Page 6 of Breathe
At least, not all of the feeling. Okay, maybe the majority of his problem stemmed from Azrael being within arm’s reach.
Real scoped out the room looking for threats, but in a place this large and this crowded, it was impossible to identify every potential hazard.
And that was the fucking problem. Every time he got near Azrael, he was on the lookout for possible threats to the younger man. And it didn’t have to be physical threats—it could be any kind of threat to Azrael’s health, in any way, shape, or form.
“You’ve got to trust that Winter will get the job done,” Stone said, tossing a few bills on the table.
“I don’t trust anyone,” Real said flatly.
The urge to stalk across the room and rip Azrael out of his seat was very real, and he shifted on his stool—so much so thatStone clamped a hand on his shoulder as if afraid he would launch upward.
“Yeah, I know you’re thin on trust, but I’ll guarantee that Azrael spends the night at Dave’s before heading back out of town.”
What Stone said was a welcome relief, and Real grimaced and nodded. He still couldn’t drag his eyes away from the two men sitting across the club. He should have been the one in Winter’s place. He should have been Azrael’s date.
But he couldn’t, and the main reason was that…
Well, there were several reasons. The first being that Azrael hated him right now and for good reason. But the biggest reason Winter sat where he couldn’t was his own fault.
Real had rescued Azrael.
The first time he’d met Azrael had been on the streets of San Bernardino, California, over two years ago. The kid had been a tiny seventeen-year-old full of attitude and false bravado. Rather than stop to argue, Real had hefted the boy over one shoulder, smacked Azrael on the ass, and dumped him in into his vehicle.
After that one ass smack, Real hadn’t ever raised another hand to Azrael. The skinny teenager brought something out in him that Real was reluctant to put a name to.
Another reason for him to steer clear of Azrael was that Real knew without a shadow of doubt that he had become Azrael’s emotional anchor during the aftermath of events.
Events caused by Solomon. The sick madman had subjected the young assassin to horrific things nobody should have to live through.
That made Azrael and every single one of those boys vulnerable. So yeah, Real had been there for Azrael…
And that meant that what Azrael felt for him stemmed from gratitude and nothing else.
It was hero worship, plain and simple.
“Let’s go, Dave’s waiting.” Stone stood up from his seat, and Real followed.
He kept his head down because he stood taller than most of the men in the club and didn’t want to be spotted by either Azrael or Winter.
Winter was nothing if not observant, and he wondered what in the hell Real and Stone thought they were doing by showing up at the nightclub.
Both Real and Stone were hard to miss. The two men were big, beefy, and attractive, and drew the attention of other clubgoers. Both former servicemen oozed sexiness with the way they carried themselves. Real moved like a panther, and Stone like a predator. When the pair walked out, Winter gave a small sigh of relief and returned his full attention to Azrael. Thankfully, Azrael’s back was to most of the room.
Gazing into the attractive face of the younger man, Winter tapped his glass against Azrael’s drink and took a sip.
The gesture kept Azrael’s gaze on him, and it worked to Winter’s advantage. He didn’t release a breath until both of the bigger men had completely gotten the hell out of there.
“So, where do you live now?” Winter asked, and although he wasn’t much on small talk, he was a master at it when he needed to be.
“Here and there,” the teenager said, dark eyes filled with distrust.
“Not going to tell me?” Winter gave a wry smile.
Azrael’s lips finally tipped at the corners. It was a small one, but it was a smile.
“No, but I do move around.” Azrael shrugged and looked away to glance around the club.
“But you’re still in this area?” Winter asked.
