Page 87 of Prodigal

Gideon would find out. He had everyone working to find answers. And in the meantime, Ennis was locked away in a cold, dark room. Gideon hadn’t seen him since the night on the yacht. That had been three days ago. He couldn’t lay eyes on Ennis without feeling the overwhelming need to put bullets in him as well. But he had to wait.

Bide his time for everything to come out.

And then he would have to kill the father of the man he loved.

He sat back in his chair, scrubbing an agitated hand over his face.

There was a distance between him and André that pained him. He felt it acutely especially since they’d been so entangled in each other, hardly ever out of arms’ reach. They still were, for the most part—sleeping in the same bed and sharing meals with Juliette. But the distance was there, more emotional than physical. And it was because of Gideon’s own doing.

But he couldn’t stop hearing André beg him to spare Ennis even after listening to Ennis’s confession. Even after knowing Gideon’s intention whenever he did find the ones responsible. And André had still asked it of Gideon, with tears in his eyes for the man who’d wronged Gideon so grievously.

“Talk to me.” Samir’s voice shook him from his deep and heavy thoughts, and Gideon refocused on the other man.

This—his office—was where Gideon spent his days now, holing up in there every day immediately after having breakfast with André and Juliette. He didn’t see André again until late in the night, when Gideon crawled into their bed, and even that was torture. He’d entertained the idea of sleeping someplace else, but he was too selfish to pass up the warmth of André’s skin. They didn’t talk except for surface-level shit. And he was hit with the most intense sadness radiating from André whenever their eyes met.

But Gideon didn’t know how to unhear André asking for Ennis to be spared.

“G,” Samir prodded. “Talk to me.”

But he didn’t have anything to say, not really. “Any updates? Do we have anything on Traeger?” So far, no matter how deep they dug, this Traeger dude was turning out to be a goddamn ghost. They could find nothing on him, not even a photograph. It was as if he didn’t exist.

Samir shook his head. His brow was creased in worry as he gazed back at Gideon. “No.”

“Then there’s nothing to talk about.” Gideon shrugged.

“We can talk about why Ennis is still alive.” Samir didn’t break eye contact. “We don’t need him to be breathing. Not anymore.”

They didn’t. No.

He didn’t know that Samir had ever felt anything for anyone that was as remotely close to what Gideon felt for André. Theywere so locked in, he and André, that Gideon knew André wasn’t asleep when Gideon snuck into their bed late at night. But he never spoke up. And Gideon knew that no matter what André told him that night, no matter what promises fell from André’s lips, his lover might never recover from Gideon killing Ennis.

They might never recover.

And now, it was on Gideon. It fell on his shoulders to figure out which losses he could accept and which ones he just could not let stand. He had to decide who and what died, and though he’d made those types of decisions many times over, this one was different.

The death of his relationship.

Or the demise of all of his and his father’s plans for revenge.

“We have Ennis,” he answered Samir. “He’s not going anywhere, so what’s the big deal? What does it matter when he dies?” Those words were the weakest he’d ever uttered, and he didn’t doubt that Samir caught on to it, but at least his friend didn’t call him on it.

“You talked to your man about any of it?”

Gideon narrowed his eyes, but Samir didn’t heed the warning.

“I think you two should discuss it.”

“He begged me to spare Ennis!” Gideon spat. “He shed tears for that man.” He pointed at the door, throat tight. “What do we have to discuss?” Uttering the words immediately had his breath speeding up, coming louder and louder as he allowed the anger to creep in. He shouldn’t feel that way; he knew that logically. But he did and he couldn’t help it.

He felt torn inside, pulled in two different directions, and he didn’t know which way to go, which one to choose. Either one would destroy him.

“He loves his father,” Samir uttered. “You know what that’s like.”

But their circumstances were not the same, he and André. “Fuck.” Elbows on his desk, he placed his fists on either side of his head, knuckles rapping not-so-gently. “No matter what I choose, I lose.”

“Maybe. And maybe you just have to figure out which losses you can live with and which ones you can’t.”

How was he supposed to?—

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