CHAPTER 3

Gideon swigged vodka straight from a glass bottle he’d raided from the hotel mini-bar, the burn in his throat grounding him. He kicked the balcony doors open. The New Orleans humidity clung to his skin like a wet shroud, thick with the stench of Saati Town—garbage, exhaust, and the copper tang of blood from a dozen street fights happening blocks away. Below, the Sopttyi District was a cesspool of tourists and bottom-feeders, all grinding against each other like rats in a cage.

He hated this place. The congestion made his skin itch. He was a tracker, a man used to the wide-open shadows of the bayou, not this neon-lit tomb. But the contract was the contract. Or it had been, until they’d told Samon Lity to go fuck himself.

Timothy Gal. The name tasted like metal in his mouth. In the bar, the kid hadn't even flinched when Lity’s name came up. Zero recognition. That made Lity a liar. The "Siren" of the Nash Rebellion wasn't just some thief who’d seduced a mobster’s son; he was something else. Something that made Gideon’s pulse hammer against his ribs in a way that wasn't just about the hunt.

Gideon slammed his hand against the railing. His knuckles throbbed. He could still smell the kid—rain, old paper, and a sharp, electric scent that set his nerves on fire. It was the same visceral pull he’d felt the first time he’d locked eyes with Kan Nelblack years ago. A primitive, territorial roar in his gut that demanded he hunt, claim, and break.

"What’s eating you, Gid?"

Kan’s voice was a low vibration. Gideon hadn't heard him move. The man was a ghost, a shadow in human skin. Gideon felt heavy palms settle on his shoulders. He turned, looking into Kan’s silver-grey eyes.

"I tracked him to a hole called The Lead Pipe," Gideon said, his voice gravelly. "I touched him, Kan. I got close enough to see the way his pulse jumped in his neck." He let out a jagged breath. "He’s the one. He’s the third piece."

Kan’s fingers dug into Gideon’s traps. His expression didn't change, but his eyes darkened to the color of a stormy sea. He was shirtless, wearing only a low-slung towel, his chest still beaded with water from the shower. "Lity’s target? The kid from the rebellion?"

"Timothy," Gideon corrected. "My blood is screaming, Kan. The same way it did with you. It’s that raw, irrational need to put him between us and never let him go."

Kan’s jaw tightened. "We’re already a mess, Gid. A Blackwell and a Nelblack? Our families spent a century trying to kill each other before we walked away. Now you want to drag a rebel operative into this?" He fisted a hand in Gideon's hair, tilting his head back. "You’re sure?"

"My body doesn't lie," Gideon growled. He leaned in, his nose brushing Kan’s damp neck, inhaling the scent of cedar and cold sweat. "I want him. I want to see him pinned under you while I take him from behind. I want to hear him scream our names."

Kan’s breath hitched. His cock, already semi-hard under the towel, jerked against Gideon’s thigh. "We’ll find him. We’ll take him. And if he fights, we’ll make him enjoy the surrender."

He didn't give Gideon time to respond. Kan wrenched his head back further, his mouth crashing against Gideon’s in a brutal, hungry kiss. It was all teeth and tongue. Kan’s hands weren't gentle; they stripped the shirt from Gideon’s shoulders, buttons flying across the balcony tiles.

"Out here," Kan hissed against his lips. "I want the whole goddamn city to see what’s mine."

Gideon’s blood roared. He kicked his slacks off, his boots hitting the floor with heavy thuds. Below them, the street was a blur of movement, but up here, the air was electric. Kan ripped the towel away, standing naked in the humid night, his body a map of scars and hard-packed muscle.

He shoved Gideon against the balcony railing. The cold metal bit into Gideon’s lower back. Kan’s hands were everywhere—bruising his hips, kneading his glutes, his thumbs tracing the line of Gideon’s throat.

"Watch," Kan commanded, his voice a dark rasp.

He dropped to his knees. Gideon groaned, his head falling back as Kan’s mouth centered on his length. It wasn't a slow start. Kan took him deep, his tongue swirling around the head with a frantic, messy heat. Gideon’s fingers tangled in Kan’s dark, wet hair, pulling him closer, urging him to take more. The wet, slapping sound of the friction echoed in the small space.

Kan looked up, his silver eyes blown wide with lust, a trail of precum glistening on his lip. He didn't stop. He swiped his tongue down the underside of Gideon’s shaft, tasting him, before burying his face in Gideon’s crotch and taking him back into the heat of his throat.

"Fuck," Gideon choked out, his knees shaking. The weight of the night, the hunt for Timothy, and Kan’s mouth were too much. He felt the familiar tingle at the base of his spine.

He pulled Kan up by the hair, their faces inches apart. "Not yet. Turn around."

Kan smirked, a lethal, beautiful expression. He leaned over the railing, his back arched, his muscular ass presented to the street below. He looked over his shoulder, beckoning Gideon with a flick of his tongue.

Gideon didn't use any oil. He didn't need it. He was slick with sweat and the sheer desperation of the hunt. He gripped Kan’s waist, his fingers sinking into the skin, and drove himself home in one heavy, punishing thrust.

Kan’s cry was raw—a jagged sound that cut through the noise of the city. He gripped the railing so hard the metal groaned. Gideon didn't give him a chance to adjust. He began to pound into him, his movements fast and messy, their bodies colliding with a wet, rhythmic thud.

"Tell me," Gideon hissed, leaning over Kan’s back, his chest pressed against Kan’s spine. "Tell me what we’re going to do to him."

"We’re going to... break him," Kan gasped, his head tossing from side to side. "We’re going to... fuck him... just like this. Both of us. Until he forgets... his own name."

Gideon’s pace doubled. He was seeing stars, the salt of their sweat stinging his eyes. He reached around and gripped Kan’s cock, pumping him in sync with his thrusts. They were a tangle of limbs and heat, the literal weight of Kan’s body supporting Gideon’s aggression.

The end came in a blinding rush. Gideon buried his face in the crook of Kan’s neck, his teeth sinking into the skin as he let out a guttural roar. He felt Kan’s body seize, the man’s load hitting the railing and the street below as Gideon emptied himself deep inside, his muscles twitching with the force of the release.

They stayed like that for a long time, chests heaving, the humid air cooling the sweat on their skin. Gideon’s limbs felt like lead. The "hangover" of the sex was starting to set in—a dull ache in his hips and a lingering warmth in his gut.

Kan straightened up, his legs slightly wobbly. He turned around, his eyes regaining their focus. He wiped a smudge of sweat from Gideon’s forehead.

"Tomorrow," Kan said, his voice returning to its cold, professional edge. "We track the reaper. And this time, he doesn't get away."