The bell above the door jingled as Joey followed Josh into Wally’s.

The ride over had been mostly quiet—Joey bouncing his knee the entire time, hands clammy, burner phone hot in his pocket like a ticking time bomb.

Now they were inside. The overhead lights were too bright, buzzing faintly, and the air conditioning blasted cold across Joey’s clammy skin.

Josh beelined for the snack aisle, muttering something about beef jerky. Joey lingered by the drink cooler, pretending to browse energy shots while his heart jackhammered in his chest.

D was coming.

He said he was coming. And Joey was here—standing in the middle of a damn convenience store in Warren, Ohio—like an idiot.

"Jesus, I’m starving,” Josh muttered, his voice drifting from the other aisle as he grabbed a bag of spicy chips. “You want anything? Wait—can you even afford it after you give me my cut?”

Joey blinked at him, distracted. “Y-yeah. I—I got it…”

Josh snorted, grabbing a king-sized candy bar and a cold Monster from the cooler. “Bro, I swear to God, you’re lucky your single… If Mindy doesn’t stop bitching about her back, I’m gonna lose it. I get it—you’re pregnant. But that doesn’t mean you get to be a total bitch 24/7.”

Joey didn’t know what to say. He muttered, “Yeah…r-right,” and picked at the hem of his hoodie, pulse pounding so loud in his ears he barely heard Josh keep talking.

“And she won’t even touch me lately, man. Like—it’s been weeks.” Josh turned, walking backwards down the aisle, arms full of snacks, eyes dramatic. “Weeks, Joey. You know what that does to a man?”

Joey flushed. “I-I dunno, I—I g-guess it sucks.”

Josh barked a laugh. “Yeah, it sucks. I’m about ready to cheat. Not even gonna lie.”

“D-don’t do that.”

Josh rolled his eyes. “Whatever, Boy Scout.”

Joey wanted to crawl into the freezer and shut the lid. Everything felt off. His skin prickled. The store smelled like nacho cheese and air freshener and something…else. Like dread.

Eventually, they made it to the register. Brittany was behind the counter, leaned on one elbow, scrolling her phone. When she looked up and saw Joey, she grinned. “Well, well, look who finally crawled outta his hole.”

Joey froze. He tugged at his sleeves, cheeks going hot. “Hiii…”

“Oh my god, are you blushing?” she laughed, genuinely delighted. “That’s adorable.”

Josh hooted, tossing his snacks on the counter. “Britt, don’t flirt with him, he’ll combust.”

“I’m just saying hey!” she shot back. “You don’t have to turn pink about it.”

Joey gave a helpless little shrug, trying not to fall over from embarrassment. He dug into his hoodie pocket, pulling out the crumpled bills. “H-here,” he said, holding out the hundred for Josh. It left him with just a single twenty tucked next to his burner phone. Smoke and drinks money. The rest—the important money—was still back in the dresser drawer at home.

“Damn right,” Josh said, snatching the bill. “Finally.”

Brittany rang up their total and Josh threw down the cash, grabbing a scratch-off ticket and a pack of Marlboros like it was Christmas morning. “Let’s gooooo,” he said, scratching the silver foil with his thumbnail while Brittany bagged the rest.

Joey was about to say something—anything—to get him to hurry, but then—

The burner phone vibrated.

Joey’s heart slammed as he yanked it out of his pocket. Unknown number. Again. Without thinking, he answered.

“H-h-hey.”

“Where the fuck are you?” D’s voice thundered through the line, low and furious. “I’m in town.”

Joey froze. “I—I’m at W-Wally’s,” he whispered.

Behind him, Josh suddenly screamed: “Yo! I fucking won!” He held up the scratch-off like it was made of gold. “Four hundred dollars! Brit, count it—Four. Hundred!”

Joey flinched at the noise, the chaos, the flashing lights behind the register, then he heard D’s breath on the phone—sharp and fast: “I’ll be there in two minutes. Stay put.”

Click.

Joey stared at the phone, his throat closing, making it hard to breathe. His hand trembling, he turned, grabbing Josh by the sleeve.

“W-we need to go. N-now.”

“What?” Josh looked down at him, distracted. “Dude, I just won four hundred dollars!”

“We gotta go,” Joey hissed, tugging him harder.

“You serious?” Brittany leaned in to look, eyebrows raising. “Damn, lucky bastard. But hey—both you clowns still owe me money. I’ve fronted for both your sorry asses.”

“I’ll get you next week!” Josh grinned, pocketing the ticket. “Ask Joey if it’s that important. He’s loaded. Heard he paid for ma’s gas bill yesterday.”

But Joey wasn’t listening. His eyes were fixed on the glass door.

A figure was approaching. Tall. Broad. Moving like a thundercloud in denim and rage.

Brittany looked up. “Holy shit, is that blood on that guy’s shirt?”

Joey stood frozen as the bell above the door jingled and D walked in like a weapon drawn.

Eyes blazing. Black t-shirt clinging to his broad chest, blood crusted along one side like war paint. He looked like a man who had done something unspeakable. Who would do it again without a second thought. He didn’t hesitate, didn’t scan the room—he knew who he was here for.

And Joey knew it too. For a second, his lungs forgot how to work.

“Joey,” D said, low and sharp—less a greeting and more a warning.

The entire store went dead silent.

Brittany stopped mid-sentence. Josh’s grin died on his face.

Joey’s feet felt glued to the tile.

D stalked across the room and grabbed him by the arm, his grip firm, rough, possessive. “Let’s go.”

Joey yanked away, panicking. “N-no! I’m—I’m going to Cleveland. With my brother. I—I told you—”

D’s eyes narrowed. His voice dropped even lower, lethal. “I just killed the guy Vinnie sent to kill you.”

Joey’s mouth opened—but nothing came out. His stomach flipped.

“This is real,” D snapped, pulling him closer. “And we’re leaving. Now.” He grabbed Joey’s arm again, tighter this time.

Joey didn’t resist—couldn’t. His feet moved, stumbling forward with D, completely overwhelmed, heart racing like a cornered rabbit—

“Hey!” Josh barked, stepping forward. “The fuck is this?!”

Joey froze again.

Josh was stalking toward them, confusion morphing into protective big-brother fury. “Who the hell are you, man? Joey, what the fuck’s going on?!”

D didn’t even flinch. He turned slightly, eyeing Josh like he was a smudge on his windshield. “This your brother?”

“Y-yeah…” Joey mumbled. “J-Josh.”

Josh sneered. “What, you some kinda boyfriend or some shit? You think you can just roll in here, grab him, and—”

D didn’t answer. He just punched him. Fast. Brutal. A clean right hook straight to the jaw.

Josh went stumbling back into the chip rack with a crash. Bags exploded, the metal shelf clanged to the floor, Brittany screamed.

“Jesus Christ!” she yelled, backing away from the counter.

Joey gasped, but D was already dragging him out the door.

“Let’s go.”

“D! Wh-what—?”

But D wasn’t listening. He threw the door open and dragged Joey across the parking lot like a man possessed. Joey staggered beside him, barely keeping up, heart hammering so hard he felt sick.

“Wait! Wait!” Joey cried, digging his heels in. “I—I was s-supposed to make a d-delivery! For Ronnie! We—we were gonna drop it off o-o-on the way to get m-my car—”

He fumbled in his pocket and pulled out the sealed envelope, holding it up like proof.

D took one look at it. Then he slapped it out of Joey’s hand so the envelope hit the pavement. “No more deliveries,” he snapped.

Joey stared at it—crumpled, stained with dirt and gravel—and something in his chest cracked.

Before he could say another word, D opened the passenger side door and shoved him in.

Joey landed hard on the seat, breath knocked out of him.

D slammed the door, rounded the car, and got in behind the wheel. His hands were shaking, smeared with blood. His jaw was locked like he might explode if one more thing went wrong.

The engine roared to life.

And they peeled out of the Wally’s parking lot, tires squealing, heading south—away from Cleveland, away from Joey’s car, away from everything.

Joey sat huddled in the seat, chest heaving, arms wrapped around himself, the burner phone still clutched tight in his fingers.

He didn’t know where they were going. He just knew… this was it.

There was no going back now.

Two hours passed, maybe three. Long miles blurred by and the hum of the highway was loud in the silence between them. The sun hung low now, casting orange streaks across the windshield, but all Joey could see was D’s hands.

One of them gripped the wheel. The other—still streaked faintly with dried blood—rested on D’s thigh.

Joey kept stealing glances. At the blood. At the veins in D’s forearms. At the sharp line of his jaw clenched tight as steel. Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore. His voice came out shaky. “Did y-you… really k-kill someone?”

D didn’t look over. “Yeah.”

Just like that.

Joey swallowed.

D’s voice was low. Controlled. But there was something ragged under it. “Milo. He was young. Dumb. Thought he was untouchable.” He paused. “He wasn’t a bad kid.”

Joey’s stomach twisted. “B-because of me?”

D didn’t answer right away. His knuckles flexed on the wheel.

“If you hadn’t come back,” he muttered, “I wouldn’t’ve had to.”

It hit like a slap.

Joey shrank back in his seat. “I—” He blinked, breath catching. “I had to c-come back. I—I d-don’t know anything else. I—I can’t—” He bit down hard, voice cracking. “I c-can’t make it out there on my own.”

“I know, Joey.” D finally turned, just a glance—but it cut deep. “I know you can’t. That’s the damn problem.”

Joey’s chest collapsed inward, hot and hollow. He twisted to the window, eyes prickling. He didn’t want to cry in front of him.

But then—D sighed. Long and tired. His hand let go of the wheel for a moment and dragged down his face. He looked wrecked. Not angry anymore—just heavy.

“I shouldn’t’ve left you,” he said. “I knew you’d come back. You’re not stupid. You’re just… desperate.”

Joey’s lip trembled.

“I should’ve known better,” D added. “I should’ve stayed.”

Then—before Joey could speak—D reached over.

Big hand. Warm fingers. Callused thumb brushing gently beneath Joey’s eye brushing away a tear he hadn’t even known had fallen.

Joey froze. His whole body tensed as D’s palm cupped his cheek, thumb lingering just below the corner of his mouth. He couldn’t breathe.

And then D asked, rough and low: “You know what I can’t stop thinking about?”

Joey’s lips parted. D’s thumb brushed the lower one and he trembled. “W-w-what?”

“You. At that motel. That first night.” D thumb stroked him gently, dragging heat behind it. “You were shivering like a baby deer. Scared to look at me. Scared to even breathe too loud.”

Joey let out a shaky breath. “I—I—I w-was—”

“I liked it.” D’s tone darkened. “Still do.”

Joey’s thighs pressed together. His jeans were suddenly tight. Too tight.

“I don’t just want to save you, kid. I want to keep you. Feed you. Wash your hair. Watch you squirm when I talk like this.” His voice dipped into a growl. “I want you to be mine. I want to teach you everything you never got to learn.”

Joey’s heart thudded in his throat. “Y-you d-don’t h-have to—”

“But I want to,” D said, voice a growl. “That’s the best part.” His eyes dropped briefly to Joey’s lap, to the very noticeable bulge between his thighs, then back up—dark and knowing. “And I know, Joey. I know you’ve never been with anyone before.”

Joey froze. Mouth falling open in horror.

“I can tell,” D added, smirking. “You blush like it’s your first time just having someone look at you like this.”

“I—I—I—” Joey stammered, face boiling. “I gotta—I g-gotta pee—”

D laughed. It was deep. Teasing. Cruel. “Oh, baby,” he said, dragging his hand away, slow and smug. “Is that what we’re calling it now?”

Joey practically shrieked. “I-I mean it! I—really! I c-can’t hold it!”

D grinned, wicked. “Alright, alright. I’ll pull off. Relax.”

Joey turned to the window and buried his face in his hoodie, willing himself to disappear.

He was hard. His cock was throbbing, and he was mortified. And D knew exactly what he was doing.

Five minutes later, they pulled into some nowhere town—just a blip on the map 20 miles south of Columbus—where the roads were faded and the buildings hadn’t been painted since the ‘90s. A low diner crouched next to a squat little motel. The neon sign buzzed half-dead.

D pulled in the lot and parked. “I gotta clean up,” he muttered, glancing down at the blood dried on his shirt. “We’ll get a room. Eat. Figure out what the hell we’re doing next.”

Joey nodded quickly, still warm-faced and jittery.

D opened his wallet. “Shit.”

Joey looked over.

“I’ve only got cards,” D said. “And you?”

Joey pulled out the crumpled twenty from his pocket. “Th-this is it.”

D grunted. “Great.”

He looked up at the motel office, then shrugged off his bloody shirt and grabbed his coat from the backseat, slipping it on.

“Alright. We need food, and I need a goddamn shower.” His eyes flicked toward Joey, hot and unreadable. “Stay here.”

He opened the door.

Joey watched him stride toward the motel, towering and purposeful, with blood still on his hands and a fire in his eyes that Joey couldn’t stop thinking about.

It took a couple minutes, but D was back before too long, room key in hand.

The sun was just beginning to set as Joey stepped inside the motel room. It was dim, light glowing from a lonely lamp on the nightstand beside the room’s only bed. Just a single sad little thing in the middle of the room with a mismatched quilt, creaky headboard, and two flattened pillows that looked like they’d seen a decade of heads.

Joey sat on the edge, arms winding tight around his middle, his heart still galloping from the drive.

D shut the door behind them and tossed the room key on the table. Then—of course—he smirked. “Didn’t you say you had to pee?”

Joey blinked. “Wh—?”

D’s laugh was low and amused. “Right. You forgot.”

Joey’s face lit up red. “I d-didn’t—I mean—I do—but—”

“Relax.” D rolled his eyes, walking past. “I’m taking a shower. Try not to run off.”

Joey didn’t say anything. He just watched D disappear into the bathroom, the door clicking shut behind him. The second he was alone, the pressure hit, and Joey let out a shaking breath, curling forward and pressing his hands to his knees.

His mind spun in spirals.

He’d just… left Josh at Wally’s. Ronnie was probably already calling him, asking about the delivery, about Joey. Would Josh tell him what happened? Would they tell mom? Would she be mad? Or just quietly sad again, like always?

Capone, Scooby, Kush. Would they miss him? Would they sit with their noses against the front window, waiting for him to pull in the driveway?

He pressed his fingers to his eyes, fighting the sting of tears.

Then the shower kicked on in the next room, and somehow, that made it worse.

D was in there, covered in blood, washing off murder. And Joey had come with him. Run off with him. Left everything behind to be here with him.

Why?

Because D had touched his face? Because D made his heart hammer in his ribs and say stupid things like “I gotta pee” when what he really meant was “you’re terrifying and I want you so badly it hurts.”

Joey swallowed hard and wiped his face with his sleeve. He’d never felt so far away from home before in his life.

When the bathroom door swung open ten minutes later, a wave of steam billowed out, warm and fragrant, curling around him like smoke. D stepped into the haze, tall and still damp, his black coat hanging open just enough to tease. His bare chest gleamed under the dim motel light, every sculpted line of muscle slick and radiant like polished obsidian. Water still clung to his skin, trailing down the ridges of his abdomen. He didn’t look like a killer. He looked like a god walking out of fire, dangerous and impossibly beautiful.

“C’mon,” he said, striding across the room to grab the room key. “Let’s get something to eat.”

Joey slid off the bed and with a soft sniffle, he followed.

The diner next door was nothing fancy—cracked vinyl booths, a flickering neon OPEN sign, and a waitress who looked like she’d seen the world burn twice.

They slid into a booth by the window and Joey fumbled with the laminated menu. There weren’t any pictures this time and the words quickly began to blur. He blinked hard. Flipped the page. Pretended to read.

D reached across the table and tapped it. “Most of this is basically dog food. Careful.”

Joey flushed. “I—I—I can’t…” he started to say, but the words caught in his throat.

D watched him, then tilted his head. “You want me to pick?”

Joey nodded, eyes cast down.

D flagged the waitress down and ordered for both of them, like it was no big deal. Joey was embarrassed though and he sat in silence while they waited for their food to come out, playing absently with the straw dispenser.

When the food came—burgers, fries, two Cokes—Joey poked at his plate, appetite gone. He stared out the window.

“I j-just left J-Josh,” he mumbled. “At Wally’s.”

D didn’t answer, just watched him.

“You p-punched h-him.”

D arched a brow. “Yeah. I did.”

“H-he’s probably b-blaming me f-for it right n-now.” Joey looked up, his expression miserable. “He—he called you my boyfriend.”

D chuckled. “Hopefully that’s the story they stick with. Makes it easier. You ran off with your secret lover. Very dramatic.”

But Joey didn’t laugh. “E-e-everybody’s g-going to find out,” he muttered. “They’ll s-say I ran off with some dude… and n-no one’s even gonna c-care.”

D’s face softened slightly, but Joey wasn’t looking anymore. His voice cracked, breath coming quicker. “J-Josh won’t doesn’t have the time to care. Ronnie’ll be pissed I l-lost his d-delivery but he won’t care about me. Sara’ll r-roll her eyes l-like she always does. It’s not like I’m… I’m i-important to anyone.”

D opened his mouth, but Joey kept going, a little louder now, like he couldn’t stop.

“My n-nieces and nephew, they’ll m-miss me. The dogs—Capone and Scooby and Kush—they’ll sit at the d-door waiting. They’re the only ones who even n-notice when I’m gone.”

His eyes were burning now, filling fast with tears.

“My mom’s g-gonna worry. She always d-does. She doesn’t say anything, b-but I know she d-does. And she never asks f-for help but I help anyway and now I—I just left her. I j-just left her with Ronnie and J-Josh and Sara and all their bullsh—bullshit and she d-doesn’t deserve that. She doesn’t deserve me b-being so selfish—”

His voice cracked and he turned his face away, trying to hide how much he was falling apart.

“I’m nothing, D,” he whispered. “Everyone else has a l-life. Drama. Problems. I j-just fade in the b-background. N-nobody even looks twice. I’m n-not… I’m n-not anything.”

He heard D shift, then the booth creaked, and warmth—solid and heavy—settled beside him.

Joey blinked in surprise as D sat next to him, arm sliding around his shoulders like it was totally normal. Without a word, D pulled him in and suddenly Joey was in it—pressed against his strong chest, against bare skin beneath coat. D was shirtless still, his skin warm, the edge of a scar brushing Joey’s cheekbone.

Joey melted without thinking, burying his face against him, clinging tight as helpless tears rolled down his cheeks.

D’s hand rubbed his back in slow, grounding strokes. “You’re not nothing, Joey,” he said, his voice low and firm. “Don’t ever say that again.”

Joey sniffled, squeezing D tighter.

“You matter. You’re good. Sweet. You’ve been let down by everybody who was supposed to protect you. But that doesn’t mean you don’t matter.”

Joey sighed softly, so utterly content in D’s arm. Nobody had ever held him like this before and he wasn’t sure he ever wanted it to end, but when he shifted just slightly, his lips brushed skin and he froze. He hadn’t meant to—but he was so close, pressed so tight against D. He could smell his skin, feel his heat. Feel his chest rising slow and steady.

And then…

Then Joey noticed the other thing. His own body reacting. His cock was getting hard again. Like actually hard, right there in the booth.

His cheeks burned. He clung tighter like that would help, like that would hide it—but D must’ve felt the way he was trembling and he leaned in, close enough for Joey to feel his breath against his ear.

“You stay right here,” D murmured, that dangerous purr curling against Joey’s neck. “I’ll go pay the bill. Then I’ll come back for you.”

Joey nodded, mute, and D slipped away, his coat brushing Joey’s knee as he stood. D turned then and tossed a smirk over his shoulder—he knew. He totally knew.

Joey sat frozen in the booth, cheeks on fire, thighs pressed tightly together. His heart thumped wildly in his chest.

They were going back to the motel now.

Back to the single bed.

D took his time walking back from the counter, hands in his coat pockets, calm as anything. He didn’t speak when he reached Joey—just extended a hand like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like he hadn’t just melted Joey down to a blushing, trembling mess in a diner booth.

Joey stared at that hand for a second, his own still damp from clutching his knees. But he slipped his fingers into D’s palm anyway, and D’s fingers closed around his like iron.

Neither of them said much as they stepped back into the cooling dusk. The world outside buzzed with crickets and the faint roar of a passing truck. D walked like he didn’t have a care in the world, his long strides easy and confident, like he owned the parking lot, the town, the night. Like he owned Joey.

Joey, by contrast, trailed half a step behind, hands stuffed in his hoodie pocket, eyes flicking everywhere—at the sky, at the pavement, at the back of D’s coat. He could still smell the motel room on D’s skin, the faint trace of his cologne under motel soap. His thighs were still pressed tight together, his whole body confused and achy with feeling.

Was this… was something going to happen?

His heart beat faster with every step toward the room. His legs felt like jelly.

D didn’t ask if Joey was okay. He didn’t need to. He could feel it, see it in the corner of his eye. Every nervous glance, every uneven breath. And he liked it—Joey could tell. There was something wicked in the curve of his mouth, the slight squeeze of his fingers.

When they reached the room, D opened the door and nodded for him to go inside first.

Joey did, slow and cautious, heart fluttering against his ribs. The motel room looked the same—but it felt different now.

D followed him in, closing the door behind them with a soft click.

He leaned against it, watching Joey like a lion deciding when to pounce.

And now they were alone again.

“You gonna sit?” D asked, voice rough and quiet.

Joey licked his lips. “Y-yeah. I, uh…” He sat down on the edge of the bed. Perched, really. Like a nervous bird, hands braced on his knees. He couldn’t look up.

D chuckled faintly and crossed the room. He tossed his coat onto the lone chair, leaving himself shirtless again—bare skin, taut muscles, a long scar slashing across his ribs. He reached up, ran a hand over his hair, and then… turned those burning eyes toward Joey.

“I owe you a kiss,” he murmured.

Joey’s stomach flipped so hard he almost gagged.

He looked up—just barely. “Wh-what?”

D came closer. “Back at the diner just now. The way you were looking at me… you were practically begging for it.”

Joey blushed crimson. “I-I didn’t l-look—”

D crouched down right in front of him. “You did.”

Joey shook his head helplessly. “I d-don’t—”

“You look like you want it even now,” D said. “Like you want to be touched. Seen. Held.” His hands came up, slow and sure, and rested on Joey’s knees. Warm. Solid.

Joey’s breath caught. “I d-do,” he whispered, barely audible.

D’s lips curved faintly. “Good.” He stood and leaned over Joey, hands going to the hem of his hoodie. “Let me?”

Joey nodded, trembling. His throat was too tight to speak.

D peeled Joey’s hoodie off first, slow and gentle. Then his t-shirt—soft and worn from years of wear. Joey raised his arms and let it come off over his head and after, he sat bare-chested, skin flushed, nipples hard from cold and nerves, hair a wild mess about his adorable, embarrassed little face. He felt D looking at him and shivered.

“You’re beautiful,” D said simply.

Joey looked away, face flaming. “N-no I’m not.”

“You are,” D insisted, voice thick. “So fucking pretty like this. All shy and shaking.”

Joey bit his lip.

D leaned down, lips close to his ear. “You ever been kissed?”

Joey rapidly shook his head.

“That’s what I like about you best,” D murmured. “That I get to be your first in everything.”

Joey’s cock twitched. He hated how sensitive he was—how easily D’s voice and body and sureness made him light up like a Christmas tree.

D leaned in closer, his mouth ghosting over Joey’s. “Relax. Let me show you.”

Joey gave the smallest nod.

And D kissed him.

It was everything. Warm. Gentle. Hungry. D’s mouth slanted over his, coaxing him open, guiding him with little nips and teasing pressure. Joey whimpered into the kiss, his whole body curling into it, hands flying to D’s shoulders just to hold on.

D tasted like heat and danger. Like safety. Like home.

Joey whimpered into him, heat flooding his face and chest. His lips parted clumsily, and D’s tongue brushed his, sending a shiver down his spine. Joey kissed back, awkward at first, but D made it easy. He tilted his head, deepening the kiss, tasting him. His hand came up to cup the side of Joey’s neck, thumb stroking his jaw.

Joey gasped, hips twitching forward instinctively. His cock was so hard right now, straining in his jeans, but D didn’t push. He just kissed him deeper, slow and wet and hot, hands smoothing up Joey’s sides, fingers brushing his ribs, touching his pebbled little nipples.

Joey moaned loudly into D’s mouth, his whole body trembling with an overwhelming need to come. He’d never felt pleasure like this before. Never felt so wanted, never wanted someone as badly as he wanted D right now. His hands clenched down hard on D’s shoulders as the older man’s tongue stroked confidently along his own and his cock lurched in reaction. Then, D pulled his bottom lip into his mouth and sucked. It felt so good, his lips, his teasing fingers, the heat building between them, Joey hadn’t meant to do it, but suddenly, he was coming powerfully in his jeans, clutching helplessly onto D as he shook through what was probably the best orgasm he’d ever had in his life.

And it was so embarrassing.

D pulled back just barely, his lips kiss swollen and wet with Joey’s saliva. “There you go,” he whispered, smirking a little. “That’s a good boy.”

Joey whimpered again. He couldn’t help it. He felt dizzy, lost, full of static. He’d just come from a kiss and he was so embarrassed he wanted to die. “I g-gotta…” he choked out. “I gotta pee.”

D laughed, that low rumble that always made Joey’s knees weak. “Sure you do.”

Joey covered his face with both hands. “S-shut up.”

D kissed his forehead and stood, letting him go. “Go pee, sweetheart. I’ll be waiting for you right here.”

Joey scrambled off the bed and disappeared into the bathroom, heart pounding, come cooling in his underwear, his whole body trembling in the aftermath of what had just happened.

The door shut with a soft click, and he leaned back against it, chest heaving. The moment he was alone, he let out a shaky breath and buried his face in his hands.

His skin burned with memory—D’s mouth, D’s hands, the way his voice had curled like smoke around Joey’s brain and melted everything rational inside him. He could still feel his touch. Still taste his skin.

Joey tore off his clothes and hopped in the shower, scrubbing himself down with shaking hands, the hot water turning his skin pink. He tried to calm his breathing, to clear his head, but it was no use. D was out there. Waiting. Watching. Wanting.

He rinsed off quickly, wrung out his hair, and carefully cleaned the stain from his jeans, leaving them to dry over the edge of the tub. His limbs were still buzzing when he stepped out of the steam-heavy room, wrapped in one of the scratchy motel towels.

The TV was on in the main room, casting flickers of pale light across the bedspread. D was stretched out across the mattress, propped against the headboard, shirtless and unbothered, watching the news with one hand draped lazily across his stomach.

Joey hovered awkwardly. The towel barely covered anything, and D’s eyes flicked to him briefly—hot, lazy, appreciative—before drifting back to the screen.

Joey swallowed. “Uh… d-did you s-say I could take the bed, or…?”

D didn’t answer right away. His brow furrowed, attention suddenly locked on the TV. The news anchor, a tired-looking man in a too-tight tie, was talking over footage of a police scene—blinking lights, crime tape, a familiar stretch of asphalt.

“The body of an unidentified male was discovered earlier today in the trunk of an abandoned vehicle behind a Dollar General off Bailey Road, just outside of Niles, Ohio. Police say the death appears to be gang-related. Multiple stab wounds—”

Joey froze.

D’s jaw clenched. He grabbed the remote and muted the volume.

Joey pointed at the screen, wide-eyed. “Is—was that—?”

D gave a single, grim nod. “That was Milo.”

Joey’s blood ran cold. “S-so they found him? Already?”

“Yeah,” D said quietly, eyes still on the screen. “Must’ve been some idiot kid trying to steal shit outta the trunk. Or a patrol checking for abandoned tags. Dumb luck.”

Joey dropped onto the edge of the bed, towel tightening around his waist. His skin still buzzed with tension, with fear. “They th-think it’s g-gang related?”

D nodded. “That’s what we want them to think.” He picked up the remote and killed the TV completely. The room dimmed, shadows stretching long across the floor as the final glow vanished. D sat forward, elbows on his knees now, voice low and measured. “I’ve been thinking, like I said. About our next move.”

Joey turned toward him slowly, knees drawn together, hands gripping the towel.

“There’s a place,” D said. “Down in South Carolina. Beach town. Small. Quiet. Vinnie used to run product through there—shipments from Florida, cash drops, guns, whatever. But it’s been cold since Uncle Leon went missing.”

Joey blinked. “U-Uncle Leon?”

D nodded. “Yeah. The guy who brought me into the business… Before he disappeared, he told me he stashed something big. Insurance. In case he ever needed to blow everything up.” He looked at Joey then, intense and focused. “I think he meant to take the whole Cleveland outfit down someday. He kept records—names, routes, dirty cops, everything. He told me if anything happened to him, it’d be in the safehouse. A locked box. Hidden.”

Joey’s stomach flipped. “Y-you want to… go get it?”

“I want to end this,” D said. “We get that box, we take it to the right people—FBI, press, whoever the fuck. It won’t just be Vinnie. It’ll be everyone. Carmine. The Florida connection. All of it.”

Joey stared. “That’s… that’s huge.”

“It’s risky,” D agreed. “But the safehouse should be empty. We just have to get there.”

Joey nodded slowly. “O-okay…”

D stood and stretched, muscles rippling. “We’ll leave early. Before first light. We’ll need to ditch my car. Trade it out for something clean. Can’t risk plates or face recognition.”

Joey’s heart was beating fast again. His whole body was hot and flushed.

D moved to the light switch and clicked it off. The room plunged into dimness, just the moonlight slipping through the blinds.

“We need to get some sleep,” D said. “Tomorrow’s gonna be a long day.”

Joey sat frozen on the bed. “A-are we… g-gonna sleep together?”

D looked over. The corner of his mouth twitched. “Yeah,” he said simply, walking over. He slid onto the bed beside Joey and reached out, catching his wrist and gently tugging him backward until Joey collapsed into him with a soft gasp.

Joey barely had time to squeak before D pulled him close, curling around him from behind—one strong arm around his middle, the other tucking under his neck. He spooned Joey effortlessly, fitting their bodies together like puzzle pieces.

Joey’s breath caught. D’s chest was warm against his back. His thighs, his arm, his hips—his hips.

Joey swallowed hard when he felt it. That unmistakable pressure against his lower back. D’s erection.

Oh god.

Joey froze. His whole body lit up like a live wire, tense and throbbing and overwhelmed.

But D didn’t grind against him. Didn’t move. He just… held him.

Joey trembled. “Y-you’re—uh—”

D chuckled softly in his ear. “Yeah.”

Joey sucked in a breath.

D’s voice dropped to that sinful, low purr. “We’ll do more tomorrow,” he murmured, lips brushing the shell of Joey’s ear. “Tonight, we rest.”

Joey whimpered quietly, his heart thudding like a drum. But D’s hand was warm on his chest, his body solid behind him, and his breath…

Slow.

Deep.

Steady.

Joey shut his eyes, still shaking, and listened to that breath. In and out. In and out.

Eventually, his own breathing matched it. Slowed. Softened.

And wrapped tight in D’s arms, towel barely clinging to his waist, heart raw and body aching, Joey finally fell asleep.

A few hours passed.

The motel room was dead quiet, the kind of silence that buzzed behind your ears. Outside, the highway whispered in the distance, and the flickering neon “VACANCY” sign spilled faint pink light through the blinds.

Joey slept curled under the scratchy covers, warm and twitching with dreams, tucked snug into D’s bare chest. One of his thick arms lay draped over Joey’s waist, heavy and secure. D’s slow breathing brushed the back of Joey’s neck, soft and rhythmic, like waves.

Until, suddenly, it changed.

D inhaled sharply—then held it.

Joey’s eyes snapped open. “…D?”

Pop. The softest sound. The tiniest click.

And D heard it too.

In one motion, he flipped Joey onto the floor, covering his mouth and dragging him between the bed and wall just as—

CRACK!!

The window exploded inward.

CRACKCRACKCRACK!!!

Bullets tore through the headboard, ripping through the mattress where Joey’s skull had just been. Wood splintered. The lamp burst into sparks.

Joey screamed, barely muffled by D’s hand.

“Stay down,” D growled in his ear. “Don’t move.”

But Joey was already sobbing, towel barely clinging to his waist, scrambling to press himself into the floorboards like he could vanish.

The door slammed open and two figures in black rushed in, silenced pistols drawn.

D moved. Like a shadow. He lunged to the side, fired twice—one shot missed, the other tagged the first man’s shoulder. He staggered into the wall, cursed, but didn’t fall. The second opened fire.

THUMPTHUMPTHUMP—

D dove across the bed as bullets shredded the mattress. Joey was alone for just a second and the wounded man stumbled forward and grabbed him by the arm.

“Got the kid!”

Joey shrieked, kicking wildly as he was spun around. Then D tackled the guy hard from behind, smashing him into the dresser. Joey fell to the floor as the two men struggled, D trying to wrench the gun away, the guy biting into his shoulder then swinging his fist around to clip D in the jaw. D barely flinched, he turned and slammed his knee into the man's stomach, once, twice—

But the second guy grabbed D by the throat, yanking him back—and suddenly there was a knife.

“No!!” Joey cried, scrambling to his feet, clutching the towel as his foot slipped in glass.

The blade slashed across D’s ribs and blood sprayed across the floor. He grunted, headbutted the second guy, then elbowed him in the throat. The guy gasped and staggered, and D twisted, slamming his pistol butt into the first guy’s temple.

One down.

Joey was shaking so hard he couldn’t breathe. He pressed himself flat against the wall, watching with wide, horrified eyes.

The last guy lunged again—but D caught him mid-air, twisted him around, and stabbed him in the gut with his own knife. The man made a choked noise, blood spurting from his mouth as D shoved him to the ground and finished it with a snap of his neck.

Silence.

Only D’s gasping. And Joey’s soft, shattered whimper.

“Get your pants,” D rasped, breathing hard, covered in blood. “Now.”

Joey nodded, knees buckling, as he rushed into the bathroom. He pulled on his damp jeans—no underwear—and grabbed his shirt with trembling fingers. Behind him, D wiped blood off his chest with the dead guy’s shirt, then threw his coat on.

Sirens. Distant, but getting closer.

“MOVE!” D shouted, already grabbing the car keys.

They crashed out of the room, barefoot, half dressed, and bleeding. The parking lot reeked of gunpowder and gasoline. Red and blue lights flashed around the corner.

D shoved Joey into the car, climbed in beside him, then tore out of the lot, tires screaming.

Joey just sat there, shirt in his lap, covered in blood spatter, crying. “What the f-fuck just happened?!”

D’s jaw was tight, his eyes locked on the road. “Vinnie found us. Earlier than expected.”

“But—how?! H-how did they know wh-where we were?!”

“They’ve got eyes everywhere, kid.” D exhaled hard, face carved from stone. “We need to dump the car. Then we vanish.”

They drove south for 30 minutes.

Joey’s teeth chattered the whole time. He wasn’t sure if it was the chill of the air or the leftover adrenaline rattling his bones. Either way, he’d forgotten his shoes and his hoodie. Beside him, D’s jaw was clenched so tight it looked carved in granite. Blood soaked through the side of his coat, spreading from the gash he’d taken in the motel fight.

He was hurt. But he didn’t say a word.

When D finally turned off the highway, the glow of a 24-hour Walmart lit up the windshield like salvation.

“W-we’re stopping here?” Joey asked, voice thin.

“We need clothes,” D muttered. “Food. First aid. And a new car.”

He swung the battered sedan into park at the far edge of the lot, where the lights were patchy and the cameras forgotten.

Joey reached for the handle, but D caught his arm.

“One thing,” he said, low and sharp. “No stealing, Joey. I mean it.”

Joey blinked. “W-what? I didn’t—”

“You remember the gas station?” D’s eyes flicked down. “That dumbass strawberry keychain you swiped? Cute, but no. We can’t risk it.”

Joey flushed hard, suddenly remembering the stupid plastic charm he’d slipped into his pocket. “S-sorry…”

D just grunted, opened his door, and got out. Joey followed, his feet stinging from the cold pavement.

Walmart was a tomb. Quiet and cold, humming with fluorescent light. A bored cashier stood at self-checkout, half-asleep, while an old lady shuffled through the cleaning supplies aisle.

D kept a hand on Joey’s lower back as they moved through the aisles. Joey could feel the sticky warmth of blood soaking through D’s coat.

In the men’s section, they grabbed clothes quickly. D, a plain black t-shirt, dark hoodie, fresh jeans. Work boots, socks. Joey grabbed something softer—gray sweats, a warm hoodie, a cotton tee, sneakers. Blushing, he added a three-pack of briefs in his size.

They breezed through pharmacy next, finding a cheap first-aid kit, gauze pads, antiseptic spray, and a roll of bandages.

Then they hit the snacks: protein bars, a couple premade sandwiches, bottled water, and a pair of apples.

At checkout, Joey reached into the pocket of his still damp jeans and pulled out the crumpled twenty.

“It’s not enough,” D muttered after the total rang up.

Joey stared at the screen. His heart dropped.

D hesitated… then pulled out one of his cards.

He tapped it at the machine.

It beeped.

Approved.

They slipped into the Walmart bathroom next, the door groaning shut behind them. Joey headed to the handicap stall and changed quickly, pulling on the soft clothes and sneakers they’d just bought. He gathered his old things in a bundle, assessed the blood stains, then stuffed everything deep into the trash can beneath a layer of paper towels.

When he came out, D had stripped his coat off and was standing shirtless at the mirror, rinsing the blood from his side. The gash was ugly—shallow but long, red and angry.

Joey winced. “Sh-shouldn’t we get you stitches?”

D met his eyes in the mirror. “No time.” He sprayed antiseptic directly on the wound, hissing through his teeth. Then, with quiet precision, he started wrapping it with gauze and taping it down. Joey watched, holding the plastic Walmart bag like it might fly away.

“Y-you’re really g-good at that,” he said quietly.

D smirked, tugging his hoodie over his bare chest. “Been cut more times than I can count.”

Joey swallowed hard. “S-sorry you got hurt. Because o-of me…”

D turned, all wrapped and ready. He stepped close, brushing gentle fingers across Joey’s cheek. “I’m still breathing, aren’t I?”

“I-I-I guess.”

D smirked. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

They stepped back into the cold, steam rising faintly off the pavement. Joey’s new sneakers squeaked slightly beneath him.

As soon as they’d cleared the exit, D pulled out his wallet and grabbed his card again. Without a word, he snapped it in half.

Under the flickering lights of a busted streetlamp, D tossed the broken card into a trash can. Then, he reached into his coat and pulled out the other two.

Snap.

Snap.

He dropped them too, burying them under a wad of paper towels and a soda cup someone left behind.

“That’s probably how they found us in the first place,” D said, his voice low. “That was stupid of me.”

Joey clutched the Walmart bag close to his chest. “W-what do we do n-now?”

D looked around the lot. Scanned it like a predator. Then he pointed.

“There,” he said. “That Nissan. Older model. No alarm. We’re taking it.”

Together, they moved across the lot and stopped side by side in the shadows, eyeing the dusty Nissan parked under a half-dead security light. The car looked like it hadn’t been driven in weeks—dull paint, mismatched hubcap, a pine-scented air freshener still dangling from the rearview mirror.

D scanned the lot again. “This one’ll do.”

He dropped into a crouch beside the driver’s side and yanked a folded pocketknife from his pocket. He jammed it into the seam of the door, muttering to himself.

Joey hovered behind him, still clutching the Walmart bag of clothes and snacks. “Y-you sure you can—”

“I’ve done it before,” D snapped, then grunted as the knife slipped. “Just… been a minute.”

The lock didn’t budge.

D cursed under his breath and tried again, angling the blade. The door gave a creak but stayed firm. Sweat beaded on his forehead.

Joey watched for another beat, then sighed. “Move.”

“What?”

“I-I said move.”

D blinked as Joey knelt beside him, tossing the Walmart bag aside. He untied the drawstring from his sweatpants—quick and smooth—and looped it around his fingers. Then he reached through the barely cracked window, using the string like a snare.

D tilted his head. “What the hell are you—”

Click.

The lock popped.

Joey gave a crooked little grin, cheeks flushed. “G-grew up in W-Warren. I got bored.”

D stared at him, half-annoyed, half-impressed. “The hell else do you know how to do?”

Joey shrugged and opened the door. “Y-you said we needed a car…”

The inside smelled like gym socks and sadness, but the dash was intact. D shoved the driver’s seat back and yanked the plastic off the steering column.

“Let me guess—you’re good with wires, too?” he asked dryly.

Joey didn’t answer at first. Just leaned in beside him, eyes scanning the tangle of wires. “R-red and brown,” he said. “Strip the e-ends, twist ’em. Then t-tap yellow. S-should spark.”

D followed his instructions, and a moment later—

Whrrr-vroom.

The engine fired.

They both sat back, stunned by the sudden roar. Then D looked over, one brow cocked. Joey flushed and fidgeted with his hoodie sleeves.

“You’ve been holding out on me,” D said.

“I-it’s just cars,” Joey mumbled.

D stared at him another second, then reached over and gave his thigh a squeeze. “You keep surprising me, sweetheart.”

Joey’s ears turned red. “T-thanks.”

D threw the car into reverse, backing them out fast. “Let’s move. Before someone decides to report their car stolen.”

Joey twisted in his seat, watching the Walmart slowly fade in the rearview, his pulse still pounding.

They were back on the road again. And this time, Joey was the reason they’d gotten away clean.