Page 10

T he whole altercation had happened in complete silence.

They both knew the importance of keeping their presence hidden.

Real was going to take advantage of it right the hell now.

He lifted Azrael off his feet like a toy and tossed him over one shoulder before stalking back toward his jeep.

Fully expecting a knife in the back, he was surprised when Azrael hung limp. Real remotely started his jeep on his way out of the apartment building.

He stalked around to the driver’s side of the vehicle and opened the door, tossing Azrael on the seat. He then crowded in so the boy had no choice but to scoot over or be sat on.

Real hit the lock to keep the doors locked and closed the driver’s door with a thud. Azrael unlocked it, Real hit the lock button again. Azrael made an annoyed sound, unlocked it, and jerked at the door handle. Real was quicker and locked it again.

With a huff, Azrael crossed his arms, staring out the windshield.

The young assassin was closed off, ignoring him.

Real was at a loss over how to get through to Azrael and return them to normal. Only they hadn’t been normal in a long time.

Not since the phone call when Azrael had caught him leaving Patrick Young’s apartment building after they hooked up.

Real turned his gaze on said building and scoped out the street.

All was quiet and he would take a few minutes to talk some sense into the young man at his side.

“Why are you following me?” he asked, squeezing the steering wheel to keep his hands occupied.

“I just wanted to confirm something.”

“What is that?”

Azrael’s mouth turned down with a sad smile. “Nothing.”

“It is something.”

The man’s head jerked slightly to the apartment building.

“You like him, your hook-up?” Azrael asked so softly that Real had to strain to hear.

“It’s not like…” Real growled, clenching his hands.

He stopped his words of denial when movement at the open entrance to the building caught his attention and he launched from the jeep.

“Stay here!” Real ordered with a snarl over his shoulder and slammed the door.

Stay here? Azrael gazed after the running form of Real.

Yeah, that was so not happening.

He had to get the fuck out of here and back to the YA base before he did something really stupid like kill the guy upstairs…or even worse…confess his love to Real.

Either way was detrimental to his health.

Azrael slipped out of the Jeep and walked away, letting the darkness close in around him.

What if Real needed his help?

His footsteps slowed.

Since when had Real ever needed his help?

With the voice of reason ringing in his head, Azrael picked up his pace. A moment later, he slid behind the wheel of his vehicle.

Real didn’t need him at all.

Just as the man reached the top of the stairs, Real slammed into the guy and took the fucker to the ground.

“Help!”

It wasn’t what Real expected and he flipped the guy over.

It was the man from apartment 401, and Real gave a silent groan.

Fuck!

“Sorry, I thought you were a stalker,” Real muttered and rolled away.

He lifted the man to his feet and brushed off the guy’s coat. 401 was shaken, but managed to stumble away and up the next flight of stairs to the fourth floor.

Real rubbed a hand down his face. His distraction was going to get someone killed.

Retracing his steps to his jeep, he found it empty. He did a quick visual search for Azrael, but knew without a doubt the young man was long gone.

Making his way back to the apartment door, Real inserted his key in the lock and stepped inside before flipping the deadbolt. The only light in the small living room came from the table lamp next to an old-fashioned armchair.

“Patrick?” Real called and received only silence.

With a sigh, Real walked through the small one-bedroom place. When he found the bedroom empty, he headed to the bathroom and eased open the partially closed door.

The hinges squeaked in the quiet. He heard a muffled sob and gently pushed back the plastic shower curtain.

Patrick Young crouched in bare feet in the bottom of the shower with his hands over his mouth. Fear filled the dark eyes staring up at him. Wearing a pair of sweatpants with a matching sweatshirt, Patrick appeared smaller than ever.

Real crouched down in front of the bathtub real slow-like and held Patrick’s gaze.

“I…I…heard you and then you were gone,” Patrick stuttered.

“I had to take care of something,” Real said softly and held out his hand.

Patrick was so very different from the flirty man he had been the night of the hookup.

What Real had thought was a casual fuck had turned into an offer of protection.

That was the reason he continued coming so often to Patrick’s place.

It wasn’t what Azrael had imagined. Real could see the judgement in the young assassin’s eyes, and he had done nothing to dissuade Azrael because he needed the buffer between them.

Hauling Patrick to his feet, he released the guy and walked back to the kitchen to pour a glass of water. He shoved it into Patrick’s hands and the man took several swallows.

Protecting Patrick had started when Real had gone into the same club where they’d first met. He sat with a drink at the bar and watched people gyrating on the dance floor.

Patrick had come up to him wearing black pants and a black hoodie pulled up over his head. It was so different from the first time he’d seen the guy wearing tight silver pants and a mesh crop top.

Real hadn’t even recognized it was the hook up until Patrick had lifted his head.

A long, jagged wound with black stitches ran across the man’s cheek.

Real had wanted to walk the fuck away. He wanted no part of whatever had happened to Patrick.

The only reason he had hooked up with the guy in the first place was because the man reminded him of Azrael—with his dark hair, dark eyes, and slender build.

That was where the similarities ended. Patrick was ten years older than Azrael and a hell of a lot more seasoned. Plus, the guy took home random men. Was it any wonder one of those men had turned out to be a sicko?

But Real hadn’t been able to walk away when Patrick began to talk.

That night, Real had learned that the fresh cut on Patrick’s face had come from his ex-boyfriend. Patrick had spent months getting away and pretty much hiding, but the guy had found him, raped him, and cut his face.

From that moment, Real decided he would stick around and get rid of the ex permanently.

Azrael had gotten it all wrong.

And while Real did want that barrier of misunderstanding to remain between them, he wouldn’t make the same mistake twice.

He hadn’t hooked up with anyone since before Christmas.

Nor would he.

And he wasn’t going to look too closely at why that was.