Page 124 of Shrapnel

“Legos need to be perfect, or they won’t fit. I thought you’d understand.”

Noah swallowed. He’d had enough. They’d suspected Mateo was behind it, and now they knew he was batshit insane. With or without his cooperation, they would find the Demon. Or they wouldn’t. Either way, this candy sucking cavity of a human needed to get out of his face.

He was wearing his father’s gun. Even after all this time it was still his father’s. Its weight was familiar, but not comfortable. He thought if he shifted, he could hide his hand behind Elijah’s back and grab it. He was no Jamie, but he could probably make the head shot before Mateo could fire off the canister.

Moving an inch at a time, he hid his right hand behind Elijah’s back. Luckily, he was short, his shoulder moving would be hidden. As if sensing what he was doing, Elijah cleared his throat.

“If this is about your hand—I understand. I would be angry, too. But you have to know there’s a better way. The Weavers have access to the best medical facilities in the world. We could work something out.”

Mateo made a face like he had smelled something bad. “And then what? I’m not stupid. I know what you’re doing, and we are past bargaining.”

“Then how about anger?” Noah suggested as he pulled the gun. Elijah dove out of the way as he squeezed the trigger.

It was so loud. Almost worse than the bullet itself. The gunshot echoed around the small room. Shaking his head, he looked up to see that Mateo hadn’t moved. He was staring down his canister, the end pointing right at Noah’s face.

He missed.

The gun hung between his limp fingers. Disappearing with Elijah had been a nice dream. Maybe they could have adopted a dog. That would have been nice.

Elijah shouted from the ground, but he couldn’t hear him. All he could hear was the gunshot ringing in his ears.

Mateo pulled his gasmask up, the straps snapping with a finality that slowed time. Wide eyes shone behind the plastic in the mask, brimming with joy and success as his finger curled around the tab.

Elijah surged up, tackling Mateo through the open vault door. A red roiling cloud of gas exploded out of the can. Right into Elijah’s face.

Waking up was hard. Owen had always been a night owl. It didn’t matter how much sleep he got—he could never wake up easily. Today especially. The moment he became conscious he remembered the chaos from the last few days. Owen was technically homeless. The thought was enough to make him want to roll over and fall back asleep. That could be a problem for future Owen.

But he couldn’t roll over. There was a warm body in the way. His immediate thought was that his stupid sister had crawled into his bed again. But Megan hadn’t done that since she was little and still afraid of thunderstorms. She used to say the sky was angry. Whatever the hell that meant. Megan hated when people got emotional. Their mother said she was an empath. Again, whatever the hell that meant. Megan stopped crawling into his bed before middle school.

Finally, he convinced himself to open his eyes. The garish white of the Weavers bedroom was too much. He groaned and shifted in bed, easing his eyes open this time.

Jamie was curled up beside him. His forehead was pushed into Owen’s chest and body flush with him. An arm was tossed around Owens hips, fingertips caressing his back. In the early morning sunshine his face looked pale, dark locks curling around his skin where they dried funny from his late night shower. His lips were parted and pressed to Owen’s shirt.

They had fallen asleep kissing last night. Their lids growing heavy until their kisses were just open mouth breathing. It should have been awkward and embarrassing. Owen huffed, trying not to smile to himself like an idiot. He failed. His lips curled and he turned his head to the pillow, trying not to make a noise and wake Jamie. He looked so tired. So brittle. But he was sleeping, genuinely sleeping. Without the locks.

Maybe he felt safer knowing his father was dead. But he had slept with Owen before. That shouldn’t give him as much pleasure as it did, but he couldn’t help the swell of pride in his chest at the thought that he alone made Jamie feel like he could sleep.

If you had asked Owen the first day they met if Jamie was beautiful, he would have laughed. Maybe shrugged. Objectively, Jamie wasn’t good looking. Not in the classic sense. His face was a series of angles, cruel lines, and sharp edges. But there was something in his face that grew on you the longer you looked. Those impossibly pink smarmy lips. His eyelashes were lush, and his skin was ethereally soft.

His shoulders were wide, too. They tapered beautifully down to his narrow waist. It should be a sin for a man to have a waist like that. Owen wondered if his back was as toned as his front. Then there was the nipple piercing. Fuck. Should a guy have pretty nipples?

Jamie did.

Owen groaned when he realized he was awake.All of him.This wasn’t just morning wood. His dick had suddenly decided—after twenty-four years of life—that it was now very, very interested in making its opinions known. And his dick really liked Jamie. Owen wasn’t sure he’d ever been so hard upon waking up.

His hips moved in direct response to an order given from his downstairs brain, the head of his aching erection pressing against Jamie’s chest. Oh god. That shouldn’t be so hot. But Owen’s entire body felt electrified.

It was official: Owen liked tomatoes.

Really, really liked tomatoes.

He supposed Adam was right, sexuality didn’t matter. Because as of a couple weeks ago, Owen would have sworn he was straight. And as of right now, he was super not.

Through his morning boner haze he realized he was actively humping Jamie right now. While he didn’t want to stop, he also didn’t like the creepy rapey vibe. With a shocking amount of self-restraint, he rolled over, taking his painful boner with him.

“Aww, don’t stop,” Jamie called, arms tightening around Owen.

Owen’s face erupted. “You were awake?”