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“That’s what you got from all that?” Remi muttered.

“You sound jealous,” Gift added, side-eyeing Drake.

“I am,” Drake shot back. “We’ve been told our whole lives that giving in to any type of murderous impulses would have us blacklisted from the program. But, somehow, Payton gets a pass? Did you get on your knees for Boone before the school even opened?”

Payton sneered at the other boy, giving him the finger. It was half-hearted at best. It was clear Payton wasn’t doing so well. He was pale and clammy, and he looked a little green, like he might be nauseated. Boone needed him to get some rest. But that was a fight for when they were alone.

“The decision to allow Payton into the school came directly from the program creator, not me,” Boone said. “He had final approval on all students. Even you.”

Drake rolled his eyes.

It was the truth. Sort of. Thomas had initially counted Payton out, but he reconsidered after speaking with Payton’s father. Boone wasn’t sure what deal was struck, or why Thomas had been willing to compromise his own guidelines on the word of an oil tycoon, but maybe billionaires did just stick together. As for Boone, none of that had mattered. He’d taken one look at that cocky smirk and had deluded himself into thinking he could “tame” Payton.

Now, Boone was the one being domesticated, and he found himself caring less and less, especially after last night. Or, rather, this morning. Payton could have been killed. The idea of Payton disappearing from his life made something shrivel up inside him. He was selfish about the boy. Payton was bold, brash, and borderline terrifying when he latched onto something he wanted…but he’d gotten under Boone’s skin. In every way.

Maybe Boone had always been selfish. He was hardly an upstanding member of society. He was an assassin and an interrogation specialist. Hell, he’d had entire dossiers on the counter-intelligence agents he’d extracted information from and it hadn’t fazed him. Even terrorists had wives and children that were left behind when Boone took them out. He’d just learned to compartmentalize.

Besides, from a purely professional standpoint, Payton hadn’t just been good at killing, he’d been meticulous. He’d led the cops on a goddamn goose chase more than once. The only clues left behind were the ones he’d intended for them to find. He’d simply given them just enough breadcrumbs to have them chasing their tails.

It was damn near impossible for someone as young as Payton to be able to scout, stalk, kill, and clean up without getting caught even once, much less a handful of times. Even Archer and Mac had agreed he was worth the risk.

All of Boone’s reasons for overlooking Payton’s past didn’t matter, though. If he’d known Payton then as he did now, it wouldn’t have even been a question of whether or not to accept him. He was already too far gone. Boone wasn’t willing to let him go; he’d leave the program first. He’d take Payton with him and let him continue his life as a serial killer. God, he really had just been hanging off this ledge by his fingernails the whole time. Last night, Payton had tap danced all over his resolve. Now, it was too late.

“So, you fucking him is just a coincidence?” Drake countered.

“More like a calculated mission objective on my part,” Payton said. “I’ve been after him since the moment I saw him.”

Boone arched a brow at him, unable to hide his amusement. “Is that so?”

“Yeah, it is. Ask Gift. Or Dove. Ask Drake. No matter how butthurt he is over my extracurricular murder hobby, it was never a secret how badly I wanted you.” Payton dropped his voice to a low murmur. “And last night, I finally got what I wanted.”

Boone wanted to kiss him. He wanted to take him back to his room and curl around him and watch him to make sure he was okay. Every time he thought about what might have happened if he hadn’t been there, he started to break into a cold sweat.

West cleared his throat. “What do we do now?”

Boone looked at Archer. “Has CID been notified yet?”

Mac nodded. “It will take time for them to arrive. I posted two guards outside the common room where her body is so nobody disturbs the scene.”

Boone nodded. “Before they get here, take Archer and scrub Navy’s room for anything that might point us in the direction of whoever is behind this.”

“You want us to actively interfere with a CID investigation?” Archer asked.

“Is that a problem for you?” Boone countered.

Archer shook his head. “Nope, just making sure.”

“We also need to cancel classes for the day and lockdown the students in their rooms until the crime scene is sealed and whatever evidence they find is collected.”

“The kids are gonna want answers,” Archer said.

“We all want answers,” West retorted.

Boone shrugged. “I don’t care what they want. They’re training to be agents—they can learn what need-to-know-basis really means. Now that we know we can’t trust the cameras, have armed patrols in the halls in case anyone gets any ideas about having a little escape party.”

“What are you going to be doing?” Drake asked.

“I’m taking Payton to my room so he can rest. Once he’s settled, we’ll see where we’re at and go from there.” He looked at West. “While I’m gone, take Remi and see if you can find anything suspicious on the cloud. Anyone coming and going into the server room. Go back a few weeks if you have to. Also, check the security codes on the door and match them to the timestamps on the videos to make sure the code matches the person entering.”

West nodded.

“I’m going, too,” Drake said.

It was on the tip of Boone’s tongue to argue, but one look at the stubborn tilt of Drake’s chin and Boone shrugged. It was better to have him under West’s supervision than risk him getting bored and deciding to break out.

“Fine. But stay out of the way or find some way to be helpful,” Boone said.

Drake just nodded.

“Who’s gonna notify Navy’s family?” Gift asked softly.

“My mother,” Mac said.

Remi went pale, tears gathering in his eyes. “Oh, God. I didn’t even think about that. I was so busy thinking about myself, but she’s…dead. Because of me.”

“Not because of you,” Drake barked. “She’s dead because she trusted the wrong person, because she was mad that you didn’t entertain her little crush on you. People die all the time in this line of work. Not every assassin will make it to retirement age. She just overplayed her hand way too early.”

“She wasn’t an assassin,” Remi said, shaking his head. “She was a handler…like me.”

“And she sold you out over something this petty,” Drake reminded him. “Imagine what she would have done to our country the first time some hot guy cozied up to her for intel.”

Drake was being awfully harsh, but he wasn’t wrong. If Navy had sold them out over a petty crush, she would have been a horrible liability from the beginning.

On paper, Navy had looked like a great candidate. She’d had excellent grades, all the right connections, came from a wealthy family, flew through her psych evaluations with no problem. Yet, she’d sold them out before she’d even left the program for the real world.

Payton attempted to sit up, then groaned, falling back on the bed with a huff.

“Park, you and Gift can hold down the fort until I get back. Just make sure this doesn’t turn into any more of a clusterfuck than it already is. I won’t be long.”

Park nodded, then took Gift’s hand. When they left, the others trailed out behind them, leaving Boone and Payton alone. He turned to Payton, pulling the sheet and blanket from him, wincing at the amount of blood on his clothes. He slid his hands behind his back and beneath his knees, then hoisted him into the air.

Payton moaned, clenching his eyes shut. “I can’t believe the first time you carry me I’m too dizzy to enjoy it.”

Boone snorted. “I can’t believe that you’re still this mouthy even when someone put a dent in your skull.”

Payton tried to laugh, then winced again, groaning. Boone was grateful to see there was nobody in the halls outside. Luckily, Payton was a wispy thing. They made it to Boone’s room without him breaking a sweat.

When they made it into the apartment, Boone kept going, carrying him straight into the bathroom before gently setting him on his feet. Payton sagged against the counter, blinking rapidly, like he was clearing his vision. Boone got the water started, then deftly unbuttoned Payton’s shirt, noting the stiffness of the fabric. Fuck. That might be evidence.

Would CID want this, too? Probably.

“Stay here,” he said, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

Payton’s eyes went wide, but then he nodded. Boone walked to the kitchen and grabbed a plain brown paper bag from under the sink, then returned to Payton, removing his shirt and pants and placing them in the bag. Once they were both naked, Boone went under the counter to his first aid kit and found the clear plastic cling he was looking for.

“What’s that?” Payton asked.

Boone was relieved to see some of the color had returned to his cheeks. “It’s a tegaderm. Your staples can’t get wet, so I’ll cover them with these until we get out.”

Payton eyed him curiously but then nodded, letting Boone carefully part his hair to cover the two staples. Once finished, he helped Payton into the shower, then followed in behind him.

As soon as Boone’s hands settled on the boy’s hips, Payton sagged against him, letting his eyes fall shut. “I can’t believe the shit I have to do to get you to actually take a shower with me,” he taunted weakly.

Boone snorted, then reached for the shampoo. Payton snickered at the way Boone gingerly washed his hair, but he didn’t want to hurt him. Not more than he already was. When the water no longer ran red, Boone worked conditioner through Payton’s hair, grateful the wound was small. But even small head wounds could cause big damage to the brain.

Once he rinsed his hair, he washed Payton’s body, doing his best to keep it from getting sexual in nature despite how nice it was to have his naked figure pressed against him. Still, by the time his hand dipped to Payton’s cock, he was already half-hard. Both of them laughed softly.

“Really? Even with a concussion you’re horny?” Boone teased.

“Do you think I can’t feel your dick poking my ass, you perv?” Payton countered, then tsked. “Imagine getting turned on when your boyfriend had his head bashed in. And they say I’m the psychopath.”

“Boyfriend?” Boone asked, his mouth tugging up at the corner.

“It does sound kind of juvenile, huh?” Payton asked. “But the word lover makes me wanna hurl. Partner makes it sound like we co-own a real estate company together. What else is there?”

Fiancé. Husband. Boone kept those intrusive thoughts to himself. “I’m not complaining. I just never thought I’d be referring to someone as my boyfriend at my age.”

Payton rolled his eyes. “Calm down. You’re so dramatic. You act like the grandparents in the Willy Wonka movie. You’re in your forties, not your nineties.”

“ Willy Wonka ?” Boone echoed. “I can’t believe you even know that movie.”

Payton turned to give him a look over his shoulder. “It’s a classic?”

“Like me,” Boone added grumpily.

Payton snorted. “Besides, there are memes of it everywhere on the internet. Gene Wilder is an icon.” When Boone just looked at him, he patiently said, “A meme is?—”

“Finish that sentence and I’ll drown you right here in this shower,” Boone warned.

Payton cackled, then whined, turning to bury his face in Boone’s chest. He wrapped his arms around him without thought, letting his chin rest on Payton’s hair as the water poured over them.

“My head hurts,” Payton said quietly.

Boone stiffened at that. “Worse than it did a little while ago?”

“No. About the same. It feels like the world’s worst hangover, but at least I’m no longer seeing two of everything. Nothing a little ibuprofen won’t cure.”

“You can’t take ibuprofen with a concussion, it could increase your risk of bleeding. You can take acetaminophen, though. I have some,” Boone said, leaning past him to turn the water off.

“Since when are you a doctor?” Payton asked.

“Since never. I’ve just had more than one head injury in my life,” Boone said.

Payton’s eyes went wide as Boone pushed back the shower curtain. “Like, how many, exactly?”

“One in high school. One in Panama when a target’s wife got the jump on me and brained me over the head with a statue of the Virgin Mary.”

“So, two? That hardly makes you an expert,” Payton said as Boone exited the shower to grab two towels from beneath the sink.

“Yeah, well, it’s still one more than you,” Boone countered.

He quickly dried himself off, then wrapped a towel around his waist before taking his time drying off Payton. He gently squeezed the water from his curls, then ran the rough towel over his bare skin until he was no longer dripping all over the floor.

Boone had Payton sit on the edge of the bed as he found a t-shirt and some sweatpants that could work on Payton’s much smaller frame if they cinched them tight enough.

It proved to be unnecessary. Payton let him carefully tug the extra large shirt over his head but ignored the pants.

“Stay,” Boone said as he walked to his bathroom, returning a moment later with his hair dryer. Payton watched, amused, as Boone plugged it in, then tossed a pillow on the floor, pointing to it. “Sit.”

Payton did as he was told, giving Boone a demure look that made him snort. Once seated, Boone turned on the dryer to the lowest setting, then gently set about taming the boy’s wild hair, careful to avoid his injury. It took an excessive amount of time. So much so that Boone’s hair was almost dry by the time he finished.

Payton hissed as Boone carefully removed the tegaderm and tossed it in the small garbage can beside his bed.

“My turn,” Payton insisted.

Boone didn’t have it in him to argue. He grabbed a pair of soft cotton pants from his drawer, sliding them on before he swapped places with the boy. He bit back a groan when Payton hooked his thighs over Boone’s shoulders, putting miles of leg in his periphery.

Payton turned the hair dryer onto high, making short work of Boone’s barely damp hair. Boone kept himself busy by running his palms along the soft skin of Payton’s calves and behind his knees. When Payton turned his head to get to the hair on the side, he dropped a kiss on the boy’s inner thigh.

“All done,” Payton declared.

Boone turned, getting up onto his knees, confronted with a view of Payton’s naked lower half. Payton gasped as he fell back on his elbows, his legs still over Boone’s shoulders. Boone couldn’t stop himself from dropping his head to press another kiss to one of Payton’s thighs, then the other.

When he stopped, Payton gave him an incredulous look. “You have a concussion. We shouldn’t do anything sexual until you’ve rested for a couple of days,” Boone explained.

“No, you are all assuming I have a concussion,” Payton corrected. “And I’m not waiting a couple of days to have sex with you again.”

“Payton…”

“Don’t ‘Payton’ me,” he fired back. “I want to get off. If you do all the work then I’m not exerting myself.”

Boone wasn’t proud of how quickly he allowed himself to believe the boy’s flawed logic. But Payton was hard, his cock straining against the fabric of the t-shirt he wore. How was Boone supposed to reject him when he was laid out before him like that?

He watched a slow smile form on Payton’s face. The boy knew he won. He laid back, arms akimbo, his heels digging into Boone’s shoulder blades to spur him on. So impatient. He gripped Payton’s hips, yanking him hard once until his ass was almost off the bed.

“This okay?” he murmured against his skin. “Are you comfortable?”

Payton hummed happily. “Just don’t expect me to reciprocate. I’m too sleepy.”

Boone shook his head, then sucked a deep purple mark into Payton’s inner thigh.

“Just want to touch you,” he said, admiring his handiwork.

He took one of Payton’s legs and held it away from his body so he could press his nose to the skin just beside his balls, inhaling deeply. Payton’s scent drove him crazy. He smelled like soap and something that was as spicy as it was floral. And it wasn’t any kind of perfume. Payton just smelled like that naturally.

It had Boone throbbing with need. “I love the way you smell.”

“Freak,” Payton teased breathlessly, hands fisting in the rumpled sheets beneath him.

Boone could live with that if it meant having Payton spread out before him like a buffet, all soft and pliant. His tongue darted out, licking over the delicate skin before him, pulling another desperate whine from the boy above him. Boone smiled, then sucked at his balls, taking his time, teasing each one.

Payton gave a choked-off sob, his hand pushing the t-shirt up, exposing his hard, weeping length. When he went to wrap his hand around himself, Boone smacked it away, earning a frustrated sound.

“Be patient,” Boone chastised.

“You’re the one who said it wasn’t good for me to get all worked up, and now, you’re torturing me. I can feel my brain cells dying as we speak,” he managed.

Boone huffed out a laugh, then spread Payton’s cheeks, admiring the supple flesh and the way it felt between his fingers. Maybe he would find fingerprint-shaped bruises there tomorrow. He pressed easy kisses around his rim, taking his time, loving the tang of Payton’s skin on his tongue.

Payton huffed out a frustrated breath, digging his heels into Boone’s shoulder blades, trying to urge him forward. Boone blew softly on the wet skin there, watching Payton’s hole contract, then ran the flat of his tongue over the boy’s entrance. Payton’s hips jerked forward, hands tightening painfully in Boone’s hair.

Payton whined, but Boone wouldn’t be rushed. He took his time, alternating between teasing little kitten licks and probing the tip of his tongue against Payton’s hole. Payton’s hips were restless as he tried to force Boone where he wanted him to go. But Boone refused to budge. He readjusted his grip, his tongue finally sliding into the tight heat of Payton’s body.

“Boone,” Payton panted. “I wanna come.”

Boone fucked his tongue deeper, wrapping a fist around the boy’s leaking cock. Payton whined as Boone circled his thumb around Payton’s leaking tip, then used the wetness to ease his glide as he stroked him painfully slow. Boone reveled in the feel of Payton’s hard length in his hand, in the sounds he could pull from him with every stroke of his hand.

“Please, Boone. Can I come? I need to come,” he gasped.

“Mm,” Boone said against his skin. “You can come whenever you want.”

Two more strokes and Payton was spilling over Boone’s hand with a punched-out little gasp. Boone stroked him through it until Payton flinched, then released him. He stood, going into the bathroom and returning with a wet washcloth, wiping down his hands and Payton’s belly.

“How are you feeling?” Boone asked, rationality creeping back in. “You’re not feeling dizzier? Your headache isn’t worse?”

He was still hard, but the thought that he may have hurt Payton through sheer horniness was enough to kill his boner.

“I’m fine,” Payton said around a yawn.

Boone picked him up and settled him so he was lying on the bed properly, then tugged the comforter in around him. Payton pulled it up until only his eyes were showing, watching Boone intently.

His heart kicked in his chest. Sometimes, Payton was so unintentionally cute that Boone forgot he was a cold-blooded killer, too.

“Aren’t you going to stay here with me?” he asked.

There was something almost guarded in the question, a quiet challenge but also an edge, like Payton expected Boone to refuse him, to tell him he had to get back to the mystery that needed solving. He should. It was the responsible thing to do. But he wasn’t leaving Payton alone with a head injury.

Boone nodded. “Of course, I am.”

He walked around to the other side of the bed, sliding under the covers and raising an arm so Payton could rest his head on his chest. They laid there in silence for a few moments, a million scenarios running through Boone’s mind.

He dropped a kiss on the top of Payton’s head. “I should have just made you stay with me last night.”

Payton sighed. “Shoulda, woulda, coulda. This isn’t the last time I’ll get hurt, I’m sure.”

“It’s the last time you’ll get hurt on my watch,” Boone muttered.

Payton giggled, glancing up at him. “What are you going to do? Chaperone my assassinations? Does the CIA allow boyfriends on assignments?”

Right. It would be Payton’s job soon.

A pit formed in Boone’s stomach at the notion of Payton far away from him doing who knew what with who knew who, putting his life at risk. Boone was the worst kind of hypocrite. He’d spent years running around in hostile territories, risking death more than once. But now, the thought of Payton doing the same made him want to beg him not to go. It was laughable, really. He was currently worried that the serial killer sharing his bed might get hurt out in the world without him.

“I can practically hear you thinking,” Payton murmured, his fingers splaying over Boone’s lower belly, stroking the trail of hair there.

“I just don’t know what I’ll do while you’re out on assignment.” Payton snorted, earning a sharp look from Boone. “What?”

“You make it sound like we’ll never see each other. How many times have you guys told us that most of what we do would be waiting for a call? You were a teacher more than you were an assassin. Park was a speechwriter for the ambassador. I’m going to spend most of my life pretending to be the heir to an oil company.”

Payton was right. Despite what the movies and books depicted, most of his job had been waiting. The longest he’d been on assignment was six months, but even then he’d been undercover as a teacher at a small village in Namibia. There was no reason Payton couldn’t live his regular life with Boone. Well, except one.

“Your father will never allow you to date me,” Boone said.

“My father is a dumbass who’s married to a woman three years younger than me. I don’t really care what he thinks about us dating.”

“He could cut you off financially.”

Payton scoffed. “No, he couldn’t. My grandmother left me an irrevocable trust that only I have access to. My father can cut me off if he wants to, but that won’t change my life any. Besides, he agreed to participate in this program. He can’t be mad that I found someone who shares my…special interests.”

“Murder?” Boone asked.

He could feel Payton smirking against his skin. “Among other things.”

Would Skinner accept Boone in Payton’s life? Did it matter? Would it alter Payton’s cover for his father to suddenly cut him off? Would the disgraced son of an oil billionaire have the same social credit as someone still in the fold?

What was Boone even thinking? This was Payton. He wasn’t just a rich socialite. He was a former model, a designer’s muse, a serial killer, and the person Boone loved most in the world. He stiffened at the thought, causing Payton to look up at him.

“Why do you suddenly look like you’re the one who got hit in the head?” Payton asked, studying his expression with a wry smile. “Did you suddenly realize you’re in love with me?” Boone opened his mouth to say he was wrong but then snapped it shut. Payton’s eyes went wide. “Did you?”

“I don’t know that it was…suddenly,” Boone muttered.

Payton gave him a scathing look. “Unbelievable. You look like you’d rather have your arm amputated than be in love with me.”

“That’s not true. I’m just thinking about the logistics of us long-term.”

“Our love isn’t a mission objective,” Payton said. “It just…is. It’s an organic thing that exists of its own volition. It doesn’t have to be handled, it just has to be…tended to. Cared for. It’s not the crisis you think it is.”

Boone didn’t know what to think of that. So, he didn’t. Not then, anyway. He flipped off the light and turned so Payton could tuck himself under his chin, his knee slotting between Boone’s. His hand rested on Payton’s ass, which made the boy hum happily. He didn’t let himself sleep until he heard Payton’s breathing even out.

He should have set an alarm for a couple of hours, but he didn’t want to wake Payton if he was sleeping soundly. If they found anything, they would call. Boone had no doubt about that.