by H Q Kingsley
I busted my ass for Patrick all the fucking time. I did what he told me to do even though I was just as much in charge as he was. And I never got so much as a thank you. No 'good job, Paddox, don't know what I'd do without you.' Nothing. Just more orders being barked my way and more dick comments about my choices.
I set the canvas aside and went to grab another one, settling it on the easel and taking a step back. Sometimes I liked to plan pieces out on the canvas, but other times, I just needed to dive in and see what took shape.
I mixed my paints and reached for a brush, muttering under my breath all the while. The first slash of paint on canvas was violent, like a gunshot. Fiery red-orange across the white surface. It looked like flames, bright and vicious, and I went with it, adding more detail and color.
I added some darker red to the canvas, below the vibrant orange, the dark heart to the abstract fire I was slashing onto the canvas with every flick of my brush. I wasn't too concerned with the final result, and I picked and chose colors that called to me right then, adding them to the whole fiery mix.
Already I could feel my muscles relaxing and the tension disappearing.
I loved painting. Being able to just make a mess on a canvas and sometimes that mess turned out to be art. Sometimes it didn't, and sometimes I just wanted to set all my shit on fire, but it made me feel good.
If I couldn't have someone there, waiting for me when I got home, then having this hobby would have to do.
At least painting couldn't cheat on me or only want to be with me because they had some gangster fetish, pathetic as that sounded.
Every relationship I’d ever had ended up that way. The only people who wanted me only wanted me so that they could use me. That was my sad reality.
I was destined to only be able to trust my brother. I was destined to die lonely with only Patrick, ray of sunshine that he was, to keep me company.
I'd had one night stands and friends with benefits and partners who'd turned tail and ran the first time I came home splattered in someone else's blood. Though, I couldn't really blame them for that part. My life was...complicated.
It was like I was unwillingly married to the work.
I sighed. I was drowning in a pity party. At least I had Patrick. Some people didn’t even have that. At least I had family—difficult, raging, narcissistic family—but family no less. Loyal family. Family that I knew I could count on no matter what came our way.
3
Skylar
When I was a kid, my dad had devoted his life to protecting and serving. He’d put away murderers and rapists, and arrested anyone who broke the law no matter who they were.
My mother had always thought that made us targets. She’d been obsessed with safety. Our doors and windows were always locked, and my bike had a tracking device on it, not that she ever allowed me outside of her line of sight.
Her worst nightmare had been someone hurting us as a result of my father’s work. It had terrified her to the brink of insanity, and I knew on some level it had broken her heart to see me follow in his footsteps. To risk my life every day trying to make the world a little safer.
It sounded selfish when you laid it all out, but I understood my mother. She’d had two things in the world, me and my father, and losing either one of us...it was too heavy for her.
But not me. I wasn’t attached to people; I wasn’t attached to life. I was only attached to the work. Something about it sang to me, put me at peace. Even the danger appealed to me. It kept me alive, gave me a purpose like nothing else in my life ever had.
I trudged over to my coffee maker, waiting for my shitty brand of coffee to finish brewing.
I nearly jumped out of my skin when someone banged on the door.
“What the fuck?”
My heart pounded in my chest. No one had my address except the chief, and I knew he wasn’t dumb enough to risk blowing my cover.
I slowly made my way to the door, debating turning around to grab my gun from the bedroom, but the insistent knocking kept going.
I sighed, thinking it might be one of my tweaker neighbors having a bad trip. I wouldn’t need a gun to protect myself from the magic dragons chasing them.
I pulled open the door and my brows furrowed.
Two giant men stood in my doorway looking back at me. They were built like tanks, both towering over me, which was saying something. At 6’3, not very many people dwarfed me.
One was bald with dark skin, and he quickly looked me up and down as I balled my fists at my sides.
“What the fuck is this?” I demanded. They definitely weren’t tweakers. They both wore suits worth more than my apartment.
The second man sported a buzz cut and a scowl. "The boss wants to see you," he said flatly.
“Who the fuck is—”
I didn’t get the question out before the bald one yanked me by my arm and dragged me out of my apartment in my boxers.
"Damn," I said, yanking out of his grasp. "Can I lock my door first? Put on some fucking pants maybe? What the fuck?"
I braced myself, ready for them to lunge at me as I put up a fight, but instead, they just stood there, exchanging a quiet glance.
"Five minutes," the bald one said. “We’ll wait out here.”
I narrowed my eyes on them. What the fuck was this? I looked them over. They were high-end henchmen, that was for sure. Could this be Tik and Tok? Was this the break in the case I’d been waiting on?
I headed back into the apartment, quickly pulling on clothes and tucking my gun into my waistband.
"No weapons," buzz cut called, and I rolled my eyes, but pulled my gun out of my pants and set it in my safe. I didn’t really need it to protect myself anyway.
I jammed my feet into my shoes and grabbed my keys, bolting back through the door.
“See, that wasn’t so bad. What’d that take me? Like three minutes?” I asked.
Neither of them so much as cracked a grin.
The bald one simply checked his watch and jerked his head, motioning for me to lead the way down the hallway.
They packed me into a big, black SUV with windows tinted so much in the back, I could hardly see out of them.
The ride was completely silent, and that gave me the chance to calm myself down and work on my story. I couldn't fuck this up. I had to play it cool.
None of the junkies I peddled shit to had ever suspected me, but they were usually high or craving their next fix, so I didn't expect them to be up on their scrutiny. Tic and Tok though, they'd know if they were being lied to unless I was very good at it.
After twenty minutes of stony silence, we rolled to a stop.
I hesitated a moment as Buzz Cut pushed open the door and gestured for me to climb out.
"Don't keep the boss waiting," he said, and I sighed and stepped out of the car.
I stared up at a rusted shipping warehouse. People flowed in and out of it at a sort of clockwork pace, some carrying boxes, some carrying clipboards. It was almost like a legitimate working factory, but I knew better than to believe that’s what it actually was.
The two flanked my sides as they led me forward, and the second I stepped into the warehouse, I was surrounded by the buzz of productivity. People shifted, moving the crates that lined the walls to the cased-off back of the warehouse, machines beeped and buzzed, and I was sure I was in the right place for some real movement on my takedown of Tik and Tok. This was a base of operations—a substantial base of operations—and I was standing right there inside of it.
My heart fluttered in my chest. This is it! I know it!
I was in the center of it all, and I had no idea what I'd done to get there, but I wasn't going to complain about it.
I tried to look around, committing everything I could to memory without looking suspect. I needed to take it all in. To remember as much as I could so I could write it down later and deliver it to my handler the next time we met up.
The place was packed full of evidence, I was sure. Letters o
r invoices with signatures that would be more than enough to take the twins down for a long time.
God, the things I’d do for ten minutes alone in here, I thought as the guys guided me through the warehouse.
I could get enough together to build a solid case, and then we could bust them. It would make my career, bringing down the twins in my first year with the FBI. I'd be a legend, and the streets would be cleaned up.
Their stranglehold on the ports and the ins and outs of the city would be gone, and we could go back to busting small-time criminals without having to wonder how close they were to Tic and Tok.
My fingers itched to poke around, but I didn't forget about the guards at my sides. I was pretty sure if I stepped one foot out of line, they wouldn't hesitate to remind me of my place. Or break my neck. One or the other.
I had no idea what kind of instructions the twins had given them regarding me, and I hadn't seen either of them so far.
The sun flashed through one of the high windows, and I glanced up and there he was. Standing against the second-floor railing staring down directly at me.
I stilled for a second, feeling my heart race in my chest.
My mouth went dry for a second. I’d never seen one of them up close, or even at too much of a distance, really. A glance here and there in the background of surveillance, a still photo or two in the war room, but never in flesh and blood.
No photo I’d ever seen of them did the man staring down at me justice. He was a rugged kind of gorgeous that made me forget for just a split second where I was and what I was doing.
One of the men grabbed my arm, dragging me along and up the steel steps to the second floor, but I couldn’t look away. I kept my eyes on him the whole time, stumbling over my own two feet as I was pulled along up the stairs.
I simply watched him watching me. He barely even blinked. His thick, dark brows pulled together as he stared intimidatingly over at me. A light wrinkle creased his forehead over his otherwise flawless golden-brown skin.
His bright-brown eyes felt like they peered right through me as we approached him.
The closer we got, the more I seemed to fumble. Fucking fuck! I couldn’t tell which twin I was looking at—allegedly, they were identical down to their long, dark eyelashes—but I couldn’t imagine there was a second one that was that fucking...hot. There was no other way to put it. He was just downright sexy, and standing in front of him, I felt it run like fire through my whole body.
I nearly drooled as I took him in. His face was all perfect, symmetrical angles. His jaw looked like it was chiseled from marble by the gods themselves, and there was a seriousness about him that made him seem older than he was. The light dusting of facial hair added to the lines of his face, and I tried to be discreet as my eyes traveled down his body.
The t-shirt he was wearing clung to his body in a way that accented the broadness of his shoulders. Not quite as broad as the two tanks beside me, but in a much more subtle way that suited his frame.
His hands were tucked into the back pockets of his jeans, and I couldn’t seem to shove down the resonating curiosity of what his ass might have looked like.
He arched an eyebrow as we stopped in front of him, and I tried to get a handle on myself. I saw hot men every day, and I couldn't go to pieces just because one of the twins was sexy as hell.
"Who's this?" he asked, giving me a once over and then glancing at my burly shadows.
I swallowed. Even his voice was attractive, low and smooth like melting chocolate.
"Tic wanted to see him," Buzz Cut said. "Told us to bring him in."
So, this was Tok, a.k.a. Paddox Henderson. Clearly, he didn’t call the shots because his face scrunched in confusion.
"So we're just bringing strangers in now?" he asked harshly. "We a fucking group home now, taking in all the wayward teens?"
He ran a frustrated hand through his hair as he began to pace.
“This is bullshit,” he said, seemingly to no one in particular. “He should have told me he was bringing someone in.”
He stopped pacing and eyed me again, and my heart began to pound once more.
Shit, was that going to happen every time he looked my way? How the hell was I supposed to do my job?
I slowly pulled in a deep breath. Come on, Skylar. This is your big chance. Don’t blow it because you think he’s pretty.
I stepped forward and extended my hand. “I’m Skylar. And I’m thirty, so I probably wouldn’t fit in in your group home.”
He looked at me for a long moment before a smile pulled at his lips. He let out a light, airy laugh as he reached out to take my hand.
“Funny,” he said, looking me over again, but this time it was different, more curious than threatening. “I’m Tok…” He pressed his lips together and shook his head. “No, Paddox. Call me Paddox.”
I nodded, grinning like an idiot as I held onto his hand too long. Touching him was a little more electric than I’d been ready for.
"N-nice to meet you," I finally said before I pulled my hand back, folding it with the other behind my back.
I could feel my cheeks heating, and I forced myself to keep taking deep breaths. The last thing I wanted to do was turn into a blushing star-struck moron in front of one of the twins.
I dropped my gaze and dug my nails into my palm. Do not fuck this up, Skylar!
“So, uh, do you know what I’m here for?” I asked.
He opened his mouth to answer, but we cut off when my two kidnappers grabbed me by the arm. “You’re here to see the boss.”
My face scrunched. I’d thought the twins ran the show together. That’s what all of the reports had said, but clearly, we’d gotten it all wrong.
“Now sit down,” Buzz Cut said, tossing me halfway across the room to a chair in the corner. “And wait.”
4
Paddox
Patrick and I hadn't talked since our fight the day before, and the whole reason I was at the warehouse in the first place was to check on a shipment that was supposed to come in. It was late, and Patrick was pissed, which meant I had to deal or risk him losing his temper. The last thing we needed was a body because Patrick was irritated about shipping delays.
I'd wanted to head home. I’d been right on my way out when Dime and Lucky had walked in hauling a blond captive to the warehouse.
I’d squirreled away to my office, deciding to linger for a while to see what the hell Patrick wanted with him. He hadn’t told me anything about bringing on a new guy. And yeah, maybe I wasn’t as committed to the business as Patrick, but I had just as much stake in thing as he did. My neck was on the line too.
I leaned forward, peeking out of the tiny window in my office as discreetly as I could. I couldn’t help myself.
I told myself I was sizing Skylar up, watching him for anything suspicious, but the truth was, I just liked looking at him.
He was handsome in a pretty obvious way. Buff and blond with baby blue eyes and scruffy hair. He was classically attractive, and it was hard not to notice.
He sat quietly in a chair in the corner, his back straight and his hands clasped behind him at the back of the chair. He looked relaxed in an easy sort of way that seemed out of place. Most people dragged in on Patrick’s orders weren’t so nonchalant.
I sat back in my seat. I had to stop watching him. It was creepy and pointless. He was gorgeous and electric, and the moment he’d touched my hand, I’d known he could be an easy obsession for me, but...I was still me. And guys just didn’t like me, not really anyway. They liked the idea of me, they like the power of my name, but nobody actually liked me.
I shook my head, resisting the urge to peep out of the window again. I didn’t have the time for another heartbreak. I didn’t have the will.
I picked up the catalog on my desk, flipping through the many pages of art supplies. I was going to need a hell of a lot of new brushes to work Skylar out of my system. God, I really hope I don’t end up painting him for a week, I prayed, knowing
that it was exactly my MO.
Usually, I could lose myself picking out paint colors and debating between natural and synthetic brush fibers, but my eyes kept wandering, kept trying to find their way back out that window.
God, where the fuck was Patrick? It had been nearly an hour since they’d hauled Skylar in. That was just like Patrick. Inconsiderate asshat.
He thought the whole damned world revolved around him and the rest of us were just there to do what he wanted. It was bullshit, and I had half a mind to tell Skylar to go home. Patrick could find him when he had a better handle on his schedule.
But I couldn’t do that. At best, it would get Skylar killed. At worst, it would end in a trail of bodies that ended with Skylar’s.
Patrick had a knack for taking his anger out on everyone around him. If he felt like someone wronged him, he was an unstoppable force of destruction, tearing down everything in his path.
I shook off my agitation, forcing myself to focus on my catalog. I needed a ton of new stuff. Some new canvases, maybe some bigger ones. I wanted to try some abstract stuff that needed more space. New acrylic paints and maybe some watercolors. To see what Skylar's ass looked like in the tight jeans he was wearing...
I dropped my head with a sigh. I was fucking hopeless.
I closed the catalog and climbed to my feet. Trying to fight it was futile.
"Fuck this," I grumbled, heading out of my office and across the platform back to Skyler. "You guys can stand down," I told Lucky and Dime. "I'll take it from here."
"The boss said...” Dime started, but I held up my hand to stop him.
"I'm sure whatever he said was really important, but I’m saying I'll wait with him until Tic gets back. You two have other shit you should be doing." I gave them both a hard look. I hadn’t perfected the 'don't fuck with me' face quite like Patrick, but my bark had enough bite to it to make Lucky and Dime back down.
