Kairos - Blood (MxM) | Book 2 | ✅

9.Welcome to the Real World!

I nodded and remembered to breathe.

Jack's embrace had never felt this good as he tightened his strong arms around my body. I was dripping wet, and the PJs stuck to my skin.

"Fuck you, Jack," I mumbled with a sob escaping my choked up throat.

He didn't say a thing. His hands ran through my hair and held my head against his shoulder.

"Fuck you for waking up," he eventually let out.

Our foreheads pressed together. He held my cheeks harshly and I lightly tugged at his hair.

"Bill got shot," Jack disclosed.

Bill. Long Face. The secret biker. That guy. I knew that guy. Had I ever known anyone who got shot before?

"He's alive though. Right?" I needed to hear it.

"Yes. With a doctor as we speak."

"Good. That's good. He'll be fine."

"Yes."

Reluctantly, we let go of each other. I stepped out of the shower and removed the soaked PJs. There was a bathrobe hanging from the door and, with shaky hands, I put it on.

"How can I help?" the question left me as I sat on the bathtub edge.

The shower water stopped running and Jack reached out a hand, "Towel," his smirk played at my heartstrings.

"Jerk. I'm being serious." I threw a towel at Jack.

"There's nothing you can do."

I sighed with a groan, "Make something up then."

Jack stepped out of the shower, dried and naked, the towel draped over his head as strands of dark hair clung to his beautiful face.

Don't die, Jack. You don't get to die, ever. My mind spun this thought over and over. I drank in the sight of him and drowned in that single plea. Don't die.

"Cook something. Like hospital food, but tasty." He gave directions.

For once I was grateful for Jack's orders. I could fill my head with that and forget the awful familiar fear of loss and my stupid plea.

"I'll get on it. Anything else?"

His rough hands cupped my cheeks and he bent whispering, "Kiss me, stupid."

I leaped tangling my fingers into his damp hair as our mouths met in a hot slow, consuming kiss. The taste. The scent. The warmth. My heart raced, struggling to keep up with the storm of emotions crashing into me.

Jack's hands slipped along my body, then returned to my face tenderly caressing.

What are you doing? No. This isn't a goodbye kiss. Jack, stop touching me like it's for the last time. Don't peck my lips repeatedly like that. Close your eyes. You're gazing at my face as if you want to remember every bit of it.

Or was I the one doing all of those useless, needy gestures?

I left the bathroom in a daze. Jack went to get dressed in our bedroom, wearing only a towel around his waist. For some ungodly reason, I hated that Donnie was there to see Jack's body even if the view had lasted only a few seconds.

Crunch.

"You all right there, dweeb?"

"Yes," I said but remained stuck, gripping the backrest of the sofa and standing dumbfounded.

"Finally getting a glimpse of the real world. How's that feel?"

"What the fuck are you on about?" I mumbled.

Crunch. Crunch.

"You do get it, right? Bill's a good soldier. Took one for the boss." Donnie approached me with that damn peanut bag between his thick fingers.

All I wanted was to flip the bag and have his favorite snack fly right into his smug, scarred face.

Crunch. Crunch.

"I don't get it," I sighed and shook my head.

Of course, I did. Jack was in danger.

"There's this guy, Mr.Sands. He wants Jack dead and he ain't stopping until that happens." Donnie came inches away from my face, his gruff voice stabbing through the core of my fearful heart.

Stupid. Remember to breathe. I inhaled deeply and cackled nervously.

"That sounds like a movie. Stop messing around, asshole."

"Dweeb, I am serious."

Donnie's peanut breath enveloped me.

Stay a dweeb and he'll spill everything.

"Why would he want Jack dead?" I asked in disbelief.

"A whole bunch of reasons. Don't tell me you've never thought about how dangerous Jack's line of work is."

Shrug. Don't look him in the eye. I lowered my head and trembled like a twig, no need to pretend on that. Don't die, Jack.

"Playing dumb again? You know I hate that." His thumb trailed along my jaw.

Flip this asshole's bag of peanuts. Tell him you don't care about his feelings. You belong by Jack's side no matter how fucked up his mobster life is. Don't you?

How far down the rabbit hole are you already, Mr.Finley? If he dies... Get out while you still can. Doubt bloomed into my heart, like a rose, it sunk its thorns deeply.

Donnie squeezed my arm, whispering in my ear, "How many days left, Steve?"

I shied away from the warm breath falling on my neck.

How many days?

"18? Who cares?" I grumbled and attempted a retreat.

That large hand kept a tight hold on my arm and pulled me against his chest.

"I care. And it's 16." Donnie's raspy voice growled laced with annoyance.

"Is this really the time?"

He let go and put some distance between us, pacing around the place.

Crunch. Crunch. Donnie resumed chomping on peanuts.

What the fuck's his problem? Every bit of me screamed 'danger'. But I shook the feeling away thinking Donnie's aim had always been to creep me out. He's only fucking with my head.

"Jack's going out there again tonight. Am I right?"

With a nod, Donnie confirmed my worst fears.

"Will you be a good soldier?"

"Always have been," he said with a smirk.

I smiled back at him. Good, you son of a bitch.

"How dangerous is this Sands guy?"

Donnie pouted and fixed his eyes to the ceiling. "Imagine Lex Luthor with a cult following. Ten times worse than that."

"Trying to scare me?"

To my dismay, he shook his head and I believed him.

"Good luck then," I mumbled and allowed my feet to take me toward where I really wanted to be — by Jack's side.

"You'll try to convince him to lay low?"

I laughed bitterly. "As if that would work on Superman."

"Hey, weren't you Superman?" he grinned and pointed a finger at me like a gun.

"Weren't you Luthor?"

"Dweeb." He shot the finger gun at me.

I brushed my chest like the imaginary bullet was nothing. "Asshole."