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Austin was still pissed. He turned toward Maddox, his expression full of wrath.

“Couldn’t hold him,” Maddox said by way of apology. He held up a pair of blood-smeared hands. “Too slippery.”

A few people were staring up at us. Some of them had even cheered, probably drunkenly, no doubt thinking our struggle was all part of some little act.

Eventually we closed the balcony doors. It took another minute or two to calm down, and then the guys were on me immediately.

“Are you hurt?”

“No,” I said, shaking my head. “No, I’m okay. He— He came in, I mean he broke in, and we struggled, and—”

“What happened to him?” Maddox asked, looking around.

“I hit him.”

The guys were still incredulous. There was debris everywhere. Splinters of wood, pieces of door frame. Hundreds of jagged slivers of pure white porcelain…

“What the hell’d you hit him with?” Austin asked.

“Toilet tank cover.”

“Jesus Christ,” he swore in admiration. His smile finally returned. “Good one!”

“Thanks,” I breathed. “I saw it in a movie once.”

A young couple walked by in the hallway. They took one look through the broken door — at me still in my bathrobe, at the guys standing in the middle of the debris field — and kept on walking.

“We need to get out of here,” Maddox said. “And fast.”

I nodded, staring down at my blood-splattered robe. I turned in the direction of the bathroom, when I got hit in the chest with a small pile of clothes.

“You should probably put something on,” smirked Austin.

Forty-Seven

DALLAS

We left New Orleans in haste, taxiing directly to the terminal and grabbing the first available flight back to Vegas. We made the gate just as the plane was about to detach from the boarding ramp, and settled into our seats right as the aircraft began taxiing for takeoff.

Not twenty minutes after that, both guys were sound asleep on each of my shoulders.

I squirmed back in my seat, accepting a water from the flight attendant this time around, rather than alcohol. It had been a crazy fucking weekend. A whirlwind of sex and debauchery and weaving through crowds, of running around and laughing and fleeing, of fighting and bloodletting.

Exactly as I always pictured Mardi Gras might be.

“You should’ve been here Connor,” I sighed, raising my plastic cup and toasting my invisible brother. Then, after looking left and right at my two slumbering lovers: “Umm… then again maybe not.”

The flight was smooth, and over quickly. After grabbing our bags we made our way home, the cool desert air rejuvenating our tired bodies as we pulled down our block and into the driveway.

Kane was there to greet us, resting comfortably in one of the chairs on the front porch. A rifle rested casually across his lap, his hand stroking it absently like he was petting a cat. It made me wonder if he’d sat like this the whole time we’d been away.

He stood only when I reached the door, scooping me into his big strong arms. Squeezing me tightly but gently against his beautiful chest, before picking up my bags and carrying them inside.

“Coffee’s up,” he said, sliding out one of the kitchen chairs. I could see he’d already poured himself a cup.

“You first?” Maddox asked him.

Kane scratched at his chin, which was covered with about three days’ worth of stubble. “Sure,” he grunted eventually. “Why not?”