Xan
The doctor hadn’t been fucking kidding. As they took me off the pain meds that’d been pumping directly into my blood stream and put me on oral narcotics, the pain became a bitch. Nothing I couldn’t deal with, but it was putting me in a foul fucking mood as I waited for the fucking medication to kick in. And I was doing my damnest to keep from lashing out at Preston, who was hovering over me and doting on me like he was afraid I was going to fall apart the moment he moved more than two inches away from me.
“Are you comfortable?” Preston asked, his hands hovering over the blanket he’d just draped over me. “I can get you a different blanket or?—”
“Baby,” I said, exasperated. “I’m fine. Can you please sit down? It’s making me dizzy trying to watch you.” It wasn’t, but what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. I needed him to chill out. Sure, Preston was a doctor—a damn good doctor, at that—but above all, he was a caretaker and a worrier, and me being attacked hit way too close to home for him to be sensible about the entire situation.
Unlike Shane, who was sitting on the loveseat working on a tattoo design like I couldn’t have died just a couple days ago.
“I’m sorry,” Preston blurted. He quickly sat down on the end of the couch and draped my feet across his legs. I groaned in contentment when he began to massage them.
“Much better,” I assured him, even offering him a small smile. I looked at Shane then, and though I knew he could feel my eyes on him, he didn’t look up—just kept moving his iPad pencil across his screen. “Tell me what went down. Beginning to end.”
“You need to rest,” Shane said, still not looking up. “We can talk about it after.”
“No, we can talk about it now,” I retorted. He looked up at me then, arching a brow. I huffed. “Shane, I remained patient for hours in the hospital, and I kept waiting even after we finally got home. Tell me what happened. I’m done waiting.”
“You’re awfully irate, boy,” he said, a warning laced through his words. Injured or not, I knew Shane wouldn’t hesitate to put me in my place. He set his tablet aside, then crossed his arms over his chest. “It was a simple kill,” he finally went on. “I had my contact hack into the security cameras at your training facility, and from there, he tracked where Ansel went. The boy was sloppy. Left a window cracked and barely bothered hiding his vehicle. I tied him to a chair, questioned him, then killed him.”
“Questioned him?” Preston repeated, his brows furrowing. “What did you find out?”
“That he and X have history. Apparently, you two and Rex, your tech guy,” he said, looking at me, “were in the same foster home together.” I blinked, trying to remember Ansel. I’d barely recognized Rex when I saw him again, and we’d never actually been friends when we reconnected. I got him a job with the underground ring working security cameras for the bosses. When I had him do anything for me personally, I paid him. He wasn’t looking to reconnect like that, and honestly, I wasn’t either.
Ansel clearly had other feelings though, if what Shane said was anything to go by. “You three were roommates. Apparently hooked up. You protected them, I guess.”
“Oh,” I muttered, remembering him then. “Yeah, I did. He was scrawny and emotional and our foster parents hated him. I provided sexual favors to keep him safe. But then I got hooked up with Denzel and left the moment I could.” I shrugged. “In places like that, it’s usually every person for themselves, and I took the first out I was handed.”
Shane nodded in understanding, no judgment in his eyes. Preston squeezed my ankles, and when I looked at him, he was sad. Sad for a younger me that I hardly bothered remembering anymore. I was already hardened to life back then. And I hadn’t fucked our foster parents because I cared about Ansel. He just always fucking cried when he got scared, and it annoyed me. I couldn’t handle all those fucking emotions. So, to keep them off his back and off their radar, I did what I needed for my own sanity.
Probably made me a shit individual that I did it for purely selfish reasons, but I never claimed to be the good guy in my story. Survival had been my only priority.
“He killed Rex because Rex reconnected with you, but never kept in touch with him after Ansel was sent to prison.”
“Prison?” I questioned. Ansel went to fucking prison? Over what?
“The night before he aged out, his foster parents assaulted him. He fought back. Wasn’t much of a mark on him, but he did a number to his foster mother, so he was arrested, convicted, and put in prison for a few years,” Shane explained.
I grunted. “Not my fault he went to prison.”
“No, it’s not,” Preston agreed. “I think you were all dealt a really shitty hand, and I think you made the best of your situation with the cards you had. You were just a kid, X.” He shook his head. “No one could expect you—not realistically—to protect him and take care of yourself.”
“But that’s why he came after you,” Shane continued when I didn’t respond to Preston. I didn’t need to though. I didn’t harbor any regrets about the choice I’d made back then. “He wanted revenge. And in the end, I got mine.”
I smirked. “You’re hot when you’re being all possessive and protective, Ghost,” I teased.
He shook his head at me. “Keep your dick down, boy. You need rest and recuperation.” Grabbing his tablet once more, he focused back on his art piece. “Let Preston take care of you, and let him know if you need something.”
“And you?” I questioned, groaning when Preston began applying pressure to the sole of my foot, which felt fucking incredible. Who knew my feet needed loosening?
“Consider me your knight in shining armor,” he drawled, not looking up.
I snorted a laugh.
Chapter 29
Xan
The apartment was silent. I’d gotten used to Preston and Shane being around constantly while I recovered, but now that I could be trusted to be on my own, Shane was back to working his normal hours, and Preston was back in his office, working his regular nine to five to treat all the patients who loved and missed him oh-so-much. Truth be told, I didn’t want to share either of them, but I also knew if I even brought up the possibility of them just being with me twenty-four-seven, neither of them would be all that pleased with the idea.