6

"Get out. Now."

Ethan shoved the door of the black sedan open. The smell of burnt rubber and copper filled the cramped cabin. He didn't wait for Caleb to move. He reached across the center console, grabbed the lapel of Caleb’s blood-soaked shirt, and hauled him toward the pavement.

Caleb groaned, a wet, rattling sound. His boots hit the gravel of the warehouse floor with a heavy thud. He stumbled. Ethan caught him by the waist, his fingers sinking into the expensive wool of Caleb’s coat, now slick with something warm and dark.

"Easy, tiger," Caleb wheezed. His head lolled back, a jagged grin cutting through the smear of red on his face. "You’re handling the merchandise a little rough, don't you think?"

"Shut the fuck up." Ethan dragged him toward a rusted metal table under a single, flickering halogen bulb. "You're bleeding on my leather. You're lucky I don't dump you in the harbor."

"But you won't." Caleb slumped against the table, his breath hitching. "You need me. Who else is going to teach you how to actually run a company?"

Ethan slammed a first-aid kit onto the table. The plastic latches snapped like bone. He ripped Caleb’s shirt open. The buttons skittered across the concrete. A deep, ugly gash ran along Caleb’s ribs, the edges raw and weeping.

"Hold this." Ethan shoved a wad of gauze against the wound.

Caleb flinched. His hand clamped over Ethan’s, pressing down. His fingers were cold. "You’re shaking, Ethan."

"Adrenaline." Ethan reached for the antiseptic. "And the fact that I’m currently an accessory to about six different felonies because of you."

"Fedoras and feds." Caleb hissed as the liquid hit the raw meat of his side. His muscles corded. His other hand flew up, grabbing Ethan’s forearm. "They’re not here for the merger, Ethan. They’re here for the laundered money Lucas Reed moved through your offshore accounts."

"My accounts?" Ethan froze. The bottle of antiseptic hovered. "You moved that money, Caleb. You signed the integration."

"I signed it to track it." Caleb’s grip tightened. His eyes were dark, dilated, boring into Ethan’s. "Noah didn't flip because he wanted a bigger paycheck. He flipped because Lucas had photos. Your sister, Ethan. The internship in Paris? Lucas had her followed. He had enough to bury her and your old man. I didn't steal your CFO. I bought his silence before Lucas could use him to pull the trigger on your family."

Ethan’s stomach dropped. He felt the air leave his lungs. "You’re lying. You’re—you’re just spinning another thread."

"Ask him." Caleb leaned forward, his forehead nearly touching Ethan’s. "If we get out of this... ask him about the Paris files. I’ve been burning Lucas’s leverage for months. Why do you think he tried to have us killed at the gala? He’s losing his grip."

Ethan looked down at the wound. The bleeding was slowing. He began to wrap the gauze, his movements fast and jagged. The physical proximity was a physical weight. Every time his knuckles brushed Caleb’s skin, a spark of that hotel-room heat flared up, unbidden and disgusting.

"Why didn't you just tell me?" Ethan whispered. He pulled the bandage tight. Too tight.

Caleb gasped, his back arching. "Because you were too busy trying to ruin me. You wouldn't have listened to a word I said unless I was the one holding the leash. Admit it. You liked it better when you thought I was the villain."

"I don't like any of this." Ethan reached for the medical tape.

"Liar." Caleb’s hand moved. It didn't go for the wound. It slid up Ethan’s chest, fingers hooking into the collar of his shirt. He pulled Ethan down. "Your heart is pounding. You’re thinking about the piano. You’re thinking about how it felt when I finally broke that stubborn pride of yours."

"I'm thinking about how much I hate you," Ethan hissed.

"Same thing." Caleb’s mouth was inches away. "Hate. Love. It’s all just obsession, Ethan. And you’ve been obsessed with me since we were twenty."

Caleb lunged. It wasn't a kiss; it was a desperate, bloody collision. Ethan fought it for a second, his hands reaching up to shove Caleb away, but his fingers ended up tangled in Caleb’s hair instead. He pulled Caleb closer, his tongue searching for the copper taste of Caleb’s mouth.

Caleb groaned into the contact, his hand sliding down Ethan’s back to grab his waist. He hauled Ethan between his legs, pinning him against the edge of the metal table. The cold steel bit into Ethan’s thighs.

"Here?" Ethan breathed against Caleb’s neck.

"Right fucking here." Caleb’s hands were frantic now. He ripped at Ethan’s belt. "I’m not dying with my pants on."

Ethan shoved Caleb’s remaining clothes down. He didn't care about the wound. He didn't care about the feds. He wanted to erase the look of triumph on Caleb’s face. He wanted to be the one who took.

He pushed Caleb back onto the table. The metal screamed. Ethan took Caleb’s length into his hand, pumping him hard, his thumb rubbing over the head until Caleb was arching his back, his teeth bared.

"Suck it," Caleb commanded, his voice a raw snarl.

Ethan dropped. He took Caleb into his mouth, his tongue swirling around the head, his throat opening wide. He worked him with a violent, rhythmic suction. Caleb’s fingers dug into Ethan’s hair, pulling, forcing him deeper.

"Fuck—Ethan—" Caleb’s hips jerked.

Ethan pulled away, a string of spit connecting them. He stood up, his eyes locked on Caleb’s. He turned Caleb over, forcing him face-down on the cold metal.

"My turn," Ethan hissed.

He didn't use oil. He didn't have time. He used his own spit, slicking himself before he lined up. He drove in.

Caleb screamed. The sound bounced off the corrugated tin walls of the warehouse. He was tight, his muscles resisting the invasion. Ethan didn't stop. He pushed harder, deeper, until he felt Caleb’s pussy stretch to the breaking point.

"Look at me," Ethan commanded.

Caleb twisted his head back, his face pale, sweat and blood mingling on his skin. Ethan started to pound.

It was a brutal, ugly rhythm. Clang. Clang. Clang. The table shook with every strike. Ethan’s hands were on Caleb’s shoulders, pinning him down, his fingers digging into the fresh bandages. He didn't care if he reopened the wound. He wanted to feel the life in him.

"Who... who owns you now?" Ethan grunted. He hit Caleb’s sweet spot, a deep, blunt thrust that made Caleb’s knees buckle.

"You—you bastard—" Caleb wheezed. His head fell back against the table. "Harder. Do it harder."

Ethan obeyed. He lost himself in the friction, the stinging heat, the smell of sweat and antiseptic. He was pouncing so hard he felt his own ribs grinding against Caleb’s back. Caleb was screaming now, a raw, unhinged sound that filled the empty space.

Caleb’s body went rigid. He came against the metal table, a messy, white release that smeared across the rusted surface. Seconds later, Ethan followed, his own climax a violent explosion that left him gasping for air. He buried himself deep, his cum filling Caleb, the warmth a sharp contrast to the cold air of the warehouse.

He collapsed on top of Caleb, the literal weight of his body pressing the air out of both of them.

Minutes passed. The only sound was the ticking of the cooling car engine and their ragged breath.

"I can't... breathe," Caleb whispered.

Ethan didn't move. Not yet. He liked the weight. He liked the stillness. He finally pulled away, his legs shaking as he stood up. He reached for a towel to wipe himself.

Caleb rolled onto his side, his face twisted in a mix of pain and satisfaction. He reached for his discarded coat, fumbling in the pocket. His phone buzzed.

"Is that the feds?" Ethan asked, his voice dead.

Caleb looked at the screen. The light reflected in his eyes. He went still.

Ethan stepped closer. He looked over Caleb’s shoulder.

A text message. From an unknown contact.

Stage one complete. He’s cornered. Moving in for the kill.

Ethan’s blood turned to ice. He looked at Caleb. Caleb’s hand was shaking.

"Stage one?" Ethan’s voice was a low, dangerous growl. He stepped back, his hand reaching for a heavy wrench on the table. "He’s cornered? You son of a bitch. You led them right to me."

"Ethan, wait—" Caleb tried to sit up, but he winced, his hand clutching his reopened side. Blood was already beginning to seep through the gauze.

"Was this the plan?" Ethan pointed the wrench at him. "The gala, the warehouse, the 'confession' about Noah? All of it just to get me alone so your people could finish the job?"

"It’s not what it looks like," Caleb wheezed. He reached for Ethan’s hand.

The sound of a heavy engine roared outside. High-beams cut through the cracks in the warehouse door, blinding them.

"Open up! Federal agents!"

The door burst open. Not with a knock, but with a ram.

Ethan didn't look back. He grabbed the drive from the table and bolted toward the back exit.

"Ethan! Don't!" Caleb screamed.

A gunshot rang out. The light bulb above the table shattered, plunging the room into darkness.

Ethan hit the back door and ran into the rain. He didn't know where he was going. He only knew one thing.

The man he just shared his body with was the man who just signed his death warrant.