Page 30 of Deadly Hands

Sunlight filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows as Reuben stretched, muscles pleasantly sore from the previous night’s activities. His hand reached across the massive bed, memories flooding back; Nikon’s hands, his mouth, his everything.

The unfamiliar penthouse bedroom slowly came into focus. No sign of his clothes from last night, though a fresh set of what looked like designer loungewear was folded on a leather armchair.

Reuben grinned. Last night hadn’t been another tension-filled wet dream. The evidence was scattered across the room: Nikon’s tie draped over the armchair, Reuben’s shirt somehow hanging from an abstract sculpture that probably cost more than his student loans. His face heated at the memory of how it got there.

The bedroom itself was a study in “bachelor pad meets blood money” - all clean lines and muted grays, with touches of deep blue that matched Nikon’s eyes. Everything spoke of wealth, but nothing screamed it. Like its owner, the room held power in itsrestraint - each item carefully chosen, nothing needing to shout its worth.

A phone buzzed somewhere below, followed by Nikon switching to English: “He admitted it? You’re certain about this, Alexei?”

That edge in Nikon’s voice - the one that meant someone would be having a very bad day soon - cut through the domestic sounds of cooking.

Reuben sat up, wincing at the pleasant ache in his ass. His bare feet made no sound on the hardwood as he pulled on the provided clothes, soft cotton hanging loose on his frame, sliding down against his teeth-marked skin. Nikon hadn’t been gentle last night.

But neither had Reuben, for that matter.

Following the sounds into the kitchen, Reuben found Nikon simultaneously attempting French toast and conducting business on speakerphone. He’d traded last night’s suit for black slacks and a fitted white t-shirt that did nothing to hide his muscled frame. A small pile of burnt toast lay accusingly on a plate beside him, explaining the lingering smell of smoke.

“Would I call if I wasn’t?” Alexei’s voice carried over the speaker, car traffic humming in the background. “Andrey’s all but bragging about it. Claims he was protecting the family from your... how did he put it?‘Compromised judgment.’” A beat. “You know I support your choices, Nikon, but perhaps moving your boy somewhere safer wouldn’t be the worst idea.”

Nikon’s shoulders tightened, the movement subtle but clear to Reuben’s eye. The spatula in his hand creaked under his grip.

“I see.” Two words that promised violence.

Reuben must have made some small sound, because Nikon’s head snapped up, those piercing eyes locking onto him. But a second later, something in Nikon’s expression softened fractionally.

“I’m almost at your place,” Alexei said over the phone, but neither Nikon nor Reuben broke their locked gaze. “We’ll discuss the rest when I arrive.”

“I want to know everything,” Nikon told his brother, never breaking eye contact with Reuben. “Every detail, Alexei. Leave nothing out.” He ended the call without waiting for a response.

The silence filled the space between them like smoke, thick with everything they weren’t saying. Last night had changed everything, crossed lines that couldn’t be uncrossed. And now, in the harsh light of morning, Reuben wasn’t sure if that was terrifying or exhilarating.

Nikon gestured to a bar stool at the kitchen island with his spatula. “Sit. Eat something.” A pause, then softer: “Please.”

That‘please’did funny things to Reuben’s chest.

Reuben’s bare feet made no sound on the hardwood as he made his way into the kitchen. Meanwhile, Nikon’s eyes swept over him. Looking for injuries? Checking if Reuben had overheard too much? It was hard to tell with Nikon sometimes... even for Reuben.

Reuben perched on the stool, hyper-aware of Nikon’s presence as the man slid a plate of golden French toast in front of him.

“Heard my name. Well, not my name, but ‘your boy’ is me, right?” Reuben kept his tone light despite the churning in his gut. “Unless you’ve got other boys stashed around the city I should know about?”

Nikon’s expression darkened. He slid around the island like a shadow, backing Reuben against the counter. One hand gripped Reuben’s hip while the other traced the line of bruises decorating his throat. “Do you think I would allow anyone else to wear my marks?”

The possessive growl in his voice sent heat pooling low in Reuben’s groin. Still. “Your marks. Your boy.” Reuben shifted.“Your choice whether to stash me somewhere ‘safer.’ Sensing a theme here.”

Nikon’s fingers tightened briefly on Reuben’s hip before releasing him. He stepped back, running a hand through his dark hair—a rare display of frustration from a man who always liked to maintain perfect control.

“You’re right.” The admission came quietly. “I’m used to... managing every minor detail.” His lips quirked. “Though you’ve never been just a minor detail, have you?”

“Pretty sure minor details don’t end up naked in the boss’s bed.” Reuben picked up his fork, needing something to do with his hands. “Or is that covered in the employee handbook?”

“There is a situation.” Nikon ignored the attempt at humor, his expression grave. “My brother, Andrey, was the one who arranged the shooting at the bank. He meant to eliminate what he sees as a vulnerability in our organization.”

The fork clattered against the marble countertop. “Me. He meant to eliminate me.”

“Yes.”

One word, delivered with deadly calm, but Reuben could see the rage simmering just beneath Nikon’s stone-faced exterior. It showed in the tight line of his jaw, the way his fingers curled against the counter’s edge.

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