Page 20

A zrael stood beneath the hot shower in Real’s room. It was one of the Hyatt House rooms Dave had blocked for them.

Apollo was still in the hospital, recovering nicely, but still under watch by the hospital staff. Not to mention a shit ton of guards Dave had posted to make sure Apollo was safe.

Azrael stared at the tile beneath his feet. The spray of water ran dark red as the blood washed off his face and out of his hair.

It had been stupid, really, to yank his mask off, but back in that apartment, he had trouble getting air.

He just couldn’t breathe.

The screwed up thing was that he recognized Micky.

“I know that guy,” Azrael had said, drawing Real’s attention.

“What?”

“Yeah, he tried to take me at gunpoint outside of a bar a few nights before he shot Apollo.”

Real had little to say, but the man was livid. It was evident in the way his big hands had squeezed into fists, and a muscle ticked in his strong jaw.

So yeah, Micky had tried to snatch him up, probably to use him as leverage to get to Real.

What boggled the mind was the fact that there had been eight people in that fucking room when he charged in behind Micky.

What had started out as a tail of Micky to his apartment building ended up being a nightmare. He and Rebel had converged on either side of Micky, and when the guy opened his apartment door to go inside, Azrael had shoved the man from behind.

He and Rebel were inside before Micky could blink.

That was when all hell had broken loose. Here was a killer who, Azrael had thought, lived alone, walking into a place that had a shit ton of men.

From there, it had been duck and cover. The surprising thing was that nobody pulled a gun.

Maybe they didn’t want the gunfire noise to bring the cops?

Probably, but all Azrael had known from that point was to cover his and Rebel’s asses.

While he was fighting one of the men, another hit him in the back of the head.

The hit was so hard that Azrael fell to his knees. Rebel was there, stabbing with both hands simultaneously. Azrael stumbled up.

Micky was first out of the apartment door, leaving the eight men behind.

Shit.

Azrael dove over the side of a broken-down sofa. Rebel followed him, both breathing hard. He waited for the attack, but nothing happened, and he pulled himself up to see the last man leaving, dragging one of his friends with him out the door.

Azrael slumped, but Rebel had pulled him to his feet.

“Let’s go, stay close,” Rebel said.

At that point, nausea was lifting bile into the back of his throat. He wanted to tell Rebel to hold on, but he couldn’t get the words out.

Rebel crept toward the door.

“Go call for Crow and Real,” Azrael told Rebel in the silent front room.

It was funny that neither Crow nor Real had seen them enter the apartment building.

But how could he not go in? How could he stand by and let someone else kill the man who had shot Apollo? It was laughable that Genesis thought they were sneaky at keeping him out of the loop.

They should have known better.

“I’m not leaving you,” Rebel had argued.

“Go get Crow and Real. I’ll be right behind you,” Azrael ordered, and Rebel hesitated before racing out the door.

Azrael had taken a few steps, but then the room whirled.

Thank fuck his weakness had come after Micky and his friends had exited the apartment.

Azrael wanted to go after the man who’d shot at Apollo, but there were several ways to get in and out of that building. He also knew that two, if not more, of the men with Micky had been injured. He himself had stabbed two, while Rebel had knifed another…

A noise from the other room brought Azrael back to the pounding shower, and he lifted his face to the water and grabbed the shampoo to wash his long hair.

Rebel had been beside himself when he and Real had reached the SUV. Azrael struggled, but Real wasn’t putting him down.

Rebel had stepped closer and gripped his arm hard.

“You said you were right behind me.” Tears thickened Rebel’s voice.

“I was. It’s not your fault,” Azrael said.

“Get in,” Real growled, and instead of letting him do it himself, the man tucked him into the back seat and slammed the door.

Crow and Rebel parted ways at the hotel entrance, and Azrael barely got to say goodnight before Real was marching him through the lobby to the elevator.

It was nighttime and not as busy as day, and he was sure his bloody state would have drawn a few gasps and stares, but Real tore off the leather jacket he was wearing and draped it over his head.

Upstairs, instead of going to the room Azrael had used before, Real had brought him to another one.

Was this Real’s hotel room?

If so, then this was someplace he didn’t want to be.

The rumpled bed out in the other room reminded him of Real and his hard body. He remembered how the warrior had held him down and fucked him oh so fucking well.

Azrael groaned and pulled at his cock with his soapy hand.

When Real had snatched him up from the rooftop, Azrael thought he was hallucinating, but the feel of those big, strong arms wasn’t his imagination.

He gasped beneath the warm water, and it took only a minute more to yank one out. He sucked in air, leaning against the wall, before he finished rinsing off.

Real paced.

He froze when the bathroom door opened and Azrael appeared along with a cloud of steam, smelling like shampoo and soap.

The younger man wore a pair of loose sleep shorts with a t-shirt, both black. His freshly washed hair was damp and hung in rivers to the top of his ass.

Real waited for the questions. He waited for the hurt-filled eyes to gaze at him. He waited and he fucking waited but none of that happened.

Azrael walked over to one of the two queen beds, the farthest from him, and slid beneath the covers. Azrael turned on his side with his back to him and pulled the fluffy white comforter up to almost the top of his head.

Well, fuck.

Azrael mostly acted like a damned wild thing, but right now he didn’t even look at him. It was frustrating and pissed him off.

The young man had to be tired, right?

That was what this was.

Okay then, he would let Azrael sleep.

They could talk in the morning. And they would talk in the morning.

Azrael hadn’t even argued about coming back here instead of his previous room.

Real felt as if something was slipping out of his grasp, but chalked that up to the situation.

Right now, though, he had bigger shit to deal with, he thought as he let himself out of the hotel room.

Stepping into the hallway, he found Rip and Winter waiting for him.

“This shit ends tonight,” Real growled, gazing at the assassins who were darkly dressed just like him.

“What about Az?” Winter asked.

Real clenched his teeth as he spoke. “He’s sleeping.”

“Did you talk to him?” Winter squinted hard blue eyes at him.

“He didn’t want to talk.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re going to lose him if you don’t lock him down.”

“Win…” Rip placed a hand on Winter’s arm and shook his head.

“Fuck it,” Winter scoffed and walked away down the hall.

Real rubbed at his chest as he and Rip followed.

Winter was right.

But locking shit down with Azrael was easier said than done.