Askai wanted to think about anything at the moment but the storm that was building inside him—a volatile mix of Jordan’s suspicious safety, Vance’s maddening control, and his own suffocating confinement.

  That’s when the door lock clicked, sharp and final, and Vance finally stepped into the room. Gone were the easy, dismissive manners of the morning and that infuriating, lazy smile. Vance looked exhausted, his shoulders heavy beneath the expensive material of his clothes, and suddenly many years older than his actual self. God only knew what silent battles they were fighting; each man, stripped down to his rawest core, was battling his own private hell.

  A traitorous, soft feeling—a perverse instinct of sympathy—reared its head inside Askai, attempting to cool down his simmering discontent, but he instantly nipped it in the bud, burying it beneath a fresh wave of resentment.

  “I need to get out of here,” Askai said, pushing off the headboard, his voice dangerously steady despite the tension coiled tight in his gut.

  Vance gave that infuriating, familiar shrug as he walked toward the gleaming mini bar-counter in the corner. “You can try.” The sheer dismissal in the words was a slap across the face.

  Askai scoffed, advancing on him. “Call your fucking dogs off, Vance, or I’m telling you now, someone is gonna get hurt. And it won’t be me.”

  Vance ignored him completely, pulling out a bottle of amber liquor and two heavy, leaded glasses.

  “I swear I would keep off the West! There you have it. What more could you possibly want?” Askai asked, throwing his hands out in frustration, an utterly useless plea, but Vance still kept his back to him, treating him with a chilling, utter indifference.

  Askai crossed the remaining distance between them and, driven by sheer, desperate fury, forcefully turned Vance around, the crystal glasses rattling on the counter. Vance kept avoiding his gaze, treating Askai as if he were an annoying, buzzing insect—invisible yet irritating.

  “Vance,” Askai hissed, threateningly low, forcing the other man to look him in the eye “What the hell is going on?”

  “Get used to these walls, Askai.” Vance finally met his eyes, his deep brown gaze shadowed with something Askai couldn't decipher—concern? Possession? He brought up his hand, his long, warm fingers gently rising to caress the curve of Askai's jaw, a feather-light touch.

  The words were a stark, terrifying irony to the feelings his touch evoked in him. Vance's voice promised condemnation—life under surveillance, confined by wealth—while his fingers whispered of sweet freedom from worry, a warm sanctuary.

  “There is a war going on out there,” Vance continued, his voice low and persuasive. “A real one. I can’t risk sending you out there, Askai. Not for your own sake.”

  “I can take care of myself!” Askai choked out, the words ripped from his throat. He was terrifyingly close to spilling his ultimate secrets, almost told Vance to his face how many bloody turf wars he had fought and won with nothing but a pipe and sheer nerve. He had an uncanny spirit of survival, and it was that same spirit that was keeping his mouth from blurting out anything stupid now. If Vance knew the truth, the war—and the farce—would end right there, with disastrous results for Askai.

  “I have Jordan and other friends,” he blatantly lied, adding layers to the false identity Vance had constructed. “We will storm it out like the other people out there.”

  “You are not like other people,” Vance contradicted, already fixing another potent drink for Askai, dismissing his entire argument. He looked at Askai with the deep, proprietary intensity of a man regarding his most prized possession. “I don’t care whether they live or die. I care about you. So you are staying here, right where I can see you.”

  Askai took the newly poured drink from his hand, the bitter insult burning hotter than the liquor, and poured it down his throat in one swift, punishing gulp. Bad move. The potent alcohol almost burned the entirety of his chest, and water sprang instantly to his eyes, forcing a sharp, ragged gasp from his lips.

  “Easy, Tiger,” Vance chuckled, the rich sound returning, instantly softened by the sight of Askai’s distress. His hands were suddenly on Askai’s back, one gently caressing the tense muscles between his shoulder blades while the other expertly poured him a generous second drink.

  But Askai pushed his hand away, the touch too distracting, too dangerous. “You can’t keep me here against my will. I have to go to…” find Jordan... no, “..to college,” he lamely added, grasping for a mundane excuse.

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  That earned him a throaty, amused laugh that resonated deep in his chest. “Oh, tell me about it. Which professor’s class are you worried about skipping? Dr. Reynold’s? I am sure they wouldn’t mind giving you some private lessons here, Askai. I’ll make the call.”

  “Of course, If they didn’t, you probably have other vacant rooms with their names on them,” Askai retorted, the fight draining out of him. That just earned him another laugh. It was hopeless, he realized.

  Vance saw him not as an equal, but as a petulantly rebellious boy who needed to be disciplined. Askai would have to find a way out himself. He claimed the second drink and sipped it generously. It was already working on the knots in his brain, the golden liquid soothing them gently, numbing his raw edges.

  “Why don’t you just give up on your stupid pride?” Vance asked, his voice low, intimate, and persuasive, moving closer. “At twenty-two, you are far too young for such stubbornness.” He gently brushed Askai’s fringe away from his eyes, his touch feather-light, then cupped his chin, forcing their gazes to lock as Askai leaned weakly against the counter.

  Askai desperately wanted to move away, to break the sensual trap, but his back was pressed firmly against the cool marble counter, and sometime during their conversation, Vance had moved to cage him in, his large, imposing body dominating the space.

  “Just choose to stay by my side,” Vance murmured, his voice laced with the seductive promise of absolute protection. “And you can have my men escorting you to whichever place you would want to go.” The words were a dark echo, the same veiled offer every man of the East made to the prized, beautiful "property" they kept in the West.

  “If I don’t?” Askai managed, his voice barely a breath.

  The answer wasn't spoken; it was delivered with a shocking, swift certainty by Vance’s lips that came crashing down on his. Askai tried to turn his face to the side, a desperate act of defiance to keep his head straight but Vance's hand held his chin firmly in place, immobilizing him. Askai gasped at the sudden, sensual assault, and Vance took the opportunity, deepening the kiss instantly, his tongue swiftly, expertly invading his mouth. Askai moaned—a helpless, involuntary sound—as his responses relaxed, the alcohol and the shock working together to dissolve his defenses.

  He was trapped, utterly consumed by the demanding, intoxicating heat of Regale.

  The kiss was everything Askai feared and everything he secretly craved. Vance's initial aggression—the demanding capture of his mouth—dissolved swiftly into a deep, consuming expertise. It wasn't just physical dominance; it was a profound, sensual claim. Vance’s lips were soft, yet firm, moving with a patient, possessive rhythm that stripped away every layer of Askai’s anger and resistance.

  Askai’s involuntary moan melted into a low sound of surrender, his hands, which should have been pushing Vance away, instead rising tentatively to grip the fine material of Vance’s shirt, pulling him closer.

  The liquor warmed his blood, blurring the lines of right and wrong. For a heart-stopping moment, the entire opulent, suffocating room—the gilded furniture, the distant threat of the black guards, the simmering war in the West—everything ceased to exist. There was only the heat of Vance's body pressing him against the counter, the intoxicating taste of expensive whiskey and desire on his tongue, and the shocking realization that he was meeting this intensity not with a fight, but with a desperate, hungry response.

  A spear of guilt pierced through the haze.

  Jordan. Jordan and Kael were still out there, hiding behind some flimsy walls in Middle Nolan, while Askai, the self-proclaimed protector, was here, trapped, letting himself be consumed by the very embodiment of the East End corruption.

  Askai tried to stiffen, to pull his mind back to the concrete reality of his mission, his hand pushing back against his chest but Vance sensed the moment of withdrawal. He didn't break the connection. Instead, Vance’s arm wrapped around Askai's back, pulling him into an impossibly tight embrace, turning the kiss gentler, almost pleading. It was a silent agreement: Just for a moment. Forget the world.

  Askai closed his eyes, his resistance crumbling like dust. He allowed himself to fall, deeply, willingly, into the seductive abyss. He needed this pause. He needed to be held, to feel something that wasn't panic or vengeance. No matter how fleeting those feelings were!

  His hands left Vance's shirt and slid up, circling around Vance's strong neck, pulling himself flush against the hard, unyielding wall of Vance’s chest. The simple act of holding him, of giving in to the intoxicating power of the man, felt like the release of a spring held tight for years.

  Vance broke the kiss, resting his forehead against Askai's, their breaths mingling, ragged and fast. His eyes, the deep brown now molten with heavy desire, were fixed entirely on Askai’s face.

  “See?” Vance murmured, his voice husky, triumphant. “No pride required. Just... a yes...”

  He didn't wait for the reply. He scooped Askai up, his strength effortless, lifting him off the ground and carrying him toward the vast, plush bed. Askai’s head swam, not just from the drink, but from the dizzying, unexpected weightlessness of being cared for. He made no protest.

  Vance laid him gently on the cool sheets, following him down, covering him with his long, hard body. The clothes came off slowly, deliberately, an act of mutual, intense focus. Every touch was an unspoken question, answered by a soft gasp, a shifting of hips, a desperate meeting of eyes.

  It was an exquisite surrender. In that bed, in the heart of the enemy's territory, for a profound, suspended hour, Askai allowed the world to shrink to the boundary of their skin. The guilt was pushed down—ruthlessly, determinedly—into the darkest corner of his mind. He would face it later, when the light returned. Right now, there was only the fierce, demanding heat of Vance, the pleasure they were forging between them, and the passionate touches that were blowing their minds. Askai clung to Vance, leaving himself open to ministrations of his expert hands, driving away the cold memory of the streets and the raw, persistent fear for his future.

  For now, the walls were down. For now, they were just two men, consuming and consumed, desperately trying to outrun their separate, converging storms.