Fortitude Smashed

by Taylor Brooke

Aiden’s lips quirked one way and then the other in a contented smirk.

  Barrow’s red face turned white. He narrowed his eyes. “Yes, it was. He claims it’s his.”

  Shannon pulled his teeth apart, forcing his jaw to unclench. “That’s because it is his.”

  “Wurther, how do you know this kid?”

  “He’s not a kid.”

  Shannon sighed, and at the same time Aiden snarled, “I’m his Rose Road.”

  Fingers tapping on keyboards halted. File cabinets stopped squeaking. Chatter stopped chattering. It was as if the entire room gave the tiniest gasp, and then followed it with absolute silence. Heads lifted from desks. Barrow’s wide eyes widened even farther, and he immediately stepped out of Aiden’s space.

  Piper, head of the Homicide department, laughed outright. “Oh, Wurther, fate’s a magical thing, isn’t it? Landed yourself a stick of dynamite if I’ve ever seen one.”

  “Fuck off, bitch,” Aiden snapped.

  She whistled, ruby lips curving into a grin. “Oh, yeah, about ready to pop, too. Problem is,” she lifted a slender, tan finger, “he matches your description from the night of the gallery mishap. Is this him?”

  Careful to keep his back straight and his breathing even, Shannon bit the side of his tongue. Yes. It was. Staring at him from across the room—a ferocious, deadly thing—was the mishap from the gallery.

  “Tattoo matches and everything,” she added. Her hand carded through a waterfall of black hair.

  Aiden exhaled a soft breath, and Shannon watched something inside him crack. He mouthed Shannon’s name, almost as if he hadn’t meant to.

  “No, it isn’t. Lift up your shirt, show them your tattoo,” Shannon said, waving his hand.

  Aiden did as he was told.

  “The burglar wasn’t as pale, and his tattoo was an Asian design, not this; eyes were darker.”

  Lies. Lies. Lies.

  “That’s convenient, Wurther. This Aiden Maar is a suspect in multiple other incidents, but we have nothing on him. You’re sure it wasn’t him?” Piper asked. She flared her nostrils; the gold stud on the left side protruded.

  “I’m sure.” Shannon didn’t look away from Aiden.

  Barrow shook his head, his hands settled on his hips below his slouching belly. “Well, he’s still under arrest for assaulting an officer.”

  Aiden gaped, but Shannon flashed his palm, signaling him to be quiet.

  “Did you have reason to detain him, Deputy Barrow? As it turns out, Aiden does work at 101, the bike you thought he was tampering with belongs to him, and you had no reason to question him. Was excessive force used?”

  “Wurther!” Barrow bellowed. He coughed; his cheeks turned from white to cherry. “He hit me. I have proof.” He pointed to his battered eye. “And, in turn, I detained him.”

  “He grabbed me,” Aiden hissed, “pulled on my shoulder, and shoved me backward. That’s why he got hit.”

  Shannon turned to Barrow. “And then what? You hit him back?”

  “Yeah, with his fucking baton,” Aiden mumbled, licking across the wound on his lip.

  The silence wound tight enough to snap. Barrow withered under Shannon’s unusually sharp gaze.

  Piper snorted pleasantly. “Careful, Barrow. Looks to me like you’ve made a big mistake.”

  “Don’t you have a case to solve, Piper?” Barrow snapped. “Dead body to analyze? Fingerprints to match?”

  Piper arched her thick brows. She glanced from Barrow to Shannon and back again. “Release Maar. He’s free to go.”

  “You don’t have the authority—”

  Piper’s head fell back and she laughed, silencing any protest from Barrow. She waved at another deputy and flicked her hand at Aiden’s cuffs. “Go on, get those off him.”

  Barrow slammed a notepad against Shannon’s chest. “Your Rose over there said something before he did this to me.” He pointed at his eye again. “You should probably know.” He stared at Shannon; anger blistered his face with red splotches. “I won’t press charges this time,” he said, too low for anyone else to hear.

  Shannon’s stomach flipped. He looked at Barrow, who was a good man, but a stupid one, and opened the notepad. One statement jumped out. Shannon read it twice. Mentioned having a weird night and being kissed. Drunk. Slurred words. He read it again—and being kissed—then he tossed the notepad onto his desk.

  Aiden brushed past him, an unlit cigarette already pressed between his lips. He was a wildfire, scorching whatever stood in his path. Dark eyes were glassy. His chest heaved. Shannon thought Aiden might cry, but then he realized he’d mistaken his expression.

  Aiden Maar wasn’t upset; he was a Molotov cocktail on the verge of exploding.

  Shannon glanced at Piper. To thank her without words, he gave a gentle nod. She nodded back and waved three fingers toward the door, telling him to go.

  By the time Shannon caught up to Aiden, he was leaning against the Jeep. His hands trembled, fumbling to light his cigarette.

  “Get in the car,” Shannon said.

  Aiden rolled his eyes.

  “Now,” Shannon snapped.

  Aiden shoved the cigarette back in his pack and slid into the passenger seat. “Someone’s mad.”

  “I’m mad.” Shannon stomped on the gas pedal.

  19

  They didn’t talk on the way to Shannon’s apartment. They walked up the stairs, and Shannon closed the door behind them, then shoved Aiden against the wall. Shannon waited. His mouth hovered close to Aiden’s, expecting an apology, a clarification, something.

  Aiden’s top lip curled in a daring snarl. “What is it, Detective?”

  Shannon gripped his jaw. “That’s all you have to say?”

  Aiden’s short laugh gusted against Shannon’s chin before their lips collided, all heat and anger and frustration.

  Aiden shoved his jacket off. It fell at their feet. “You still mad at me?”

  Yes. Shannon’s was mad at Aiden. And mad—he scoffed, gripping Aiden’s throat—mad was an understatement. Shannon blistered with rage. It churned his stomach. But the way Aiden said it, you still mad at me, with a smile on his face and a blush staining the tops of his cheeks infuriated him further.

  Shannon flipped him around, stripped Aiden’s shirt, tossed it, and forced Aiden’s palms against the wall. He leaned into Shannon’s torso; the back of his head rested on Shannon’s shoulder.

  “What were you thinking?” Shannon rasped.

  “I was chaining up my bike. I didn’t do anything illegal!” Aiden’s eyelashes fluttered when Shannon bit his shoulder. “I don’t even know what you’re pissed about.”

  Shannon bit harder. “You kissed someone.”

  “Oh, my god, you’re jealous,” he teased.

  “Yeah, and you told everyone I work with about us. Thanks for that.”

  Aiden turned. A smile, cunning and cruel, lingered on his face.

  “Thanks for that?” Aiden parroted. He clicked his tongue against his teeth. He was an unlit firework, capable of beautiful, destructive things, but only when lit. Controlled and smoldering, Shannon watched as Aiden sparked. “Sorry I embarrassed you. But about that guy…” He ducked toward the couch. “He kissed me; I didn’t kiss him. If it matters any.”

  “You didn’t—” Shannon made a sound between a sigh and a growl. He pulled air in through his teeth and hummed on the exhale. Aiden was sensitive. Aiden was also a razorblade. Those two qualities didn’t make for the easiest discussions, especially when Shannon’s patience was capped. “You didn’t embarrass me,” he said, trying to hold back the snap of his teeth.

  “Oh!” Aiden barked a laugh. “Okay. The look on your face was just relief, then.”

  “I didn’t want the entire station knowing what goes on in my personal life, all right? And are you forgetting that I saved your
ass back there? You were under arrest, Aiden. Barrow could’ve pressed charges!”

  Aiden’s tongue darted to lick his teeth. Shannon imagined they might grow into fangs. “That shithead deserved it,” Aiden cooed, a singing bird, a cawing vulture. “I should’ve hit him harder.”

  “Why do you do this? Why do you act like a child, rather than just admit that what you did was stupid? I don’t understand. I don’t get why you, of all people, would hit a cop, no matter the circumstance!” Shannon paced. Clouds of bitterness and unease swirled above them. Aiden sat on the couch, with his elbows on his knees.

  “Fuck off, Shannon.” Aiden refused to look up. He didn’t have to shout to get his point across. “You’re pissed because some other guy put his mouth on me. You wanna talk about that, let’s talk. You wanna talk about me punching a cop, I’ll go.”

  Being laid bare was daunting. Shannon wasn’t used to the way Aiden slithered into his chest, scooped his heart into his palm, and squeezed. He echoed inside; his breathing rattled his rib cage. Shannon forced his throat to tighten and swallowed, resisting the urge to raise his voice.

  Control—that belonged to him—Aiden couldn’t have that.

  “Why’d he kiss you?”

  “How would I know?” Aiden snapped. “I was playing pool by myself, having a drink, and this weird guy tried to talk to me. I blew him off. When I was about to leave, I turned around to put my pool stick away, and he was right there.” He waved his hand in front of his face, gesturing from the open air to his lips. “He kissed me.”

  Shannon’s jaw hurt. “And?”

  “And nothing!” Aiden laughed—full and exasperated; his mouth was a line of barbed wire. “He was wasted, so, instead of knocking his teeth in, I found his friends. They apologized, and then I bought another drink.”

  There wasn’t anything to say, was there? Aiden still hadn’t looked up at him. Shannon opened his mouth, grappled for words, and clamped his lips shut. The moon peeked through the clouds, lighting up the fog. He sat on the edge of the bed. Aiden stood in front of him; the waistband of his worn black pants blocked Shannon’s view out the window.

  “Why does it matter?” Aiden’s voice cracked on the last word, which turned his frustration into something else.

  Shannon shied from his hands, but Aiden followed. He crawled on top of him, pressed against Shannon’s chest, and shoved him into the comforter.

  “Tell me,” Aiden reiterated.

  It was natural to grab Aiden’s waist, to run his hands up his sides, but Aiden didn’t allow it. He snatched Shannon’s wrists and pinned them above his head. “What? I went to a bar, got drunk, fucked around with someone else. Is that what you think I’d do?”

  “I don’t know what you’d do, Aiden.” Shannon flexed his hands. Aiden’s grip tightened.

  “Don’t give me that shit. You honestly think I’d do that? Really?”

  Aiden’s thumbs swiped back and forth along the sides of Shannon’s hands. He hovered over him, burning Shannon to a crisp. The cut that curved over the ridge of his bottom lip was red around the edges. His knees parted farther around Shannon’s waist. One by one, Aiden’s fingers slid into the palms of Shannon’s hands.

  “I don’t like it.” Shannon fought with his words, trying to catch them as they tumbled out. “I don’t like the idea of someone putting their hands on you, much less their mouth. The fact that Barrow hit you was enough; I didn’t need to know about the guy from the bar, too.”

  “You don’t think Barrow should’ve hit me? And how’d you even know about that, anyway?” Aiden smiled, and it was a relief.

  Shannon’s engine was still red hot; unrequited anger vibrated beneath his skin. He turned away and stared at the front door. The tip of Aiden’s nose tickled his cheek. His breath was smoky and familiar.

  “Shannon.” Aiden unlaced their hands and sat up. “You either talk to me, or I leave. I’m not going to sit here and try to figure out what the hell is wrong with you if your plan is to pout.”

  Shannon sat up. His hands latched onto Aden’s hips, he pulled him close, and hid his face in Aiden’s throat. “I wanted to kill Barrow for hitting you. I wanted to strangle the life out of him. You’d mentioned a kiss, and he wrote it down in the paperwork, that’s how I knew about it. I don’t want anyone touching you but me, and I don’t want anyone touching me but you, all right?”

  “Why didn’t you just say that?” Aiden mumbled. His hands drifted over Shannon’s shoulders.

  “Because I’m scared to death of you, Aiden!” Shannon stared at the ceiling. His voice escalated and the long-lost Georgia accent surfaced. He swallowed, trying to keep his wits about him, as Aiden’s lips dusted the curve of his collarbone, the line of his throat, his jaw. “You’re the first person who’s ever done this to me, and I don’t like it. I don’t like feeling like this.”

  “And you think I do?” Aiden laughed against his ear. “You think I enjoy being all fucked up by you?”

  Shannon turned to look at Aiden. Aiden carried an undeniable calm, a regal knowledge of himself, of his own venom, that was impossibly attractive. He wore his faults as a crown of glass and steel. His arms drew back from Shannon’s shoulders, and he began unclasping the buttons on Shannon’s shirt.

  “I’m sorry—” Aiden sounded a little annoyed, a little true. “—for getting arrested and for punching your cop friend, but it’s probably not the last time it’ll happen.”

  “I’m sorry for assuming the worst and overreacting.” Shannon stared at Aiden’s fingers as they flicked each button open. “But can you at least try not to get arrested again?”

  A smirk was all he got. Aiden pawed the shirt from his shoulders and tossed it to the floor. “No promises,” he mumbled.

  The sensation of Aiden’s smooth palms, the tips of his fingers, and the brush of his knuckles ended their argument. He swayed against Shannon’s clumsy hands and pushed into them as he tried to unfasten the button on Aiden’s pants. Shannon felt shaking hands, one on the back of his neck, the other dancing across his chest, and he faltered. Aiden’s eyes squeezed shut, painfully so, his lips were cinched. Shannon grasped his wrist. Aiden’s nostrils flared.

  “What’s a matter?” Shannon’s accent stuck to the walls of his throat.

  Aiden shook his head. “I’ve never done this.” His gaze fell away, and he chewed on his already busted lip. He seemed less a viper, more a man, and Shannon wasn’t sure how to process that. “Neither have I, but we can stop if you want.” Shannon rested his hands on Aiden’s waist. Shannon wasn’t sure what Aiden meant, but Shannon wasn’t lying when he said he hadn’t done it. He’d never had someone like Aiden to do anything with.

  “No, Shannon,” Aiden hissed, “I’ve never done this.”

  Shannon cocked his head, unaware that Aiden’s hostility wasn’t pointed at him, but at something else entirely. Aiden turned away, hiding the glowing blush that lit his cheeks. His hands fell from Shannon’s face to his own lap, where they fidgeted.

  Understanding came to Shannon in waves. First he was embarrassed: pondering what he’d done wrong, wondering how they’d gone from so ridiculously angry with each other to where they were now. Then the last wave crashed.

  Shannon narrowed his eyes, grabbed Aiden’s chin, and tugged. “Are you…” Shannon smirked, watching Aiden’s jaw grind back and forth. “Are you a virgin?”

  Aiden rolled his eyes and snorted. He leaned back on Shannon’s thighs and worried his bottom lip between his teeth. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t have to. Aiden wore the truth like war paint across his tense brow and clenched jaw. Shannon didn’t mean to, but he almost laughed. It came out as a haughty breath that earned him a cold, vicious glare.

  “You’re serious?” Shannon tilted his head to find Aiden’s reluctant, sour gaze. “You’ve never... Not even to try it?”

  “No, asshole, I didn’t. I’ve ho
oked up with people, but it never went further than hickeys and ass-grabbing. Happy?”

  A sense of awe fell over Shannon. How? How could the man draped over his lap, the dangerous, sharp-tongued Aiden Maar, make it out of his youth without being someone’s conquest? He was wild and insufferable and everything a teenager would want: a perfect storm, a practice run before they found their Rose Road. That’s what Shannon had done. He’d had a high school girlfriend, fooled around in college dorms, and met people at bars and clubs. That’s what everyone he knew had done. Except for his Rose Road—except for Aiden.

  He grasped Aiden’s cheek and ran his thumb along his mouth. Aiden flinched when he brushed the reddened cut. “Do you want to?”

  “That’s a stupid question,” Aiden seethed. He tried to look away, but Shannon pinched his chin, commanding his attention.

  “Do you want me to show you?”

  Aiden’s parted lips clasped together. He searched Shannon’s face and his nostrils flared around quick inhales and even quicker exhales. They picked each other apart in the silence. Still trembling, Aiden tried to nod. He swallowed once, twice. His hands fidgeted in twitches and jerks. Unkempt ferocity glowed behind his eyes. He nodded and kissed Shannon.

  “We’ll take it slow,” Shannon whispered against his lips, “one thing at a time.”

  Until ten minutes ago, Shannon had been sure Aiden had more experience with intimacies than he did. He welcomed the newfound power and the tiniest bit of authority. He felt the drag of Aiden’s tongue between his lips, the labored gasp, and the uncertain roll of his hips in Shannon’s lap. His hands continued to quiver as they threaded through his hair.

  Shannon pulled and Aiden kicked until his jeans were gone, leaving him looking very bashful, and very bare. Black briefs displayed the angled cut of his hipbones. Shannon watched the lean muscles below his skin tighten and relax. A tiny scar to the right of his belly button was all that was left of his makeshift superglue stitches.

  The blinds on the far windows were open, sending rich black and navy shadows across Aiden’s skin.