Zane closed his eyes. It was hard to fight the urge to jab at that soft spot with the whiskey flowing through him. He moved away and ran his fingers through his hair. “Jesus Christ, Ty, I thought I was going to marry you. Did you know that? I’ve been trying to decide how to ask you for months! I was trying to fucking ask you when Nick fucking O’Flaherty called you for help! You just had to answer the fucking phone!”

Ty’s façade finally broke. His lips parted, but Zane didn’t let him speak.

“I told my mother to fuck off for you! I took off Becky’s ring and put it away for you, you son of a bitch! And all you were doing was your job!”

“You know that’s not true!”

“You were just following orders,” Zane grumbled. He swayed as he took a careless step back, tired of trying to intimidate Ty into backing down. “Everything I know about you is based on lies. You’re a caricature. Just a good little soldier.”

Ty’s voice broke. “You really believe that?”

Zane waved a hand at him. The warmth of the whiskey churned through him, leaving a cold outer shell that nothing would penetrate. “You make yourself whatever you need to be to get the job done, and then you move on to the next.”

Ty’s eyes flashed. “Bullshit.”

“You made yourself perfect for me. But that’s not the real you either, is it? I bet you don’t even know who the real you is anymore.”

Ty didn’t move, but his breaths were harsh in the silence. Through the haze of anger, Zane could see the life seeping out of Ty’s eyes, turning them hard and flat. A part of Zane screamed for him to stop—stop talking, stop being angry, stop going down this path. There was no coming back from this. But the part of Zane that was so hurt by Ty’s betrayal, the part that had continued to drink downstairs, that couldn’t get over the pain and anger, forced him to keep going.

He took a step toward Ty and jabbed a finger at his chest. “When this mess is settled and we get back to Baltimore? We’re over. You and I. Done.”

Ty grabbed his hand and shoved it away. “Right, Zane, that’s great. Why wait until you’re sober, right?”

Zane shoved him. “We’re done!”

Ty slammed both forearms against Zane’s arm and twisted, forcing Zane to contort with a howl of pain. Ty spun him and shoved him face first into the mattress. Furious, Zane flicked a wrist and one of his knives deployed. It nicked Ty, who cried out and let Zane go.

“Son of a bitch!” Ty shouted.

Zane rolled to his back and kicked at Ty’s chest, sending him staggering as Zane stood.

“I’m trying not to hurt you, Garrett!” Ty shouted. He wiped blood from the cut on his forearm.

“Fuck that.”

Zane grabbed for him, but Ty easily avoided his hand with a slap of one palm against Zane’s forearm. Zane rounded with the other hand and Ty repeated the move, not dodging but merely redirecting the force of Zane’s swings.

“Russian sambo, right?” Zane sneered as they circled each other. “Another secret I’ll probably never have explained.”

“Add that to the list, right behind sobriety.”

Zane lunged and Ty went into a modified kick flip, only instead of kicking out, he rolled over Zane’s back to land behind him. Zane shoved his shoulder back, catching Ty in the side and flinging him onto the bed. The springs complained and the headboard banged against the wall.

Zane climbed on top of him and grabbed both of Ty’s wrists, holding him down before Ty had a chance to recover. Ty bucked under him, but he couldn’t fight Zane’s weight in that position, not unless he meant to do real harm. And if there was one thing Zane knew about Ty, it was that he would let himself be beaten to a pulp before he truly hurt Zane.

Zane could feel Ty’s heart pounding, his breaths growing more difficult, his hard muscles working to free himself. Zane pressed down to keep him from getting loose and kissed him, hard and messy, forcing his tongue into Ty’s mouth and not giving him a chance to say otherwise.

Ty fought his grip, bucking his hips. Zane was growing harder with every struggle. Just like the first time they’d fought in an alley in New York City and then fucked all night long, the violence fueled him. He thrust down, grinding his cock against Ty. Ty moaned into his mouth, but he still tried to pull his hands from Zane’s grasp.

Zane let go of one wrist and grabbed a handful of Ty’s hair instead, yanked Ty’s head to the side, and bit at his neck. He let Ty’s other wrist go and reached for his shirt, ripping it at the neck so he could taste the sweat along Ty’s collarbone.

Ty’s breathing was harsh and labored. He twisted, and his forearm caught Zane in the cheek. Zane grabbed his hand and yanked Ty’s arm across his body, shoving it to the bed and pinning him. Ty tried to twist out of it, but Zane was too heavy.

“Asshole!” Ty snarled.

“I know you can throw me off,” Zane grunted. “Go ahead, Ty. Do it.”

Ty’s eyes narrowed. His breaths were gusting across Zane’s face. He didn’t make a move to break Zane’s grip, though.

Zane released his hand to see if Ty would struggle more. When he felt Ty’s body relaxing under him, he kissed him again, pushing himself between Ty’s legs, shoving his tongue between those sinful lips. He bit at Ty’s lower lip. Bit hard.

Ty’s fingers dragged down his shoulder and he let Ty’s lip go. He thrust again, his cock growing painfully hard inside his jeans. He reached between their bodies to loosen his belt and pull the zipper, then pushed his jeans and boxers down.

Ty’s eyes were dark and unreadable. “I thought we were done.”

Zane smiled slowly. “As soon as you know what it feels like to be used. Then we’re fucking done.”

He grabbed Ty’s shirt to rip it the rest of the way. Ty swatted at his fingers, but Zane knocked his hand away and instead reached to pull the straps on both his wrist sheaths. He tossed the knives away and hovered over Ty, pressing their bodies together.

“Where’s your fucking kit?”

Ty licked his lips. “By the door.”

Zane pushed off him and moved to rummage through Ty’s toiletry bag. He finally dumped everything on the floor. Toothpaste and shaving cream and several EpiPens went rolling across the floor. Zane grabbed up the lubricant, but he stopped when he saw a small black jewelry box at his foot.

He picked it up and straightened. Ty had tossed his torn shirt to the floor and was shoving his pants to kick them off, his movements jerky and irritated.

“You don’t have to order me around, you know,” Ty told him. “As far as I’m concerned, I’m still yours.”

Zane huffed, his stomach tumbling at Ty’s words. The anger ebbed as he held the box up for Ty to see. “What is this?”

Zane watched sadness roll over Ty’s face. “It was for you.”

Zane was breathing hard, trying to fight the veil of whiskey to see through to the only man he’d thought he would ever love. Without asking for permission, he flipped the box open.

Inside was a rectangular silver token. A rough anchor had been etched into the face of it. Zane picked it up and dropped the box to the floor. He could feel something on the other side, but his eyes were fixed to the anchor.

“I had my ring from the cruise ship job melted down for it. It’s a sobriety token.”

Zane looked up. Ty was sitting on the edge of the bed, shoulders slumped, eyes on the floor.

“You told me one time that . . . I was your compass. I gave you direction when you were lost,” Ty said, nearly choking on the words. He glanced up, eyes reflecting like liquid in the low light. “Well, you were my anchor. You were something solid for me to hold onto. I wanted you to remember that.”

Zane stared at him for a solid minute, trying to feel something beyond the warmth of the whiskey, beyond the reach of the anger. He had convinced himself the Ty Grady he knew wasn’t the real one.

But what if it was? What if Zane was the only one who’d seen the real man beneath all those layers?

He turned the token over in his hand. “I believe in you” was etched on the other side. He balled it in his fist and tossed it at the door with a mournful shout.

“You son of a bitch!” he shouted, stalking toward Ty. “I trusted you!”

Ty stood to meet the assault. Zane grabbed him and kissed him brutally, digging his fingers into Ty’s hair, slamming him against the wall beside the bed. A moment later he shoved Ty onto the bed and climbed over him, continuing the kiss in all its angry glory.

“Zane,” Ty said, breathless. Whether it was from the weight on top of him or the weight of his emotions, Zane didn’t know and didn’t care.

“Shut up, Ty. Don’t fucking say my name.” He reached between them, taking Ty in hand and squeezing. Ty gasped and closed his eyes. It made it easier for Zane, not being forced to look into Ty’s eyes.

He filled his palm with lube and stroked himself, using his other hand to tug at Ty’s thigh. He leaned over him, biting at his lip, yanking his leg higher, thrusting his hips, forcing Ty to lift his other leg and let Zane settle on top of him. Ty’s entire body was trembling.

“For once in your life,” he ground out against Ty’s lips. “Be something honest for once in your life.”

He pushed the head of his cock against Ty, waiting for the gasp he knew was coming. The gust of air came against his lips, the same one Ty always seemed to let out when Zane first entered him. Zane bit down on Ty’s lip to turn that gasp into one of pain, then shoved harder, breaching, pushing past tight muscles.

He’d forgotten what it felt like to delve into the warmth of someone else when all he felt was the cold calm of the alcohol and the bite of unchecked anger. God, it was so good.

He gripped Ty’s hair to hold him still beneath Zane’s weight as he inched in. It was agonizing to go so slowly when all he wanted was to hear Ty cry out for mercy, to fuck him until he could feel nothing but the simplicity of emptying himself deep inside someone else, emptying all the pain and anger into someone who was begging for more.

He pushed until he was completely sheathed, until Ty was writhing beneath him, trembling against him. Ty’s breath shivered over Zane’s lips.

“Come on, then, Garrett,” Ty whispered. “You want me to feel used?”

“Yes,” Zane hissed. “I want you to hurt like I do.”

“Then do it.”

Zane smacked his hand over Ty’s mouth. He pulled out and forced himself in again, lingering long enough to appreciate the slow slide of his cock as he delved deep, to feel Ty’s body jerk beneath his. Ty gasped against his hand. His fingernails raked down Zane’s back. Zane reached under Ty’s hips and pulled him off the bed, shoving deeper, forcing Ty to contort.

Ty called out, the sound muffled by Zane’s hand.

Zane started up a brutal rhythm, holding Ty down, the only sounds he heard were muffled and incoherent. His hips moved faster, harder, anger and anguish driving him, seeking pleasure that only his body registered and his mind refused to let him feel. He buried his face against Ty’s chest, pushing harder, finally letting his hand fall away from Ty’s mouth so he could lift Ty’s hips higher.

Ty gasped his name. It was a pleading sound, filled with the same anguish Zane felt in every fiber of his being. Zane smacked his palm over Ty’s mouth again.

“Don’t you say it,” he growled. “Don’t you dare say it.”

Ty’s hands grasped at his back, dragging, clawing at him. His body writhed under Zane’s as Zane came inside him. As Zane’s movements slowed, his world came crashing back to him, everything black and white, everything made crystal clear and magnified to a pinpoint by the whiskey coursing through him. He moved his hand, and Ty gasped for air.

Zane pulled out of him, but he kissed him again, running his fingers down Ty’s body to grip his cock. He was growing harder as Zane handled him, his moans vibrating against Zane’s lips.

“You need to get off?” Zane asked, his voice surprisingly hoarse. Ty gasped. “Say it, say the words.”

“Garrett,” Ty tried.

Zane held him down and stroked him, riding out the rhythm of Ty’s body seeking release. “Tell me what I want to hear, Grady.”

Ty gripped Zane’s shoulders, pushing his cock into Zane’s hand. “I need you,” he gasped.

The words tore through Zane with the precision of a scalpel. He kissed Ty greedily one last time, pumping him until Ty’s entire body trembled with impending release. Then he let go and backed away from the bed, leaving Ty on the precipice without any stimulation to push him over. He nodded toward the door as he met Ty’s eyes. “Go on. I’m betting Nick’s fucking waiting for you with a nice warm bed.”

Chapter 11

Zane woke with a splitting headache, cotton in his mouth, and a back that burned like he’d been dragged across gravel. He sat up carefully, waiting to see if his stomach would rebel. His head pounded, but thankfully nothing else protested.

He looked around the room with a growing frown. He didn’t remember getting into bed. He didn’t remember falling asleep. Pages and pages of old books were plastered to the walls of his room. The same room Ty had been in. The bed beside him was cold and obviously hadn’t been slept in. His clothes were neatly folded and piled on the table, sitting beside a bottle of whiskey and an empty glass. Zane stared at the glass, a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach finally making him nauseous.

The night came back to him in a jumble of words and smells, of demanding kisses and rough sex. The scratches on his back were from Ty. He remembered shouting at him. Telling him they were done. He remembered taking a swing at him. Had he thrown a chair at him? Oh Jesus, what else had he done? He knew he could be violent when he was drunk and angry. His only comfort was knowing Ty would have fought back, and from the bruise he could feel on his face, Ty had done just that.