The cold gravel bit into Joey’s knees as he gasped, trembling, his hands half-raised and useless. Red and blue lights painted his wet skin, turning him ghostly pale. The kid was terrified—Darius could see it in the way his chest heaved, the way his eyes darted like a cornered rabbit.

Darius stood over him, hands up, jaw tight. His body screamed at him to fight, but this? There was no fighting this. Dozens of guns, a wall of Kevlar, radios crackling as boots thundered closer.

This is it. No more running.

Reluctantly, he bent his knees, preparing to lower himself in surrender—

And then a black SUV rolled up behind the wall of cruisers, sleek and deliberate, parting the chaos like a shark cutting through a school of fish.

The driver’s door opened.

And out stepped a man who did not look like a cop.

Tall. Broad-shouldered. Mid-forties with close-cropped dark hair just starting to silver at the temples. Ruggedly handsome, all sharp lines and sun-creased eyes that spoke of too many years chasing too many bastards. His suit jacket was rumpled, but the badge clipped at his hip gleamed. His presence shifted the entire scene; officers faltered, glancing toward him like they’d just remembered their boss was watching.

“Stand down,” the man barked, voice deep, carrying with ease. “Put those weapons down. They’re not suspects anymore.”

Not suspects? Darius’s brows shot up, a spark of confusion cutting through the adrenaline haze.

The man flashed credentials with a practiced flick of the wrist. “Special Agent Cameron Riley, Federal Bureau of Investigation, Organized Crime Task Force.”

The officers hesitated only a beat before lowering their weapons, stepping back, the wall of bodies dissolving.

Joey looked up at Darius, wet hair plastered to his forehead, eyes wide with disbelief. His lips trembled like he wanted to ask what the hell was happening. Darius didn’t answer—he didn’t know.

Agent Riley’s gaze locked on them, sharp and assessing. “Mr. Cross. Mr. Balas. You’re with me.”

Darius clenched his jaw. Every instinct screamed trap, but the alternative was a dozen rifles and a body bag. He gave Joey a subtle nod, then extended a hand to haul him upright. Joey’s legs wobbled, gravel clinging to his bare knees, but he stood, pressing close, soaking wet and shivering.

They followed Riley down the palm-lined street, past gawking neighbors and flashing cruisers. The agent didn’t look back, didn’t need to; his confidence was absolute, magnetic. Darius hated that it unnerved him.

At the end of the block, another vehicle waited—a hulking mobile command unit, matte white with tinted windows, bristling with antennas. Its engine hummed low, its tires crushing shells of fallen palm fronds as it idled at the curb.

An agent inside opened the door. Bright fluorescent light spilled out, harsh and sterile against the cool afternoon sea breeze.

Riley gestured. “After you.”

Darius hesitated, his hand hovering at the small of Joey’s back, steadying him. The kid’s breath was still ragged, his lips bluish from the cold, his whole body stiff with fear. He’d never been arrested, never had cops shouting guns in his face. He was rattled to the core.

Darius bent slightly, murmuring low, “It’s all right. I’ve got you.”

Joey nodded faintly, but his grip on Darius’s arm didn’t loosen as they climbed the metal steps and entered the mobile unit.

Inside, it smelled of burnt coffee and ozone. The space was narrow but efficient—desks lined with monitors, wires coiled in tidy loops, maps pinned to corkboards. The hum of electronics filled the air. A couple agents moved with brisk precision, murmuring into headsets, barely glancing up as Riley ushered them toward a table at the back.

“Sit.” Riley’s voice left no room for argument.

The chairs were cold metal, bolted to the floor. Darius lowered himself deliberately, posture stiff, while Joey collapsed beside him, still shivering, his wet shirt clinging to his chest.

Riley remained standing, arms crossed, gaze steady.

And Darius felt it—the weight of something bigger pressing down on them. Not the cops. Not Vinnie. Not even the Carillos. Something federal. Something that didn’t just want to kill them.

Something that wanted to use them.

Darius didn’t lean back in the chair.

He sat stiff and alert, hands braced on his thighs, every nerve in his body thrumming like piano wire. The metal seat beneath him was cold through his wet board shorts, and his hoodie clung like seaweed, still soaked from the pool, gritty with soot and dried blood. Joey sat next to him, silent and trembling, his skinny frame hunched like he was trying to disappear inside himself.

Agent Riley finally sat down across from them, his face backlit by the sterile glow of a laptop screen. His posture was easy, relaxed even—but his eyes were sharp. Measuring. Cool. A faint scar curved just beneath his right cheekbone, like an old souvenir from something personal. The guy looked like he hadn’t lost a fight in his life.

He tapped the edge of a thin manila folder on the table. “Let’s start from the top.”

Darius didn’t move. His knuckles ached from holding tension, but his face remained unreadable. If the Feds wanted something from him, they weren’t going to get desperation. Not yet.

“Anonymous tip came in ten days ago.” Riley flipped open the folder. “Claimed you, Darius Cross, longtime enforcer for Vincent Mancuso’s Cleveland outfit, were growing discontent. Said you were breaking ranks. Planning to start your own side operation. The tipster alleged that a former Mancuso ally—Leon Battaglia, who went off-grid last year—had stashed money and contacts for you down in Charleston. That you were heading here to collect. Build something new. Something bloody.”

Joey twitched beside him.

Riley’s eyes flicked to the kid, then back to Darius.

“The tip went further. Said Ethan Chambers—a known runner for Vinnie, currently under investigation—caught wind of your plans. And you, with your lover and accomplice Joseph Balas here, killed him.” Riley flipped to the next page. “That same tipster linked you to the motel incident outside Columbus, where two more of Vinnie’s men ended up dead. That’s what lit the fire under Ohio PD. They thought they had a mafia war on their hands. Heavy resources. Full manhunt. Which explains why they stormed that farmhouse in West Virginia after your location was passed along. Their response was a bit… dramatic.”

“You think?” Darius muttered.

Joey gave a faint, miserable huff, still not raising his head.

Riley’s voice didn’t waver. “Then came the truck—the one stolen from three would-be bounty hunters you left tied up in the woods. Nice touch, by the way. You abandoned it just two miles from the Greyhound depot where a security camera caught you buying tickets to South Carolina. The cops have been following you ever since.”

Beside him, Joey made a small sound—half cough, half whimper. Darius angled his knee, steadying him under the table.

Riley’s gaze didn’t waver. “But just before law enforcement could close in… Tavion King came to us.”

Darius’s eye twitched as Riley paused for a beat, letting the name sink in.

Christ. Tavi was supposed to stay hidden, stay out of sight, stay safe. Another damned kid who disobeyed him…

Riley leaned forward now, folding his hands. “Boy walked into a federal office in Cincinnati just three days ago, told us a very different story. Said you, Cross, were a hero. Said you were ordered to kill him after Vinnie offed his cousin, Jacari, another of Cleveland’s runners. But you didn’t. Tavi said you and Nina Serrano got him out. Made him disappear. Saved him.” Riley watched Darius very closely. “So. I’m wondering which story’s true, Mr. Cross? Are you at the center of a mafia war—or are you simply trying to cut ties and make things right?”

The words hung heavy. Joey’s breathing was ragged. Darius ground his teeth, but before he could answer—

Riley continued, sliding another folder forward. “Here’s what I do know. Leon Battaglia wasn’t just some mid-level player who vanished. He was the architect of a trade pipeline between Cleveland and the Carillo Syndicate in Florida. Not just drugs—cash, cars, girls, pills. All the good stuff. Charleston was the pit stop. The handoff city.”

Darius’s jaw tightened. That wasn’t news—but hearing it said out loud by a fed made his stomach turn.

Riley leaned in. “After Leon disappeared, we thought the pipeline went dark. But then…” He opened a fresh report. “Folly Beach, earlier this afternoon. That little surf shop you were camping out in. We had you under light surveillance, have since Tavion’s confession came in, but even we didn’t expect that kind of ambush. Multiple dead Carillo men. One dead civilian.” His voice sharpened. “So tell me, Cross—why the hell would Carillo soldiers come after you, if the pipeline was really dead?”

Darius exhaled slow, steady. “Because it isn’t dead. That attack proves it. Carillo and Cleveland are still doing business. Which means Leon’s disappearance wasn’t some coincidence. Somebody silenced him. Most likely Vinnie. Maybe both families, cleaning house to protect their partnership.” He hesitated, jaw tight, then added, “And that civilian… Skylie. She didn’t deserve it. She was just a kid working the counter, my friend Zeke’s weekend help. She was innocent.”

Joey flinched hard at the name, a tear spilling before he could stop it. “S-she was nice,” he whispered. “Smiled at us. D-didn’t… didn’t deserve any of this.”

For a second, the weight of it pressed between them—the reality that someone who had nothing to do with any of this was gone, because of them. Because danger followed wherever they went.

Darius clenched his fists under the table. Another ghost added to the pile.

Riley’s eyes flickered, but he didn’t comment. He just flipped the page to Leon’s photo—the old Italian man was in a pressed suit, the ghost of a familiar smirk on his lips.

“How well did you know Leon?”

“Leon Battaglia was the reason I joined Cleveland in the first place. He vouched for me. Pulled me in.” Darius’s voice dipped lower. “Later, he left. Came down here. Started the pipeline with Carillo. Left me back in Cleveland with Vinnie.” He looked Riley dead in the eye. “Over the years, I started to see it. How Vinnie ran things. How wrong it was. Leon was smarter. He saw where the winds were blowing. I had a feeling he was gonna flip. Work with you people.” Darius gave the folder a meaningful look. “Never knew for sure. But he told me once—he’d stashed a lockbox of evidence down here. Evidence that could bring both families down if it ever got into federal hands.”

Riley’s expression didn’t change, but the silence said enough. He knew.

Darius’s throat felt dry. “After Leon vanished a year ago, I started seriously thinking about walking away for good. I didn’t want the work anymore. Didn’t want the blood. Tavi wasn’t the first kid I saved. Just one of the last. And then…” His hand twitched toward Joey, steadying himself before he looked over at him. “Then there was Joey.”

Joey startled but lifted his chin. His voice shook, but he pushed through. “I was just r-running packages for my b-brother, Ronnie. H-he’s always been a l-little crooked but, I d-didn’t know he was working with the m-mob or drugs o-or anything like that. My b-brother just told me to d-drop a package at the Velvet Room and I… I saw Ethan Ch-Chambers dead. They k-killed him. Vinnie had ordered it. And D-Darius was supposed to kill me t-too. But he didn’t. He saved me.” He gripped the edge of the table harder, tears starting to slip down his face. “The guys we k-killed in Ohio—they were sent by Vinnie, too. To shut us up. We didn’t h-have a choice.” Joey’s voice cracked. “We never had a choice.”

Darius stared down at the table for a long moment after Joey finished speaking. His throat felt tight, rage and guilt coiled low in his gut like barbed wire. They never had a choice. Not from the moment Ethan died. Not since Joey looked at him with those wide, terrified eyes in Vinnie’s velvet-lit backroom, silently begging for Darius to save him.

He swallowed it down and added, voice flat, “We didn’t run to Charleston to hide. We came to find what Leon left behind. The evidence. We were gonna find it and hand it over. Buy ourselves a get-out-of-jail-free card. That was the plan.”

Riley cocked his head, curious. “And?”

Darius gave a humorless smile. “And it’s gone. We found the safe it was kept in, but the only thing inside was a goddamn bomb.” His expression darkened. “Which we’re guessing was courtesy of the Carillos. They found out what Leon had left behind. And that we were coming to get it. They knew it was worth destroying.”

Riley’s brows knit, but he didn’t comment right away. Instead, he flipped through a few pages in Leon’s file, landing on one near the back. “Your suspicions were correct. Leon was working with us,” he said finally. “Not officially—not yet—but we had him in contact with a liaison. He’d promised us a full data drop. Accounting ledgers, safehouses, routes, middlemen. We were days away from setting up a proper handoff. Then…” He tapped the page. “Gone. No word. We suspected mob intervention, but never had proof.”

He paused, then fixed Darius with a sharper look. “That anonymous tip? The one that triggered the manhunt? It mentioned you and Leon working together. That raised every red flag we had. Because if you really were his guy, and he really did vanish… Well.” He leaned back. “It’s starting to make sense.”

Beside him, Joey was fidgeting—shoulders hunched, chewing his bottom lip, clearly battling whether to speak.

Finally, he blurted, “I t-took something. From Leon’s. Just… I d-didn’t know it mattered, okay? I—I thought it was just a stupid plastic fish.”

Riley blinked. “A what?”

Joey reached into his damp shark shorts and pulled out a little garish pink-and-green plastic fish. “From Leon’s d-desk. I thought it was cute. But—” He popped the belly open with a soft click and held up a tiny USB drive. “I th-think it’s got s-something on it. Maybe something important.”

Darius’s head whipped toward him. “You took that? Joey—”

“I’m sorry!” Joey looked like he might cry again. “I w-wasn’t trying to— I just… I d-didn’t think it was anything! And then the house exploded, and I still h-had it, and I forgot about it until j-just now.”

Riley reached out, gesturing for the drive. Joey handed it over, sheepish. “It’s, uh… wet. I fell in the p-pool.”

Riley raised a brow, amused despite himself. “Of course you did.”

“I was p-pushed!” Joey added quickly, then wilted. “B-by the explosion.”

Riley chuckled under his breath. “We’ll see if we can pull anything from it. Sometimes wet drives are salvageable. If it’s Leon’s, and it holds even part of what he promised us—” He looked at them, suddenly serious again. “It’s a good start.”

Joey gave a wobbly smile, clearly stupid-proud of himself despite everything. Darius rolled his eyes and leaned over, planting a brief kiss to Joey’s damp forehead. “You menace.”

Joey blinked, surprised at the affection—and then grinned, a little dopey. “I-I’m your menace,” he whispered, voice rough from smoke and nerves but laced with quiet pride. Then, without thinking, he leaned into Darius’s side, pressing close, like he needed to feel anchored to something solid and safe.

Darius huffed a low breath, pretending not to melt.

Riley watched them quietly for a second. Then he said, “You should know—Leon’s evidence package was built around his testimony. Without him, without context, one flash drive won’t sink anybody. Right now, what we have is Tavion King’s confession, Ethan Chambers, your word, your boyfriend’s. But the Florida side of this deal?” He shook his head. “Still murky.”

He tapped the file once more. “My gut says there’s a dirty cop down here in Charleston. Somebody who’s been greasing the skids, making sure the pipeline runs smooth, making sure Leon’s disappearance stayed quiet. We haven’t nailed down who yet.”

That lit a spark in Darius’s mind. Ralph Vance. Vinnie’s fixer. Sharp. Careful. Self-serving. And still on Vinnie’s payroll.

Darius leaned forward. “I know someone.”

Riley tilted his head, intrigued. “Go on.”

“There’s a guy in know back in Cleveland,” Darius said slowly. “Ralph Vance. He’s Vinnie’s fixer. Knows both ends of the pipeline—Cleveland and Florida. He’s the one who warned me Vinnie was hunting me. Said Carmine was checking to see if Joey was really dead. That call was the only reason I got to him in time.”

“Ralph is loyal?” Riley asked.

Darius gave a dry snort. “To himself.”

“Useful,” Riley mused. “Can he be flipped?”

“With the right incentive—maybe. Immunity. A deal. He won’t go down with Vinnie if he doesn’t have to.”

Riley considered that. “And who’s this Nina Tavion King mentioned?”

Darius’s mouth tightened. “Mob lawyer. She’s the one who helped me get Tavi out. She’s scared of Vinnie, but she’s not loyal to him. Not anymore. I think I could convince her to talk. She knows where some of the bodies are buried.”

Riley nodded slowly, then stood. “Then here’s what’s gonna happen.”

Both Joey and Darius looked up.

“You work for me now,” Riley said. “Off the books. No badges. No press. You get me Ralph. You bring in Nina. And I’ll bury your names in every police database from here to Ohio.” He pointed at the USB. “Give me what Leon started—and finish the job for him—and you both walk away. Clean.”

Joey stared, wide-eyed. Darius narrowed his gaze. “And if we fail?”

“You don’t get the deal,” Riley said simply. “And I let the local PD have their way with you.” He paused. “But I don’t think you’ll fail.” He pulled a card from his pocket and slid it across the table. “My number. Direct line. Use it if you get into trouble.”

Darius reached instinctively for his hoodie pocket—only to frown. It was empty except for the lockpicking tools he’d stuffed in there hours ago. “Shit,” he muttered. “My phone—”

“You left it in Zeke’s car,” Joey said helpfully. “In the glovebox.”

Darius sighed in relief. “Right. Thanks.”

Riley was already heading for the door. “I’ll set you up with a hotel for a few days. Fake name, clean address. Don’t do anything stupid. And don’t raid the mini fridge—this isn’t the Hilton.” He paused at the top of the steps. “Also… your friend. The one who owns the shop. Zeke—uh…” He flipped open his notes. “Zeke Marlon. Cute name.”

Joey gave a watery laugh.

“He’s at Saint Berenice’s downtown,” Riley continued. “Took a hit, but he’s stable. Getting a transfusion now. You can visit. Just don’t be seen.”

Darius nodded once, solemn. “Thank you.”

Riley gave a nod in return. “I’ll text you the hotel name and the alias. Now get moving. Fire crews are all over Leon’s place, and I don’t want your faces in the background of the six o’clock news.” He gave them one last look before he ducked out.

Darius sat still for a beat. He looked at Joey, at the smeared soot on his face, the purpling bruise on his temple. Then, he rose stiffly, slipping the card into his pocket. Joey followed, still shaky on his bare feet, his hand finding Darius’s automatically.

Outside, the world glared bright and chaotic. Most of the cruisers were gone, but they’d been replaced by firetrucks and hazmat suits and the sharp hiss of water arcing onto the still-smoking shell of Leon’s mansion. The roof had collapsed, and smoke curled into the autumn sky. Flames still licked in the windows. But the danger—at least for now—had passed.

Zeke’s car waited just down the street where they’d left it.

Darius slid into the driver’s seat, the upholstery squeaking beneath his damp board shorts. He gripped the wheel hard, staring at the blackened silhouette of Leon’s house in the rearview.

“Christ,” he muttered.

Joey buckled in beside him, quiet, still pale.

Darius stared blankly at Leon’s old house for a long moment. Then he turned the key and the engine rumbled to life.

As they pulled away from the curb, the card in Darius’s pocket burned like a brand. He couldn’t quite believe it—how close they’d come to losing everything. How thin the thread really was.

They drove away slow, fading into the fog, two shadows slipping free from the edge of war.

***

Joey slumped back into the passenger seat like he’d just survived an airstrike, because, honestly? He kind of had.

His hair was still damp, his hands still smelled like chlorine and ash, and somewhere under the smoke and sweat, he was pretty sure he could still taste fear in the back of his throat. But the seatbelt clicked across his chest, the car doors were closed, and no one was screaming at him. No guns, no handcuffs. No more command unit full of buzzing monitors and sharp-eyed agents watching him like he might catch fire.

They were free. For now.

He exhaled long and slow, letting his head tip toward the window, watching the manicured Charleston mansions slide past like nothing had happened. Like a fucking house hadn’t just exploded behind them.

His heart thudded, sluggish and shaky. He was still riding the high of barely. Barely made it. Barely escaped. Barely believed it was real.

He blinked out the window at the smoldering ruins of Leon’s mansion, now crawling with fire trucks and yellow tape and federal tech vans. It looked like the end of a movie. Like the credits should’ve been rolling. But this wasn’t the end. Not even close.

Beside him, Darius looked like a war-torn statue—grim jaw, soaked hoodie, haunted eyes. His hands gripped the wheel like it might bolt from the dash if he let go.

Joey watched him for a moment, then said softly, “Hey. You good?”

“No,” Darius said flatly.

Joey nodded, lips twitching. “C-cool. Same.”

The silence held a second longer before Joey added, “Okay b-but, like, Cameron, though.”

Darius turned his head very slowly. “Joey.”

“I’m just s-saying!” Joey raised both hands, palms out. “For a fed? P-pretty hot. I liked the beard. And the voice. And the—”

Darius groaned. “He just threatened to put you in prison.”

“Yeah, and he d-did it with style,” Joey muttered. “Guy has p-presence. He could totally be the s-sexy, morally gray love interest in, like… a p-p-political thriller.”

“I swear to God.”

Joey smirked and looked out the window again. “I mean, if you ever d-dump me, I know who I’m calling.”

Darius gave him a look. Long. Suffering. But underneath it, Joey could see the corner of his mouth twitching again. A tiny crack in the armor.

Good.

Joey leaned his head against the window again. Outside, Charleston passed by in pastel splashes—peach and pink buildings with black iron balconies, rainbow shopfronts, proud American flags rippling in the salt breeze. Somewhere off to the right, waves crashed beyond a seawall. It was stupidly pretty. Like a painting. Like something out of a life he’d never been allowed to dream about before Darius.

It looked like a place where normal people lived. People who didn’t carry burner phones or fall into pools with important flash drives in their pockets. People who weren’t on the run from two different mafia families and half the state’s law enforcement….

Joey frowned, just a little.

They weren’t there yet, but they were close… so close to the end.

He could feel it in his chest like sunlight cracking through the clouds. He and Darius were gonna take down the mob. Turn in Ralph, flip Nina, blow this whole thing wide open. Then Cameron would clear their names, and they could finally walk away from this. No more hitmen. No more shadows. Just—peace.

He closed his eyes briefly, letting the sunlight hit his face. Warm. Quiet. Safe. Or close enough.

“We b-basically got away with it,” Joey said softly, eyes wide with wonder as he stared out the window. “Holy s-shit. We’re really gonna do it, huh? Just g-gotta go back to Ohio and boom. Done.”

Darius didn’t answer right away. The car slowed at a red light, tires humming on the pavement.

“Don’t get cocky,” he said eventually. “We’re not done yet.”

“I’m n-not cocky,” Joey muttered. “I’m hopeful. There’s a d-difference.” He cracked one eye open and glanced at Darius. “Come on. We’ve got a fed on our side. The p-police are backing off. We’ve got a flash drive with… p-probably money laundering and c-crime stuff. Zeke’s alive. You didn’t die. I didn’t die. That’s, like… five wins.”

Darius grunted. “One of those wins was you stealing a plastic fish.”

“Hey,” Joey said, hand to heart. “That s-stupid fish saved our lives. Cameron l-literally said it’s a good start. That means I contributed.”

Darius rolled his eyes, but didn’t argue. Which was kind of a win, too. Joey smiled and settled back into his seat.

Soon after, they pulled into the circular drive in front of a large white-brick building—Saint Berenice’s Medical Center, with a red awning, polished windows, and a sign that looked aggressively comforting. Joey blinked at it, then sat up a little straighter.

“Zeke’s hospital?”

Darius nodded, but he didn’t move to park.

Joey looked down at himself. Still barefoot. His shorts were damp and speckled with soot. He was ninety-percent sure he still had pool water in his ear. “W-we can’t go in like this,” he said, wrinkling his nose. “We’re barefoot and w-we smell like burnt house… We look like d-disaster victims.”

“Because we are disaster victims,” Darius muttered.

Joey crossed his arms. “I’m not letting Z-Zeke see me like this. We’ll text him later.”

“…shit.” Darius let his head thunk lightly against the headrest for a moment, then he dug Cameron’s business card out of his hoodie pocket. He turned and grabbed the burner phone from the glovebox and began typing a message.

Joey tilted his head. “Wh-who’re you texting?”

“Cam.”

Joey perked up immediately. “Ooh, t-texting the enemy. Someone’s got a-a crush.”

Darius didn’t dignify that with a response. He just thumbed out a message, reading it aloud as he typed:

“Low on cash. Any chance of help? Clothes, food, anything. Thanks again.”

Joey tilted his head. “Very p-polite for you.”

“I’m a gentleman when it counts,” Darius said dryly, setting the phone on the dash.

The reply came fast. Barely a minute passed before the phone buzzed. Darius grabbed it up, scanned it first, then read it back to Joey.

“There’s a prepaid Visa waiting at the hotel. Room’s under the name Jackson Wynn. You’re booked for three nights. Room 406. Police presence is nearby, so you’ll be safe there. Eat something. Rest. We’ll regroup day after tomorrow.”

Joey snorted. “Jackson Wynn? That sounds like a porn star.”

Darius rolled his eyes. “I’m not arguing with the man footing the bill.”

“I am. I’m a-also asking for snacks and pie.”

“You can ask all you want.”

Joey leaned back with a content little hum, imagining a big, warm bed and an enormous cheeseburger and maybe finally—finally—a chance to breathe.

He turned his face toward the window as they drove. Sunlight glinted on water beyond the rooftops. Seagulls spiraled lazily over the bay. Everything looked stupidly peaceful.

“I just c-can’t believe we’re really going b-back to Ohio,” he said quietly. “I mean, w-we have to if we’re gonna talk to R-Ralph and finish all this.”

Darius’s hands tightened on the wheel. “We’re not going back for a social visit, Joey. You get that, right? I know you want to see your family, but we’ve got one job: talk to Ralph. Flip him. Then maybe Nina. That’s it.”

Joey nodded, still looking out the window. “I know. Just… it’d be nice. To s-swing by Warren. Just for a minute. See my mom. The k-kids. The dogs. Let them know I’m okay.”

Darius didn’t answer right away. Then, dryly: “We’ll be lucky if we get out of this without another body count.”

Joey didn’t flinch. He just smiled faintly. “Still. Never say n-never.”

And Darius, for all his doom and realism, didn’t crush that hope. He didn’t say no.

Joey glanced out the window again, his chest tight in a way that had nothing to do with fear anymore.

“Focus, Joey,” Darius grunted after a moment. “Let’s just get to the hotel. Then we can figure everything else out.”

Joey glanced back at him, smiling crookedly. “You’re no fun.”

“I just watched a house explode,” Darius said dryly. “Forgive me if I’m not bouncing with excitement, like you are.”

Joey rolled his eyes and leaned over, resting his head briefly on Darius’s shoulder. Just for a second. Just long enough to feel that solid warmth. The heartbeat. The safety. “F-fine. Hotel first. Then food. Then saving the world.”

Darius didn’t answer, but his hand dropped from the wheel just long enough to squeeze Joey’s knee.

The moment passed, the city rolled by, and for a little while, it was okay not to worry.

The hotel was called The Larkspur Grand, and it looked like a place celebrities stayed when they didn’t want to be recognized. All black brick and glossy windows with palms out front and a stone dolphin fountain in the courtyard. There was a valet out front. A valet. Joey snorted.

“Nope,” Darius said before he could even ask. “We’re parking ourselves. I’m not handing our keys to some college intern in Sperrys.”

They parked around back, trudged barefoot across concrete, and stepped through the glass doors into air-conditioned heaven.

Joey immediately flinched at the contrast—tile floors, glass chandeliers, soft piano music playing overhead. A fancy woman behind the check-in desk looked up from her monitor and promptly wrinkled her nose like someone had farted in Chanel No. 5.

Joey peeked at his reflection in the mirrored wall. He looked like a drowned chimney sweep.

Darius stepped forward like he didn’t even notice the sniff. “Jackson Wynn,” he said coolly. “Should be a reservation.”

The woman hesitated… then her whole demeanor shifted. Her spine straightened. Her voice sweetened. “Ah! Of course. Mr. Wynn, yes. I have you in Room 406. Three nights. One king bed. And…” She opened a drawer and handed over a crisp white envelope. “A prepaid Visa was left for you by… Mr. Riley?”

Darius took it with a small nod. “Perfect.”

Joey bounced a little beside him. “Is it l-loaded? Like, really loaded? Like, ‘treat yo’self’ levels of loaded?”

Darius cracked a smile. “We’ll find out.”

But first—gift shop.

They doubled back across the sleek marble lobby, toward a cute little boutique near the elevators. It was stocked like a beachy airport kiosk—bright towels, t-shirts with dolphins on them, floppy hats, mini sunscreen bottles, and racks of overpriced flip-flops.

“Whoa,” Joey whispered, veering toward the open doorway lined with beach towels. “Look! They have s-stupid shirts.”

He darted inside, the AC instantly chilling his damp skin as he gravitated toward a rack of neon tees. There was one with a turtle doing a thumbs up. Another with a seagull wearing sunglasses and flipping the bird. He stopped at a hot pink one with sparkles.

“Shell… y-yeah?” Joey squinted. “D, what’s this one say?”

Darius came up behind him, eyebrows raised. “Seriously?”

Joey puffed his cheeks. “I c-can’t read that stupid font! Is it even English?”

“It says Shell Yeah, you menace.”

Joey gasped. “W-we have to get matching ones. We have to.”

“No, we really don’t.”

Joey spun around, holding both shirts to his chest. “Y-you think I won’t wear this out of spite?”

Darius gave him a long, tired look—but his mouth twitched. “You would wear it with pride.”

Joey grinned. “D-damn right.”

Darius didn’t reach for one. Not yet. But his eyes flicked downward, dragging slowly over Joey’s chest, where the shirt was pressed tight. Then lower.

Joey blinked, suddenly aware of the air shifting between them—warm and tense and strange. Darius was still looking. And not like he had been. Not annoyed or exasperated.

But hungry. Aroused.

Joey flushed, heat sparking in his cheeks, then he quickly turned away. “G-gonna look over there,” he mumbled, drifting toward a spinning rack of cheap jewelry.

He tried to focus on the display. Little shell necklaces on thin leather cords, sparkly hair clips, some starfish keychains. His fingers paused over one necklace—green, pearly, and smooth, almost like sea glass. He turned it over slowly, mesmerized by the way the light caught the swirl of color. It was beautiful.

“Nice,” he murmured, almost to himself. “C-could probably slip this in my pocket easy.”

He was just about to try when a hand closed gently over his wrist.

“Or I could buy it for you,” Darius said, voice low and close behind him.

Joey jumped. “I wasn’t—!”

“Relax.” Darius plucked the necklace from his hand, then looked at it thoughtfully. “Matches your eyes.”

Joey’s throat clicked. He stared at Darius, brain suddenly empty, cheeks going hot again.

Darius didn’t tease. He just turned and added it to the growing pile of things on the checkout counter. A moment later, while Joey was pretending to be very Interested in a bucket of plush manatees, Darius slipped down the convenience aisle and smoothly snagged a bottle of lube from the bottom shelf, then tucked it into the folds of one of the matching t-shirts without missing a beat.

Joey came bouncing back with a bag of gummy worms and a dolphin keychain. “T-this okay?”

“I’m not letting you steal from a four-star hotel.”

“I-it’s like a victimless crime.”

“You’re a victimless crime,” Darius muttered, and handed over the Visa card.

Joey clutched his glittery shirt and new sandals like a prize. The necklace too. It was real, now. All of it. Real clothes, real hotel, a real credit card with money on it. He couldn’t remember the last time anything felt this easy.

The total rang up higher than Joey expected, but Darius didn’t flinch. Just signed with a flourish and slid the card back in his wallet like a man with taste and resources.

Joey leaned close as they grabbed their bags. “Cameron d-definitely has a crush on you.”

Darius didn’t answer. But he smirked.

They made their way toward the elevators, Joey clutching the bag with their purchases. He glanced longingly toward the bar-restaurant just off the lobby. It had neon signs and pool tables and smelled like fried food and rum.

He almost stopped walking.

“Can we—?”

“Upstairs first,” Darius said firmly. “Shower. Clothes. Then we’ll come back down.”

Joey pouted dramatically. “But I’m st-starving.”

“And we’re still barefoot.”

“…Fair.”

The elevator dinged. Joey pressed the button for the fourth floor with the flourish of someone stepping into a new life. Beside him, Darius looked like he was finally—finally—starting to relax.

He stood close. Warm. Solid. And Joey could feel something unspoken starting to bloom in the air between them.

Something sweet.

Something slow and inevitable.

The fourth floor hallway was hushed and carpeted in a fancy blue pattern that made Joey feel like he was walking through a cruise ship. He kept bouncing in his new sandals, plastic bag swinging from his hand, until Darius swiped the key card and opened their room.

Joey stepped in—and froze.

“Holy shit…”

The room was huge.

There was a giant bed with a navy blue comforter and four fluffy white pillows stacked like clouds. A little living room area with a velvet couch and chair sat in front of a flat-screen TV the size of a billboard. Light spilled in through a tall window near the corner—and there it was. The water. Gray-blue and glinting in the distance, the coast curving like a promise under the sky. You couldn’t hear the beach, but you could see it, and Joey’s stomach did a little somersault.

“This is… th-this is ours?” he asked breathlessly.

Darius gave a noncommittal grunt as he tossed the key on the side table and kicked off his shoes. Joey didn’t even know where to look first. The fridge had one of those little “Do Not Touch” signs with mini bottles behind glass like museum artifacts. The bathroom was huge—two sinks, fluffy towels, and a shower with a bench inside. A bench. Like the shower was meant for sex or something.

He was about to say so—maybe make a joke—when suddenly, the bag was snatched from his hand.

“Hey!”

Darius dropped it on the floor and pulled him in hard by the waist, silencing the protest with a kiss. It hit Joey like a wave—hot and fast and dizzy. Darius kissed like he needed it. Like he'd been holding it back all day. One hand cupped Joey’s jaw, the other wrapped around his lower back, anchoring him, tilting him upward as he deepened the kiss.

Joey whimpered into it, knees going weak.

“I thought I was gonna lose you today,” Darius muttered against his mouth, voice low and rough. “I was—fuck. I was scared.”

Joey blinked up at him, breathless. “I-I’m okay.”

“I know.” Darius kissed him again. Softer now. “But Jesus, Joey… since I met you, I’ve been in more bad shit than I have in my entire life. And we keep making it out. I don’t get it.”

Joey giggled, heart hammering. “M-maybe I’m your weird good luck charm.”

“Yeah?” Darius laughed, forehead resting against his. “God help me.”

Joey wrapped his arms around Darius’s neck. He didn’t care if he was still damp or sandy. “You love it.”

“I love you.”

Joey froze—just a second. That word still hit like a fist to the gut. But Darius kissed him again, slow and reverent now, and all Joey could do was kiss him back. His whole body lit up. He moaned without meaning to, pressing into him, hot and hard and aching—

Grrrrrrrgle.

His stomach made a sound like a dying animal.

He groaned. “Ughh… D! You promised food.”

Darius froze, then laughed into his neck. “You little shit.”

Joey whined dramatically. “I’m hungry. You c-can’t make out with me while I’m wasting away. It’s abuse.”

Darius kissed his temple, sighing. “Alright, alright. Let’s get cleaned up first.”

“I-I’ll shower,” Joey said, pulling back.

“Yeah? Want company?”

Joey's eyes went wide. “No! I m-mean… no. I just…” He looked away, flustered. “If y-you come in, I might not be able to resist. And if I don’t eat something soon, I might, like… pass out in your arms or something.”

Darius raised a brow. “Romantic.”

“Tragic.” Joey smirked. “Let me shower. Alone. Please.”

Darius held up his hands. “Alright, Romeo. Here.”

He pulled out Joey’s new clothes from the bag—the sparkly hot pink Shell Yeah shirt, and a pair of bright blue board shorts.

Joey grinned and took them. “Perfect.”

He kissed Darius quick—one more hit of warmth—then kicked off his sandals and padded barefoot into the bathroom, clothes tucked to his chest, ready to wash off the day.

Joey took the quickest shower of his life. The water was hot, the towels were fluffy, and there was something weirdly satisfying about using the hotel’s tiny lemon-scented shampoo. He toweled off, pulled on the ridiculous blue board shorts and sparkly Shell Yeah shirt, then stood at the sink combing his damp locks into some kind of order. The comb made a faint squeak every time it hit a tangle.

He grinned at his reflection. Still looked like a drowned puppy. But cuter now. Maybe.

When he came out of the bathroom, he expected to find Darius messing with his phone or sprawled on the bed. Instead, Darius was waiting right by the door. He gave Joey a look—hungry, tender—and kissed him again, slow and lingering. Then he muttered something about not taking long, grabbed his own clothes, and slipped into the bathroom.

Joey flopped on the fancy velvet couch, still grinning, rubbing the soft cushion like it might purr. He bounced his knees. The room was so nice. The view was even better. His legs felt weirdly light and buzzy. Not scared-buzzy, but happy-buzzy. Safe.

Several long minutes later, the bathroom door opened and he glanced over—then gasped.

Darius stepped out wearing his new sandals, still slightly damp, wearing the exact same sparkly Shell Yeah shirt and a pair of black swim trunks.

Joey’s mouth dropped open. Then he laughed. Loud and delighted and a little bit wheezy.

Darius scowled at him. “Don’t.”

Joey couldn’t stop laughing. “You—you m-match me!”

Darius pointed dramatically. “You picked it out!”

“Yeah, but y-you put it on!” Joey cackled, doubled over now.

Darius glared for another second before his face cracked and he broke into laughter too. They both stood there, wheezing with laughter, looking ridiculous and glittery, and it was perfect.

Downstairs, the hotel bar was attached to a casual restaurant, open-air, half-lit with neon. It had beachy music, clinking glasses, and nautical décor all over the walls. Darius led them to one of those tall, circular bar tables and Joey had to practically climb into his seat.

He stared blankly at the laminated menu until Darius scooted closer and whispered, “Want me to help?”

Joey flushed. “Y-yeah. Please.”

Darius pointed to the words, sounding them out in a low voice—“bacon cheddar,” “honey garlic,” “sweet potato fries.” Joey repeated the ones he liked, tried to trace them with his finger. They made a little game of it, and when Joey got one right, Darius squeezed his thigh under the table.

In the end, Joey ordered a burger, hot wings, and regular fries. Darius ordered something blackened and fishy—but more importantly, he ordered drinks.

When the first one came, Joey’s eyes popped.

It was bright pink-orange with a curly straw and a giant pineapple slice on the rim. A cherry balanced precariously on top like it was auditioning for the circus.

Joey stared at it, beaming. “This is for m-me?”

Darius smirked. “You earned it.”

They clinked glasses and dug in.

The food was incredible. Joey’s burger was juicy and messy, and the hot wings had just enough kick to make him sniffle. The drinks were sweet and sneaky—he had two before he realized how warm and silly he felt. He laughed at everything. He couldn’t stop playing with the pineapple wedge. Darius kept leaning in close, whispering jokes in his ear, and Joey swore he could feel every word tingling down his spine.

By the time they were full, Joey had a pink glow in his cheeks and his shirt had two wing sauce smudges near the glitter shell.

Darius flagged down the bartender for another round. “Alright,” he said, handing Joey a fresh drink, “now you gotta work it off.”

Joey blinked, swaying. “W-work what off?”

“Dinner. Drinks. The cocky attitude.”

“I do not h-have a cocky—”

“We’re playing pool.”

Joey groaned, dramatic. “D, I don’t know how to p-play pool.”

“Then I’ll teach you.”

Darius dragged Joey to the pool table in the back corner. It was quieter there, the overhead lights humming softly. Joey took another sip of his drink and leaned against the table.

“You’re trying to get me drunk,” he accused, slurring a little.

Darius grinned. “I am.”

Joey pouted. “That’s rude.”

“I have my reasons,” Darius murmured, coming close. His hand brushed Joey’s waist. “If I’m gonna fuck you later, you should be nice and relaxed.”

Joey burned. Every cell in his body buzzed. He ducked his head, hid behind his hair, then peeked up shyly. “Mmm… okay,” he said, voice wobbly. “I can d-do that.”

Darius smirked at him. “Good.”

They played a wobbly round of pool. Darius showed him how to hold the stick, how to aim, how to line up a shot, but Joey was terrible. Every time he leaned over, Darius stood behind him, hands on his hips, correcting his form—but really just groping him.

Joey was a mess by the end of it. Sweaty, turned on, giggling like an idiot.

Then, Darius boldly kissed his neck while Joey bent over the table.

“W-we should go,” Joey stammered, his cock twitching with excitement.

“Yeah,” Darius agreed. “Before I fuck you right here.”

Joey’s knees wobbled as Darius helped him stand upright again. He gently took the pool stick and set it aside for someone else to deal with, then he pulled Joey by the wrist toward the exit.

They burst out of the bar laughing, clutching each other like drunk college kids on spring break, both glittering under the lights in their matching Shell Yeah shirts. Joey couldn’t stop smiling.

They giggled all the way to the elevator.

Joey’s cheeks hurt from smiling. Darius had an arm slung around his shoulder, and they swayed into each other, glittery shirts brushing, hands roaming just enough to make Joey’s heart race. The elevator dinged, and Darius pulled him inside, pressing him gently against the wall the second the doors closed.

They kissed—slow and sloppy, laughing between it, like they couldn’t get enough of each other. Joey’s hand clutched the front of Darius’s shirt, his other hand creeping up to touch his neck, his cheek. Darius made a low sound and leaned into it, like even this clumsy affection meant something.

When the doors opened on the fourth floor, Joey almost tripped getting out, breathless and light-headed. Darius caught him with a warm chuckle and guided him down the hallway.

The keycard barely clicked before Darius shoved the door open, yanked Joey into the room, then hurled him onto the big king bed like he weighed nothing.

Joey landed with a bounce and a squeak. “What was that for?”

“Clothes,” Darius said, voice low and sharp. “Off. Now.”

Joey grinned, a flush creeping up his face as he wiggled out of his glittery Shell Yeah shirt, tossing it to the floor. He worked on the board shorts next, pushing them down clumsily, heart hammering as Darius watched from the foot of the bed, dark eyes dragging over his skin.

Joey was naked now, bare and buzzing. His cock was hard and the sheets were warm against his back. “Y-you too,” he breathed.

Darius didn’t argue. He peeled off his shirt slow, tossing it aside, then unbuttoned his trunks and let them drop. For a second, Joey forgot how to breathe. Darius was fucking beautiful.

But instead of crawling on top of him like Joey expected, Darius veered left—heading for the crumpled gift shop bag on the chair by the window.

Joey blinked. “Uh… what’re you—”

Darius didn’t answer. He rustled through the paper, pulled something small out—and when he turned back around, Joey saw a little bottle of lube in his hand.

Joey’s eyes widened. “Oh.”

Darius grinned. “Oh, yeah.”

Joey spread his legs apart with a little whine as Darius climbed on the bed. He was nervous, but they’d practiced this a few times already with fingers. He just had to focus on relaxing…like Darius had mentioned earlier down at the bar. He took a deep shuddering breath as Darius crawled between his legs and uncapped the lube with a flick of his thumb, his dark eyes watching Joey with a warm sort of amusement.

“Don’t worry, baby, you’re going to like this,” he murmured, then poured some lube in his hand and set the bottle aside. He grabbed his big, straining erection and greased the shaft with long, purposeful strokes.

Joey’s breath hitched as he watched Darius handle himself. His own dick started to pulse with need, but he resisted the urge to touch himself. Not yet. If Darius was going to be inside him soon, then…Joey wanted to come on his cock.

So, instead of touching himself, Joey urged him to hurry, bucking his hips up into Darius’s and pulling him closer with a desperate little moan. Darius chuckled darkly in response and released his dick so it bobbed between them. He leaned closer and caught Joey’s lips again, pressing him down against the mattress as he kissed him deep and sloppy.

Joey wrapped his arms around Darius, his body arching up into the older man’s as he melted into the kiss. When Darius’s slick fingers pressed between his cheeks and began circling his asshole, he gasped and latched onto him even tighter.

“Put your legs around me,” Darius said gruffly, nipping Joey’s bottom lip for effect.

Joey obediently wound his legs around Darius’s hips, opening himself just a little wider so Darius could push two of his slick fingers inside him. He moaned wantonly as Darius fucked him a few times with his hand, arching his neck as he licked and sucked at the sensitive skin on his throat.

And when Darius touched Joey’s prostate, Joey yelped and slammed his ass back for more. For something harder, something deeper. It didn’t hurt. It wasn’t uncomfortable this time. Joey just wanted to get fucked.

“Darius…I want your c-cock,” Joey whined, shifting his hips so his dick pressed against Darius’s slick shaft, still hanging between them with a pulsing anticipation. “P-please…”

Darius grunted and without further ado, he withdrew his fingers. He grabbed onto his cock, angled it downward, and Joey gasped when he felt it rub against his entrance.

“Just…try to relax,” Darius told him, his voice deep and syrupy. “You’ll be fine.”

Joey tightened his arms around Darius’s neck, his eyes slamming closed as he began to push inside him. He took another, deep, stabilizing breath and focused everything he had on opening himself for him. He wanted Darius inside him. He wanted this more than anything and he was willing to prove it with his body.

With slow, shallow thrusts, Darius pushed halfway inside Joey then paused, pulling back and cupping his face with one large hand. “You okay?”

“Y-yeah,” Joey breathed, smiling up at him. His asshole was stretched tight around Darius, but he kinda liked the sensation. He felt…full in a way he never had before. He locked his ankles in the small of Darius’s back and pulled him in another inch and his eyes rolled back in his head. “Oh, god yeah.”

Darius smirked a little and pulled back so he could grab onto Joey’s hips. He started working his cock into Joey, pulling out a little, then sinking a bit deeper with each thrust. Soon, his fat, greasy shaft was fully buried in Joey’s clenching asshole and both of them moaned when his balls brushed Joey’s soft, rounded buttcheeks. Then, Darius slammed home one more time just to prove he’d truly bottomed out. Joey gasped. Darius chuckled.

“See, I knew you could do it,” he purred, reaching down to grab a handful of Joey’s ass. “No longer a virgin. How’s it feel?”

“F-feels good,” Joey moaned, pushing back into Darius’s groin as sparks of dull pleasure made his dick twitch between them. And it did, it felt amazing. Darius’s cock was so big and Joey’s entire body was trembling, on the verge of breaking into a million pieces just from the intensity of it.

“Mmm, I knew you’d like it,” Darius murmured, kissing Joey’s temple affectionately. Then he sat back on his knees again and gripped Joey around the waist. He started to move and Joey quickly dissolved into pleasure.

They fucked for what felt like forever, both of them lost in the moment. Outside, the waves danced along the shore below, shimmering in the late afternoon sunlight. It was magic and Joey never wanted it to end. He’d never felt so connected to anybody before in his life. Never felt so loved and cared for and safe. He just held onto Darius as he was repeatedly filled, fucked, and penetrated. He buried his face against Darius’s strong chest, listening to his rapid heartbeat, his labored breath. He wanted to climb inside him and never come out. He just…loved him, loved him, loved him more than anything else in the entire world and all he wanted was to be closer.

When Joey came, it was a total shock. Whimpering, he clung to Darius in a death grip as he shook through the most powerful orgasm he’d ever had in his life. And Darius continued to fuck Joey steadily through the whole thing, prolonging his pleasure as his thick, pulsing shaft slid relentlessly against Joey’s swollen prostate.

“That’s good, baby. That’s perfect…” Darius whispered against Joey’s ear, then he pressed a wet kiss to the hollow just behind it and sped up his movements, thrusting deep into Joey, his balls slapping into Joey’s ass with repeated frequency.

Joey held onto him even as his cock wilted and his eyelids fluttered with exhaustion. His fingers played along Darius’s tight curls as Darius finished fucking him with short, but powerful thrusts before finally coming with growl.

Afterwards, Joey felt boneless. His limbs draped across the sheets like they didn’t belong to him, slick with sweat and tingling from the inside out. Darius hadn’t moved yet, his strong arms bracketing either side of Joey’s body like a cage—but a safe one. A warm, solid, perfect one.

Their skin stuck where they touched. Their breaths were still heavy. And Joey couldn’t stop the small, contented hum that escaped his throat as he snuggled closer.

Darius eased out of him gently, with a kiss to the side of his cheek. “Sorry, baby,” he murmured. “Lemme grab a towel…”

Joey didn’t answer. He just nodded sleepily, his face buried against the cooling sheets, hips sluggish with afterglow.

Darius returned a moment later and cleaned them up with quick, efficient care—never rough, never rushing. Joey sighed again, and when Darius finally slid into bed beside him, Joey rolled over instinctively and flopped right on top of him.

Darius grunted softly. “God, you’re heavy.”

“Mmh,” Joey mumbled, barely coherent. “Don’t care.”

He stretched like a cat, then melted into the warmth of Darius’s chest, his ear pressed right above his heartbeat. He could hear it still thudding, strong and steady, and it made something in Joey go all gooey and dumb inside. He liked being here. He belonged here.

The room was quiet. Only the distant hum of the air conditioner and the muffled crash of ocean waves far below broke the silence. Sunlight spilled through the windows, golden and soft, casting faint shadows across the ceiling.

Darius wrapped an arm around him and glanced toward the window.

“It’s not that late,” he said, voice quieter now. “Sun’s got a couple hours left in it.”

Joey didn’t respond. He was halfway to sleep.

“But we’ll go see Zeke in the morning,” Darius added.

Joey shifted slightly and murmured, “Mmkay.” Then, a few seconds later, he added grumpily, “Shhh. Sleep now.”

Darius chuckled. “Brat.”

Joey smiled against his skin.

Darius kissed his temple and tugged the blankets over both of them. “You earned your nap, baby. I got you.”

Joey drifted off just like that—safe, warm, and hopelessly in love.