Page 39

His words were harsh and bitter, the memories of that day flooding back, too long held behind the broken locks of a box he’d buried in the sand so very long ago.

“Tripp told his father, of course. By the time I showed up, Tripp was already…deep into it, you know, the doctrine and the salvation of it all. I don’t know if he ever had a chance, growing up there, but I did know that the second he found us, we were completely fucked.”

Ash had looked Michael up years later, when he’d finally untangled himself from the guilt and shame of it all. Michael hadn’t been one of Ralston’s foster kids, though, and while his parents had been strict and angry with him, he hadn’t ever returned to the church after that day, either. As it had turned out, Michael had been okay. His parents had moved him out of Montana to one of the big cities, and he had been happily married to his husband for several years by the time Ash had found him.

“Ralston Junior sent me to a…summer camp,” Ash said quietly.

Nicco cut past the euphemism with a razor-sharp bite. “Conversion camp.”

Ash sighed deeply. “Yeah, Nic. We didn’t really know what they were then, what to call them. Or what kind of damage they could do. The only saving grace was, I’d never had anyone who gave a shit about my happiness before then, so at least I didn’t feel as broken hearted as some of the other boys. At least, I was already…expecting the worst from the world.”

“What happened?” Nicco asked quietly. His words were sharp and tinged with a kind of fear and pain Ash rarely saw. Nicco didn’t show fear and he didn’t show pain. They couldn’t, not with the work they did.

“I escaped,” Ash said simply. “Three times, to be exact. The third time, they didn’t bring me back. They dropped me off at the sheriff’s house and told me it was my last chance.”

He glanced to the darkened office that had once been Wil’s bedroom.

“Wil Van Rijn was suffering his own kind of hell that year. But he saved my life.”

Nicco knocked his forehead against Ash’s, the sensation grounding him, reminding him that he was here, that Magnus Ralston Junior was dead and gone, and that no one would ever control his life again. “Thank fuck for that,” he murmured.

“You saved me too, Nic,” Ash murmured. Their faces were so fucking close, it would be the work of an instant to lean down and capture Nicco’s full lips, to follow up on every dangerous thought he’d had when pressed between Hanna and Nicco in that dark closet.

“Goes both ways, Ash,” Nicco replied. “Only thing that matters is that you’re here. Right now.”

Ash took in a shaky breath. The room was completely filled with steam, and he could smell the soft clover and spice of soaps from the shower.

“As long as you’re here with me,” he whispered, giving half a voice to the worry that had been living in his blood and bones for nearly a year.

“I’m standing right here.” Nicco’s reply was evasive, and they both knew it. But after all that had happened that night, all that they had pushed at the limits of secrets, there was no room left in Ash’s soul to peel away that bandage. Because he wasn’t sure he could continue putting one step in front of the other if he found what he was worried he might find.

“You should be standing in the shower,” Ash finally said. “I’m pretty sure you said we could share, if I gave you my sordid past.”

“I never said sordid,” Nicco said, the tiniest hint of amusement in his tone. “But I am a man of my word.”

Ash wanted to tell Nicco to give his word about the one thing neither of them said out loud. But he couldn’t. Not right then, not when he wasn’t certain Nicco would be able to.

Finally, finally, Nicco stepped back, giving Ash space to breathe, but only for a second, as Nic began to strip out of his tuxedo. Ash could only imagine what Jinx was going to say about the wool, since he had no doubt in his mind that the tuxedos had been pilfered from somewhere, but at that moment, he couldn’t bring himself to care, not when Nicco pulled the shirt free and tossed it over the towel bar, exposing long lines of ink against golden dark skin.

He was too thin by half, but he still had an innate power to him, strength behind the rivers of tattoos and the stories they told. Dark hair smattered his chest, adding depth and shadow to the hard lines of muscles there, and two silver hoops glinted around his nipples.

“When did you get the hardware?” Ash asked, trying for calm, and not even a little certain he’d gotten there. He was faced with the sudden and undeniable urge to take those hoops into his mouth.

“Last time I visited Dante’s shop,” Nicco replied.

Ash tried to lighten the thick tension in the steamy bathroom. “Get anything else pierced while you were there?”

Nicco held his gaze and pushed his tuxedo pants to the ground. “If you’re asking whether I got my cock pierced, Ash, you can just look for yourself.”

Ash bit his lip so hard he was sure it would bleed, but it didn’t matter. None of it mattered, when Nicco was standing right in front of him, muscled and tattooed, scarred and proud.

Ash didn’t look away from Nicco’s eyes. “What are you doing?” he asked.

Nicco’s gaze darkened, a storm in his espresso-brown eyes, swirling and boiling over. “Nothing more than what you did to me in Iverson’s office.”

Ash shook his head. “I didn’t have anywhere else to go. And Hanna was right there.”

Nicco stepped into the shower. “Right where, Ash? Tell me exactly why it was you needed to press your ass against my cock when I had nowhere else to go.”