okay. He’s never going to lay another hand on you. I promise.”

  The young man nodded and pulled back with a sniff. He quickly zipped his pants, then folded his arms over his chest as if trying to cover himself up despite the layers of clothes he was wearing.

  “Why don’t you go home. Do you need me to call you a cab?”

  “No. I’m okay.” The young man looked hesitantly over his shoulder at the man glaring daggers at King.

  “Go on now,” King urged gently, walking him to the door. The young man nodded, then was off. Picking up the door, King pushed it into its frame and locked it, or rather unlocked it, then locked it, considering the lock part of the door had been ripped off.

  “Who the fuck are you?”

  “I’m your new ghost.” King joined the guy on his couch, taking a seat at the end of it. “I’m here to haunt your every waking moment.”

  “Get the fuck out of my flat before I call the cops,” the guy spat, ready to get up when King held a hand up, stilling him.

  “I would love for you to call the cops, Barry. In fact, I’m hoping you will. You can tell them about these.” King reached under his coat to the back of his waistband and removed the manila envelope. He opened it and took out the glossy eight by tens. He took the top one and flicked it at Barry. “Let’s start with Kory.” He took the second photo and flicked that one. “Then you can tell them about Arty.” He flicked the third one. “Then Billy.” Flick. “Sandy.” Flick. “Chris.” Flick. “David. Eric. Travis. Von.” Flick, flick, flick, flick. He whipped the rest of the stack at Barry.

  Barry stared down at the dozens of scattered pictures.

  “Where the hell did you get these?”

  “That’s not your concern.”

  “Who sent you? Whatever they’re paying you, I’ll double it. Triple it. Whatever you want. You want girls? I can get you some gorgeous ones with huge tits and soft lips.”

  King narrowed his eyes. “You’re not very bright, are you?”

  “Oh, I see. You like guys? I can get you some beautiful fucking guys who would love to suck cock.”

  King reached into his front pocket and pulled out a four-by-six photo. He showed it to Barry. “Like him?”

  Barry squinted at the photo. “I remember him. Oh yeah, I can track him down for you. You’ll love him. He acts like he doesn’t want it, but the twinks are easy. They like the pain.”

  “Right.” King returned the photo of Laz to his pocket. He smiled at Barry and dropped the roses to the floor. The guy returned his smile, then found himself on his stomach with King’s hand around his throat and his knee to Barry’s back. “What about you, Barry? Do you like pain?”