Page 12 of Casual Felonies (Wildlings #1)
ANDERS AND OMAR
“Habibi, why is our son spying on us?”
Anders looks up from washing the blood out from under his fingernails. “What do you mean, spying on us?”
“He came by the house the other day and spent an inordinate amount of time in the office. I pulled up the cameras,” he says, holding up his phone, “and he was opening cabinets and drawers, looking for something.”
“Did you ask him about it?” Anders asks, drying his hands.
Omar shakes his head. “I asked if he needed anything, and he said no.”
“Did he take anything from the office?”
“No.”
The husbands never discussed how it felt to discover that their own children don’t have the killer instinct.
Omar’s mother-in-law, having raised two serial killers as ethical as they are prolific, was geared up—excited even—to help Anders and Omar navigate those tricky waters, but the desire to murder simply never materialized.
Not that the Wildlings were perfect little angels. No, they’d earned their nickname repeatedly. A collective handful, yet not one drop of it veered into vigilantism, let alone sociopathy.
Well, except for Silas.
He’d been adopted late and had never been allowed to mix freely with the other children. Omar still remembers the day he saw a rattlesnake coiled at the firing range—silent, still, evaluating. Silas has that same calculated power.
Which is why Omar secretly set up monitoring in and around the Wildlings’ condo when Sy moved into the building last year. Just in case.
But now, watching Rami on the footage, rummaging through drawers with a determined look on his face? Omar can’t help the small thrill of discovering that his social media darling son might finally be coming in to his lawless side.
One can only hope.
Omar kisses Anders’ nose, then thumbs over to another screen. “That’s not the only strange thing he’s doing.”
“Oh?” Anders looks over Omar’s shoulder as he switches to the tracking app they have on all the Wildlings.
Omar points to a dot on the map. “He’s at the tiny house community for the homeless. Maybe he’s fulfilling more of the giving clause as he stalks his barber.”
Confused, Anders moves the screen around. “Where are you seeing that he’s stalking his barber?”
Er… Omar sucks in his upper lip, then pulls up another layer in the app.
A line appears between Anders’ brows. “Why do we have a tracker on Rami’s barber?”
“The way our son talks about him, I could tell he was interested, so I…”
Omar let his words trail off as Anders narrows his eyes.
“So when I sent my twin in to give Valentine the once-over, that was a problem. But when you put a tracker on the guy’s car, that’s perfectly fine. ”
“Habibi, I?—”
Anders holds up a hand. “No, no. You said, and I quote, ‘We have to give them their space. They’re adults now, and tracking their partners would be a massive breach of their privacy.’ Close quote.”
“You don’t have to say ‘close quote.’”
“Don’t distract me, baby. Or if your intent is to distract me, you’re gonna hafta whip out that luscious cock of yours because, otherwise, I’m not buying it.”
A sneaky smile tilts Omar’s mouth. “Later, Habibi. But you’ll be glad I’m such a hypocrite.”
“Why is that?”
“Remember how Everett thought that someone had broken into his shop? That the tattoo equipment had been moved slightly, and we all thought he was just paranoid?”
Having been the one to give Ev the most shit about being paranoid, Anders grimaces.
“Yes.”
“And remember how Hedy made us sweep the shop, and we found a listening device?”
Anders pokes his tongue against his lower lip, annoyed. “ Yes .”
“I had Jake look into Valentine’s financials”—another parental rule broken—“and wouldn’t you know it? He’d purchased that exact listening device off the Hell_AI app a week before we discovered it in Ev’s shop.”
Silence grows between them as Anders’ jaw ticks.
“Well, shit,” he finally drawls, spreading the words across two or three extra syllables.
“So, while I’m thrilled by this development, I hafta know—why is our son stalking his barber?”
“That is a very good question.” Anders unbuttons his jeans. “But before we find out the answer to that, I believe you owe me a blowjob. For having double standards. ”
“Mm,” Omar says, thumbing his lower lip. “I did act hypocritically, didn’t I, darling?”
“Yes, my love. And there’s only one way to make up for that.”