Chapter Text
It wasn’t Fadel’s normal gym, and that was what threw him off.
The target—some middle-aged man who spent billions to pollute the planet, who exploited the people who worked for him, who paid other people to do his dirty work—favored this gym, though. In fact, he had a standing appointment with a trainer, which, from what Fadel had seen, was mostly the man sitting on the weight bench and bragging about his business to the trainer, who tried fruitlessly to get him to work out.
Normally, Fadel wouldn’t care about where he had to haunt in order to hunt his prey. He’d done plenty of things in the past that were outside of his comfort zone. He wasn’t even uncomfortable in a gym, but this particular gym had one thing every other place hadn’t.
Him.
And by him, Fadel meant the obnoxiously loud guy who made noises with every exercise he did, who preened in front of the mirrors and made suggestive eyes at every girl who glanced his way. It was downright distracting when Fadel was supposed to be watching his mark.
Trying to tune out the guy’s grunts on the weight bench a few spots over, Fadel focused on the target. The man had been late today, which meant Fadel had to spend extra time on the treadmill before he could slink into a forgotten corner and pretend to be working on his triceps.
Bison was late too, Fadel thought, frowning as he glanced at the clock. They had to do this tonight or Mother would lecture them about contracts and timeliness and doing the job right. Fadel always did the job right. That, he wasn’t worried about.
“Need a spotter?”
Confused by the sudden intrusion into his thoughts, Fadel glanced over at the guy hanging off the equipment, his tight tank top riding up his stomach, his limbs long and lanky, exposed in shorts that were a bit too short for a proper workout outfit, what was probably supposed to be a suggestive arch to his eyebrow, and Fadel wasn’t impressed.
“No,” he grunted simply. He didn’t have time to entertain whatever this guy was trying to do. Probably show off in front of the few women who were in the gym tonight.
“It’s dangerous, you know,” the guy went on, as if Fadel’s blunt rejection didn’t phase him at all. “To train by yourself. You could get hurt.”
Fadel would hurt this guy if he didn’t leave him alone.
In the mirror, he could see the mark finally start to lift some weights, which usually meant he was almost done. Fadel needed to be in place by the time he got to the locker room.
“Thanks for the advice,” Fadel answered sarcastically, pushing himself up and grabbing the towel hanging off the bench. He wasn’t interested in talking, not interested in helping this guy show off for girls. He had a job to do.
“I could give you some tips,” the guy offered, stepping in front of Fadel before he could get around him. His eyes were bright, long neck stretched to look Fadel in the eye, and Fadel wondered for a second if this guy was trying to flirt with him now.
Ridiculous, he told himself as he stared at the guy in front of him, with an expectant smile on his pouty lips, hair falling into his eyes, but Fadel could still see the brightness behind as he waited for Fadel’s response.
“Get out of my way,” Fadel just said, elbowing his way past him.
“Feisty,” was all he heard behind him, and Fadel chose to ignore it.
Once he was done with this stupid hit, he could go back to his own damn gym where no one bothered him or preened like a peacock for attention.
Fadel left the gym, heading for the locker room and pulling out his phone to text Bison and demand to know where he was.
“Hey.”
Fadel looked up, not at all relieved to see Bison lingering by the door to the locker room.
“You’re late,” Fadel greeted him, tucking his phone away. He didn’t know what Bison had been doing to make him late and he didn’t particularly care, but he was annoyed at the deviation to the plan.
“I know, I know,” Bison said, rolling his eyes as if Fadel was making a mountain out of a molehill. “But I’m here now. And there’s plenty of time. He hasn’t finished his workout, has he?”
“Not yet,” Fadel said, grudgingly, which he knew would only reinforce Bison’s assurance that him being late didn’t matter. It mattered to Fadel. They made a plan and he intended to stick to it.
“Then come on,” Bison said, as if it wasn’t a big deal at all, ushering Fadel into the locker room.
It was a simple enough plan, Fadel could admit. They hadn’t had to infiltrate a secret club or drug anyone to get information. Fadel had just had to go to this stupid gym for the last few weeks to learn his schedule. And as soon as they took him out, his life would go back to normal.
Pulling his backpack from the locker, Fadel screwed the silencer onto his gun before he tucked it in his shorts and doused a few towels in chloroform. They needed to do this quickly and quietly. Put the mark under, get him out of the gym, and leave his body somewhere no one would find it. Quick, clean, simple.
Fadel looked up at the sound of the door opening, and he shoved his bag out of sight and nodded for Bison to go around the other side of the lockers. They couldn’t be suspicious.
“Are you stalking me?”
Confused, Fadel turned to find that guy from earlier standing at the corner of the row of lockers. Fuck, no.
“I was here first,” Fadel answered, turning away, mind racing. They needed to get rid of him. Fast.
“Not here,” the guy said, as if it was obvious, trailing his fingers along the locker as he stepped closer. “But you’ve been coming to this gym every day for the last three weeks. Don’t think I haven’t noticed you watching me. It’s flattering, really. I mean, I know I am gorgeous.
Fadel felt his lip curl, flummoxed at the sheer audacity of this man to assume Fadel came here for him. He couldn’t care less about the lanky, but admittedly pretty, man standing before him. Anything attractive about him was immediately negated by the words that came out of his mouth.
“I have no interest in you,” Fadel said bluntly, and it was the god’s honest truth. The only interest he had was getting him out of the way before their mark came. If he couldn’t, they’d have to wait for another day, and Fadel was tired of waiting.
“That’s because you haven’t seen my ass,” the guy said with a cheeky smirk, and fuck, did these pick-up lines actually work on people?
But maybe this was how Fadel got rid of him.
Stepping forward, he closed the distance between them as he heard the locker room door open again. Shit. They were running out of time. The guy looked delighted that Fadel was finally playing his game, eyes darting around his face, a smile growing on his face.
“Then why don’t you go get in the shower and I’ll find out for myself?” he said, voice low, hoping it was seductive enough for the guy to agree.
“Provocative. I like it,” the guy said, biting his lip and glancing down Fadel’s body.
Fadel barely restrained himself from rolling his eyes, keeping his cool as he spotted their mark finally rounding the lockers. They needed to get this done. Now.
Fadel nodded toward the showers, and the guy just grinned, as if he’d won something. It was all Fadel could do to keep up the act until the man had disappeared around the corner. If they could just get the mark out of here, they’d be fine.
Lingering by the open locker, Fadel watched the other man out of the corner of his eye. It was a very short window of opportunity here, between the sound of the shower turning on in the other room and the man pulling on a pair of pants next to him.
Reaching into his locker, Fadel removed the cloth doused in chloroform, clenching it in his fingers as he stepped up behind the man. He’d done this a hundred times, to a hundred different people, and the moment Fadel got his arm around the guy’s neck, he knew there’d be no problem.
Muffled grunting and yelling filled Fadel’s ears as he held on tighter and Bison rushed around from the other side to hold the man down so he didn’t flail around and make any more noise. He was a big guy, though, and the chloroform didn’t seem to be enough. Frustrated, Fadel’s hand went for the gun tucked into his shorts. They’d just have to finish it here before someone heard the commotion.
“You know, you’re kind of bad at this—”
Fadel’s head snapped as his finger squeezed the trigger, a sharp kickback from the gun, the whooshing sound of the bullet as it hit the man’s chest and blood oozed from the wound. The voice cut off with a short gasp, and Fadel already knew before he even turned around. They were fucked.
The guy was in only a towel now, staring at the scene before him with wide eyes, and Fadel knew the wheels were turning the second he spun on his heel and made a beeline for the shower.
“Fuck!” Fadel hissed. This was exactly the kind of thing he didn’t want to happen. Bison was just staring at him, still holding the man’s feet, as if he didn’t know what to do. Fadel just rose from the floor quickly. They had to fix this. Now. “I’ll take care of that one. You take care of him.”
Bison nodded seriously, and Fadel cursed to himself as he headed for the shower room.
Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit.
If Bison had just been on time, he wouldn’t have to stride into the showers and block the door as he found the guy pressed against the tile in the corner.
“I didn’t see anything,” he said swiftly, holding up his hands. “I swear. I won’t tell anyone anything—you can trust me! I’m great at keeping secrets. I didn’t tell anyone that my best friend in kindergarten peed his pants on the merry-go-round because he was afraid of horses.”
Fadel didn’t care. He didn’t care and it didn’t matter.
“No, please, please!” the guy begged as Fadel advanced, the cloth still clutched in his hand. He didn’t want to do this but he had no choice now.
The guy tried to run, to dart away from him, but Fadel was stronger and faster, hooking his arm back, twisting him down and clamping the cloth to his mouth as he struggled. Closing his eyes, Fadel let out a breath as he held on tight, only letting go once the man went limp and slid to the floor.
Fuck.
*
This was a complete mess, Fadel thought as he ran his hands through his hair, leaning against the door. If there was one thing they were not supposed to do, it was leave witnesses. And they especially weren’t supposed to bring said witnesses home and tie them up in their basement. But what choice did Fadel have?
“What are you doing down here?”
Fadel looked up at Bison’s voice on the stairs, the soft footsteps as he came down. He must have finished the job by the looks of things, his hands covered in dirt as if he’d just got done burying a body.
“Is it done?” Fadel asked instead of answering him, and Bison nodded, still looking confused to find Fadel down here.
“Yeah,” Bison replied simply, brushing his hands on his pants. “What happened to the other guy?”
Huffing, Fadel glanced at the closed door. It was silent, behind it, at the moment, but it wouldn’t be for long.
“We have a problem.”
Bison frowned, and Fadel wasn’t sure why he was even telling him. Bison’s solution would be to shoot him and get it over with, but technically, the guy hadn’t done anything wrong. He was just in the wrong place at the wrong time but now Fadel had to deal with it.
“What are you going to do?” Bison asked, eyebrows furrowed, and Fadel huffed again.
He didn’t know.
He couldn’t just let him walk away, not after this. He’d run straight to the police, and Fadel didn’t know well-enough if threats would keep him in check. But he couldn’t keep him locked up in a basement forever either.
“Do you think we should tell Mother?” Bison asked, and Fadel frowned.
Maybe they could still fix this, he thought, though he didn’t have much hope when he heard a noise from behind the door. The rattle of a chair, muffled shouting which meant he was awake. It was one thing to be late doing a job—it was another entirely to admit they’d fucked up and needed her to fix it.
“Don’t say anything,” Fadel instructed Bison as he unlocked the door, and Bison, for once in his life, nodded as if he understood.
The basement was big and cold, mostly filled with things they didn’t use, boxes and old furniture pushed against the wall, a large set of lockers by the back wall where they kept their surveillance equipment. And in the middle of the room, tied to a heavy wooden chair, sat a frightened-looking man with only a towel around his waist, whose eyes widened as Fadel and Bison stepped in.
Fadel couldn’t make out the words behind the gag tied in the man’s mouth, but he was clearly trying to say something as he pulled at the restraints, eyes darting all around, fear plain as day on his face.
“Stop struggling. You’re only going to hurt yourself,” Fadel snapped when the guy wriggled around, although Fadel knew his knots were perfectly safe. The guy tossed him a look and made what sounded like a noise of disagreement. Sighing, Fadel stepped up to him and grabbed him by the chin. “This is your own fault. If you hadn’t been such a lecherous horndog to someone you didn’t even know, you wouldn’t be in this situation.”
The guy made another muffled sound, as if he was trying to argue with Fadel. His big eyes were fixed on Fadel, pleading but also rounded with what might have been an attempt to flirt his way out of it. Fadel couldn’t be sure considering he was still gagged.
“What am I supposed to do with you?” Fadel muttered to himself as he shoved the man’s chin away.
More muffled sounds, as if he was offering a suggestion. Probably something to the tune of, ‘You could let me go.’
It wasn’t that simple, though. It never was.
Bison stood watching, arms crossed over his chest, an eyebrow raised as he watched the man wiggling on the chair.
“You should just shoot him and that’ll be the end of it.”
“Mmm!” the guy protested, turning his gaze back to Fadel as if thinking Fadel might be the more merciful of the two. He supposed he was, in this situation.
“He didn’t do anything. He’s probably not a bad guy,” Fadel reminds Bison, though it would have been a lot easier if he had. “We don’t kill good people, remember?” He glanced at the guy again. “He’s just a pain in my ass.”
The guy frowned this time, as if insulted. But whatever he said, he mumbled it quietly against the gag. Fadel was beginning to think the gag was pointless.
Leaning in, Fadel grabbed the guy by the face again, holding his gaze steady. “The way I see it, we have two options. One, I keep you tied up here so you can’t tell anyone, or two, I make sure you can’t.”
The man’s eyes went wide again and he made a pitiful noise as he stared at Fadel.
Grimacing, Fadel knew it was a choice no one would want to make, so he reached for the gag and pulled it from the man’s mouth.
“What?” he asked, sharp, as if he didn’t know what the guy was going to say.
The man blinked, almost as if surprised. “You can trust me,” he said quickly. “I won’t tell a soul. I-I don’t even know who you are. I just thought you were hot, and I’m hot, you know?”
Fadel didn’t see why that mattered. Over by the wall, he heard Bison’s snort but paid it no heed.
“Besides! I didn’t see anything. Just a guy, on the floor. And you were there.” The guy paused, thinking before he glanced at Fadel again. “Is he dead?”
This guy had no sense of self-preservation, Fadel thought, shaking his head and slipping the gag back around his mouth despite how he protested.
“No one can ever trust anyone completely,” he said instead of answering the question, taking a step back and nodding at Bison. “Let’s go.”
Bison just shrugged his shoulders as he passed Fadel, heading for the door. “I still think you should just shoot him.”
Fadel ignored the sad noise from behind him as he followed Bison. He couldn’t do that, but he needed a solution. He’d have to go to Mother. As much as he hated it, he’d have to go to her.
*
“Hmm,” Mother said as she gazed out the large window in her office, her back to Fadel, and Fadel really wished Keen wasn’t sitting across the vast table from him, looking so damn smug. Trying to keep his gaze neutral, he looked away from Keen’s stupid smile and over at Lily instead.
She hadn’t said much when he’d told her about the problem now sitting in his basement, more concerned that the job had been finished. But Fadel was more concerned with the other part.
“I can’t kill him,” Fadel said when Lily kept looking out the window, and he wasn’t sure what she was thinking. “He’s annoying but he’s not a bad person.”
Lily made another noise, turning to Fadel with her hands clasped in front of her. “I admire you sticking to your morals, but we need to address this somehow. What’s to stop him from going to the police and putting us all in danger?”
If Fadel could figure that out, he wouldn’t be here. It was better for everyone if he handled things on his and Bison’s end. Lily only needed to know as much as they told her.
“I can keep him tied up,” Fadel said, but Lily shook her head.
“Forever?”
Fadel could only imagine a world in which he had to listen to that mouth forever and he grimaced.
“There’s only one way to guarantee your safety,” she said. “Our safety.”
“I won’t kill him,” he repeated himself, to make sure she was listening. But just because Fadel wouldn’t do it didn’t mean Lily wouldn’t find someone else who would. He was too old to believe everything she said despite how she smiled at him, as if he was too naive. He didn’t know what the solution was, but he wouldn’t kill someone who did nothing to deserve it.
Returning to the window, Lily paced slowly, a hand to her chin as if thinking. If only it was as simple as killing him and ditching the body—anyone else would have already done it. But there had to be another way.
“There’s one way we can stop the police from forcing him to talk,” Lily said after a minute. “But we’ll still need assurance he won’t go on his own.”
Blackmail. Fadel could find that, but he wasn’t sure what else she was talking about.
“How can we stop the police from making him talk if they find out?”
Across the table, Keen laughed derisively under his breath, and Fadel didn’t like that at all, shooting him an icy glare. Keen was lucky Lily even let him sit in on meetings like this when he was better suited to doing paperwork.
Lily just reached out to pat Fadel’s cheek with a gentle hand. “Don’t worry, my dear. We will take care of this.”
Fadel didn’t like the look on Keen’s face or the quiet calm on Lily’s, but he supposed he didn’t have a choice. He was the one who’d screwed this up and he had to do whatever he had to to fix it.
*
Style. His name was Style, Fadel discovered when he returned to the gym to look for his things and find out a little more about him.
He’d found it in a locker, Style’s tank top sticking out of the corner. He’d jimmied the lock and found a gym bag filled with several crop top teeshirts, oversized jeans, and a wallet with his ID. There were also random tools inside, a grease-stained rag, and a hat with a logo on it—Style Auto.
It seemed to fit, considering everything Fadel had seen of Style so far. Ostentatious, confident, cocky.
He took the bag, lugging it home and dropping it on the kitchen counter while Bison looked up from his phone skeptically.
“What’s that?”
“That’s the guy in the basement.”
“Huh,” Bison only said. Of course Bison wasn’t concerned about this. He only cared about having fun and leaving Fadel to pick up all the slack. He picked at the bag but didn’t seem particularly interested in what was inside. “So what did Mother say?”
Biting at his cheek, Fadel didn’t answer. He’d already texted Keen the name to look up, to do the background check and get the information he needed before he’d have to face the solution she had come up with.
Unfortunately, Keen had far too much time on his hands, or he was simply gleeful that Fadel had fucked up for once, as Fadel’s phone chimed with an email. Style’s file.
“Stay up here,” Fadel told Bison, and Bison waved him away, already back to his phone.
He wanted to do this alone.
Each step to the basement felt like a weight falling over his shoulders, and Fadel stopped at the bottom, settling down to open the email.
Style was an only child, raised mostly by his father after his mother died when he was young. That was useful, Fadel thought as he read on. There wasn’t much in the file since apparently, despite his mouth, Style had kept himself out of real trouble, with the police or otherwise. He worked as a mechanic and hadn’t gone to university. His Spotify was filled with classic rock bands and his social media pages consisted mostly of semi-shirtless pictures.
Predictable, Fadel only thought as he glanced up at the basement door.
How had he gotten himself into this mess? Fadel was the one who never screwed up. He did everything by the book and never let himself get distracted. Bison was the one who had been late. If he had been on time, Fadel wouldn’t have had to talk to Style in the gym, and Style wouldn’t have followed him to the locker room. But that was also Style’s fault for having the gall to hit on someone like Fadel.
And now they were both screwed.
Sighing, Fadel tucked his phone away and rose to his feet. There was no point in putting this off.
Unlocking the door, Fadel stepped inside the fluorescent-lit room, and Style’s head lifted to watch him, not making noise for once as Fadel shut the door behind him and stepped over to him.
Style kept his eyes on Fadel the whole time as Fadel reached for the gag and pulled it from his mouth.
“If you wanted to put me on display, you could have just asked,” Style said the second the gag was gone, widening his knees beneath the towel as far as he could with his ankles tied to the chair legs.
Fadel merely frowned. Did he not understand the seriousness of the situation he had gotten himself into? He didn’t answer Style, dragging a chair out from behind the metal table in the corner and settling it several feet from Style.
Style adjusted in his own chair, hands still secured to the arms, just as Fadel had left him. “Even in prison, people get to eat, you know.”
“This isn’t prison,” Fadel answered, and Style’s eyebrow went up.
“And I’m tied up ‘cause you like it kinky.”
Fadel ignored that. He leaned forward in his chair instead, and Style just looked curious. “You’re tied up because you stuck your nose where it didn’t belong and screwed us both over.”
“From my point of view, I’m the only one that’s screwed,” Style said, trying and failing to lift his arms from the chair.
He had no idea, Fadel thought, shaking his head. Sitting back, he pushed a hand through his hair and sighed.
“There’s one way we can make this work,” he said, licking his lips and pausing. When Lily had said it, his immediate thought had been there was no way he would ever do that. But he didn’t really have a choice. Neither of them did.
Style just looked confused, waiting for Fadel to finish, staring at him.
“We get married.”
Style’s laugh was more like a choking noise as he spluttered. “What?”
Rising from the chair, Fadel let out a breath, trying to keep his temper in check. “It’s the only way the cops can’t force you to talk.”
It certainly wasn’t his first choice of a solution either. If Fadel had ever considered marriage, it had been in a future fantasy world where he no longer killed people for a living and he could live with his chosen person in relative peace. It wasn’t being married to someone he barely knew and found incredibly shallow.
“Only if I don’t want to talk,” Style pointed out, “and I love talking.”
Fadel paused, glaring at Style. He must have had a deathwish.
“Then let’s talk about your dad,” Fadel said instead, sitting back down in the chair to face Style. That, at least, made Style pause, a hint of something other than mischief on his face. “Let’s talk about the fact that if you go to the police or tell anyone anything about what you saw, he might be getting a visit from me.”
Fadel could see the way Style gulped, actually looking worried for the first time since Fadel came in here.
“But you said—”
“Said what?” Fadel interrupted, and Style licked his lips slowly.
“You said you don’t hurt good people.”
Fadel didn’t let his expression flicker. “And you believed me?”
For once, Style didn’t answer, and Fadel felt a flicker of guilt somewhere deep in his stomach. It wasn’t Style’s fault that he was here, but circumstances couldn’t be changed.
Luckily, Style bounced back before Fadel could feel too badly, lifting his chin to Fadel.
“So I’m just supposed to be married to you until the statute of limitation runs out on murder?” he asked, eyebrows furrowed. “I’m too young and hot to be tied down!”
There went any sympathy Fadel might have had as he glared. “Are you too young to be dead? Because that’s what’s going to happen if you don’t agree.”
Style didn’t look satisfied, and Fadel couldn’t exactly blame him. He’d agreed to the plan because the alternative was Keen going behind his back and shooting Style in the head. He wouldn’t put it past Mother to take care of business whatever way she had to.
“Are you going to kill me?” Style asked bluntly and Fadel shook his head, frustrated by the whole situation.
“I’m trying to save your damn life here!”
Pissed, Fadel rose from the chair again, moving closer to Style and grabbing him by the throat. He had to understand how serious this was, understand what was at stake. His life, his dad’s life, Fadel’s life. All of it.
“If you want to survive this, if we both want to survive this, we have no choice.”
Style just stared up at Fadel, and he felt him swallow against his hand. There was something behind the fear in his eyes, but Fadel couldn’t place it, eying him carefully. But Style nodded after a long minute, and Fadel dropped his hand.
“You’ll stay down here until we can get the paperwork,” Fadel said, taking a step back. “Then you can move into the house. But don’t get any stupid ideas of running away. As long as you stay here, your dad will be safe, and you might even get to live your life again, if you behave yourself.”
Style didn’t answer this time, gazing up at Fadel as if processing it all. Fadel didn’t know what was going to happen, and it wasn’t a future he would have wanted for himself, but at least an innocent person wasn’t dead, even if he would have to live with the consequences of that choice for the rest of his life.
Fadel didn’t wait for Style to come up with something to say as he headed for the door.
“Bison will bring some food later.”
“Wait,” Style said as Fadel reached the door and pulled it open, one foot over the threshold. “What’s your name?”
Surprised, Fadel actually hesitated, not looking back when he finally answered. “Fadel.”
“I’m Style,” Style said, and Fadel didn’t answer. He already knew. He already knew a lot of what was going to happen and he wasn’t particularly looking forward to any of it.
*
"I always pictured my wedding to be, I don't know, a bit more festive?" Style said as Fadel pulled into the parking for the court, still rubbing at the rope marks left on his wrists. Fadel had noticed when he'd untied him this morning but he hadn't paid much attention to it. He turned to Fadel. "Do you own anything that isn't black?"
"Do you ever shut up?" Fadel asked instead, looking away from Style's wrists. He shouldn't be feeling bad about tying him up. He'd had no choice.
Bison stuck his head in between the seats to pat Style's shoulder as if they were old friends or something. "You look good, though."
Style glanced down at the crop top Fadel had tossed at him this morning after untying him. It was one he'd found in his gym bag, and after having to look at Style's bare chest for two days, he was glad for anything to cover him up.
"I do," Style agreed after a second, and Fadel rolled his eyes as he unbuckled his seatbelt.
"Stay there," he instructed him, opening the door and getting out. Style seemed to sigh, but he did as he was told, waiting for Fadel to round the car and open his door.
"So sweet, my dearest fiance," Style crooned as he slid out, and Fadel grabbed him by the wrist, fingers tightening as he yanked Style close to him.
"Don't forget why we're here," he hissed, watching Style's gaze dart up and down his face. He didn't seem scared anymore, even with Fadel this close, fingernails digging into his skin. Instead, he just wiggled out of his grip to slide their fingers together. Taken aback, Fadel's first reaction was to pull away, but Style held on.
"Husbands hold hands, not wrists." He paused. "Except in bed."
Unamused, Fadel tightened his grip on Style's hand instead. At least he could cause a little pain if he had to participate in this charade.
Lily was waiting at the steps to the building, looking sharp in a pantsuit, and Keen was in tow like the good little secretary he was. Fadel's fingers tightened over Style's palm and he didn't miss the way Style glanced at him, curious.
He never would have dreamed of introducing anyone he was interested in to Lily. Not that he was interested in Style, but it felt like a surreal meet-the-parents type of moment when Lily held out her hands to Style, and Style's eyebrows went up.
"You must be my new son-in-law," she greeted him, and Style actually looked at Fadel for... what? He didn't know. Reassurance? Confirmation he knew Lily? Back up?
"You're Fadel's mom?" Style asked when Fadel gave him nothing, and Lily smiled, sweeping her long hair over her shoulder.
"Today, I'm your mother. You need a witness."
Style opened his mouth, but nothing came out for once, which was more suspicious than anything to Fadel. In the short time he'd known Style, he'd never not had a response for something.
"Come," Lily said, waving at Style and ushering him forward, her hands closing around his shoulders as she guided him toward the stairs. Style's hand slipped from Fadel's, almost reluctantly. "Let's have a chat before we sign the papers."
Fadel didn't have a choice but to let Lily lead Style away. For a second, Keen lingered at the bottom of the stairs, hands clasped before him, an annoyingly superior look on his face.
"Turns out you don't always get the job done," he said, and Fadel turned his glare to Keen. He didn't have time to wonder at Keen's jealousy. It had always been like this.
"We did the job," Bison butted in, and Fadel placed a hand on his shoulder.
"We're fixing it."
Keen scoffed. "Mother is fixing it since you won't."
Fadel was keeping Style alive the only way he could, even if that meant giving up some other future he might have had. And as frustrating as Style could be, he didn't deserve to die for nothing.
"If you ever have to make that choice, you'll see it's not so easy."
"I think it is," Keen said, and Fadel kind of wished he could choke him out right there. He had no idea what it was like to hold someone's life in his hands. Keen sat behind a desk and had fantasies of taking people out, but the reality was so much more difficult.
He couldn't do anything to Keen, though, not standing in front of a courthouse, not with Lily just inside talking to Style, not when he was supposed to walk through that door and sign his life away to protect them both.
So he turned on his heel and stomped up the stairs with Bison in tow. Inside the thick wooden doors, he spotted Lily down the hall, talking quietly with Style. God only knew what they were talking about. Fadel didn't think he wanted to know. It would only make the pressure building behind his temple worse.
"I don't get it," Bison said as Fadel stopped just inside the door, running a hand through his hair and cracking his neck as he took a breath to calm himself down. "Why do you get to be married?
"This isn't a reward, Bison," Fadel snapped, watching Lily bring Style back to them. "It's a consequence."
"Still a guy."
What it must be like to live in Bison's brain, Fadel thought, lip curling, to think this could be an opportunity to get laid, or find love, or whatever little fantasy Bison would concoct if he were the one in this situation.
"I think we're ready," Lily announced as she returned, giving Style a nudge toward Fadel, and fuck, they were probably supposed to pretend they liked each other for this.
Style was unusually quiet, and Fadel wondered for a second just what Lily had said to him, but he didn't have time to dwell on it, and he honestly didn't care that much when the clerk called their names. He had bigger things to worry about than Style's feelings, like how the hell he was going to survive this.
*
Fadel didn't feel any different when they got back to the house except for the piece of paper poking into his ass where it was folded in his pocket. A persistent and unpleasant reminder that he'd never have peace again.
He felt a little like a herding dog as he stalked Style from the car and into the house. Bison followed them curiously, whereas before he hadn't seemed to care there was a hostage in their basement. He'd better not be getting any ideas about accidentally letting some hot guy witness him committing a crime. This wasn't a How-To guide on getting a boyfriend.
"I can't believe you got married before I did," Bison teased him as Fadel shut the door behind them. He ignored Bison in favor of watching Style step into the living room, eyes roving over the furniture and the art on the walls. "Who knew all it took was a death threat to find you a man."
Fadel shot Bison a look, which never seemed to have any effect as Bison grinned in return.
"Does that make me the lady of the house?" Style asked, speaking up from where he was gazing curiously at the large, abstract painting on the wall. It had always been there as far as Fadel knew, but he'd never really bothered to look at it. Lily had bought and furnished the main rooms of the house before they even arrived, had fortified and installed all the security cameras, had made sure it was secure. "Because these paintings have got to go."
"What would you put there?" Bison asked before Fadel could silence him. He didn't need Bison encouraging any insanity, and he was sure Style had plenty of it.
Style stepped back to hold up his hands as if framing the space. "How about a sexy muscle car? Much more my taste."
"You're not here to redecorate," Fadel interrupted sharply, but Style didn't deflate.
He'd been quiet during the actual signing of the paper, which might have had to do more with Lily and Keen at his back than anything else. Fadel had only been thinking about the rest of his life in that moment.
It wasn't as if Fadel had high hopes for some future where he could retire, spend his days at the restaurant and his evenings listening to his favorite bands with someone he actually cared about instead of plotting out hits. He'd given up on a dream like that a long time ago, but his solace had been that at least he had the ability to spend his free time how he liked. Now, he was tethered, forever cursed with the burden that was some chatty mechanic.
"Then what am I here to do, my dearest husband?" Style asked, like a mouthy puppy.
Fadel didn't have an answer for that, and he didn't react to Style's question except to fix him with a hard stare. It was usually enough to intimidate people, but Style just cocked his head to the side, as if not afraid, as if he actually expected an answer from him.
Style had a lot to learn, Fadel decided, turning to Bison instead.
"Show him the house. Don't let him out of your sight."
"Yeah, yeah." Bison waved him off, gesturing for Style to come with him. "So, you like cars?" he asked as they left the room.
Fadel waited for them to disappear through the door before he turned the opposite direction and headed for the stairs.
It was blissfully quiet and dark in his room, and Fadel closed the door before flopping onto his bed. Staring up at the ceiling, he tried to blink away the burning behind his eyes, the constant pulse of stress that seemed to have lodged in his temple.
This had all happened so fast—a few days ago, his only concern had been finishing the job so he could get back to his usual gym, his usual routine. Now, he had a husband and a permanent roommate who would surely drive him insane. His lip curled at the thought and Fadel threw an arm over his eyes.
His only desperate hope was that maybe some day, if Style behaved himself and kept his promises, they could at least pretend to live normal lives.
That future seemed so far away, though, and Fadel jerked up at the sound of his doorknob turning, frowning at the door as it swung open and Bison's voice floated inside.
"—Fadel's room, but it's pretty depressing."
Style stepped into the frame, hands on his hips as he glanced around, taking in the bed, the dark curtains behind it shutting out any light from outside, bare bulbs on the lamps, mismatched furniture because Fadel didn't really care what it looked like. It was more important that it was quiet in here than anything else.
"Gloomy," Style commented as he finished surveying, seemingly skipping over Fadel on the bed.
"What the hell are you doing?" Fadel asked as Bison hovered behind Style.
Bison returned the look Fadel shot him as he shrugged. "Showing him around. We did the kitchen and the living room, downstairs bathroom, upstairs bathroom, then my room and—"
"Tours over," Fadel cut him off.
"Well, yeah," Bison agreed. "This is the last stop unless he's going to sleep in the basement."
"I've seen the basement," Style reminded them, and Fadel's glance went to his wrists and the faint red lines still etched into his skin.
"I figured he'd be staying in here with you," Bison said, entirely too amused as he continued, "since you're married and all."
Fadel couldn’t think of anything that was less amusing as he glared at Bison. But Bison was far too used to Fadel’s moods to be affected and he merely reached for the door as he stepped back.
“I’ll let you two get started on your honeymoon,” he said, and if Fadel had a knife handy, he would have chucked it after him as Bison shut the door and left him alone with Style.
Style had been quiet, for a second, but he flashed Fadel an overly cheerful smile when Fadel glanced his way.
“Which side of the bed is mine?”
“Who said you get to sleep in the bed?” Fadel asked, pushing himself up from the mattress and stalking toward Style.
“You can’t deny your husband,” Style just said with that infuriating smile, as if his words meant something.
Fadel’s hand snapped up before he even stopped to think, slamming Style into the wall with his fingers at his throat. Fear flickered in Style’s eyes for just a second at the suddenness of the act, or maybe it was just surprise as his gaze met Fadel’s and his mouth dropped open slightly.
“This doesn’t mean anything,” Fadel hissed, pulling the piece of paper from his pocket with his free hand and waving it in Style’s face. “This protects me, not you. You know what protects you?”
“You,” Style answered immediately, confidently, and it caught Fadel off-guard, the sureness of his answer.
In a way, it was true, he supposed, but he wouldn’t have thought Style would see it that way. Style should be scared, worried about his future, worried about what Fadel might do to him. Fadel hadn’t done it out of kindness or fondness or any reason that had anything to do with Style. Even a hitman could have morals, and he needed them so that he didn’t slip completely beyond reproach.
Fadel’s hand slid from Style’s throat and he took a step back. They were both stuck in this situation, consequences of their own actions, and Fadel couldn’t blame Style for that.
“I don’t like you,” he said finally, and Style didn’t seem surprised, rubbing at his Adam’s apple.
“But you think I’m hot,” Style said as Fadel turned away, “and I could get into the choking, if that’s what you like.”
Fadel didn’t bother answering, resisting the urge to claw at his face. How much more annoying could one person be?
Instead, he went to the dresser, yanking open a drawer and searching through it for some extra clothes. Style still only had what had been in his gym bag, which frankly, wasn’t a lot. And Style better not say something stupid like he slept naked or something. Fadel would not allow that.
“Can I at least call my dad?”
Fadel looked up at Style’s voice, finally more subdued, as if maybe he understood the gravity of the situation they found themselves in.
“It’s been three days and he’s going to be worried. He might call the actual police.”
Style actually sounded worried for once, and Fadel frowned as he dug out an old pair of shorts and a teeshirt from the bottom of a drawer.
“I texted him from your phone yesterday. He thinks you’re staying with a friend.”
“Oh,” Style said when Fadel turned back to him. “Good.”
He didn’t sound fully satisfied, but Fadel didn’t really care. He just shoved the clothes into Style’s hands. He couldn’t make the situation any better by lying.
For now, he just wanted to stop thinking about everything that had happened the last few days and whatever was about to happen because of it. He ignored Style’s dissatisfied noise as he inspected the clothes and crossed to the bedside table, feeling through one of the drawers for something he knew was in there.
Style’s eyebrows rose as Fadel came back with a pair of handcuffs. “Kinky.” But Fadel didn’t respond, fixing Style with a look instead. Style seemed to sigh as he understood. “Seriously?”
Fadel wasn’t kidding. There was no way he could trust Style not to run away. All he had was a piece of paper that said they were married and a looming threat against Style’s family. That was no guarantee of either of their safety.
“Some honeymoon,” Style just muttered, and Fadel eyed him as Style resignedly accepted his fate, dropping the clothes on the ground and peeling off his shirt.
Turning away, Fadel didn’t watch. Some honeymoon indeed.
*
It took Fadel a long time to fall asleep that night, even with Style finally falling silent once he turned out the light and curled onto his side, unused to sharing his bed, unused to someone else breathing so close to him, handcuffed in a decidedly unsexy (Style’s words, not his) manner to the bed frame.
But Bison had had a point. Was Style just supposed to live in their basement like some kind of ghostly ex-wife? Fadel’s only hope was that someday he could get his life back and keeping Style locked up wouldn’t help.
He had finally fallen asleep after a long period where he tried not to toss and turn, listening to Style’s breathing at his back. So when he jerked awake in the middle of the night, he wasn’t happy.
The numbers on the clock by the bed told him only a few hours had passed, and Fadel paused as he tried to figure out what had woken him. The mattress shifted underneath him and Fadel bit back his sigh. He was going to kill Style if he was the one who stopped him from getting a full night’s sleep.
From behind him, he heard the first noise that indicated Style was still awake—a sniffle, followed by a shaky breath.
Fuck. He was crying, Fadel realized, stiffening as if Style might notice he’d woken up. He wouldn’t have expected it—after all, everything he’d seen from Style so far had been over-the-top, seemingly confident that things were fine, that he wasn’t afraid despite everything. But now, Fadel could hear him: the quiet sniffles, huffy exhales he buried in the pillow.
A sharp pang flitted through Fadel’s chest as he lay there, but there was nothing he could do. He shouldn’t have felt bad for Style anyway—if Style had just kept to himself, not bothered Fadel in the gym, none of this would have happened. But it also wasn’t Style’s fault that Fadel was a hitman who had to protect himself.
Whatever Style’s life was before this, it would never be the same, and that was because of Fadel.
Glancing behind him, careful not to move, Fadel watched Style’s shoulder shake, but he stayed quiet, clinging to the pillow with his free hand, and Fadel had to turn back. Maybe Style wasn’t as cock-sure as he came off, and Fadel didn’t like that. He didn’t like how it felt to lay there and listen to Style sniffing back tears, probably coming to the same conclusion that Fadel had days ago—that nothing would ever be the same.
Closing his eyes, Fadel tried to block out Style behind him. He couldn’t change what was and comforting Style wouldn’t help either of them. Besides, Style probably didn’t want it from him, and Fadel didn’t want to give it to him. So he focused on his own breathing and finally drifted off to sleep.
*
Style was asleep when Fadel woke in the morning, curled awkwardly around where he was handcuffed. Fadel didn’t take much time beyond checking that Style’s eyes were closed before he slid from the bed. He dressed quickly, pausing only as his gaze landed on the key sitting on his nightstand. He could leave it there and let Style struggle to unlock himself, if he was feeling cruel, but this was already enough of a punishment for them both. So he grabbed the key and bent down to unlock the handcuff.
Style twitched as Fadel got close, and Fadel glanced at his face. His eyes were closed, lips parted slightly, all evidence of last night’s despair gone. He looked peaceful, mussed hair falling over his forehead, cheeks pink in the warmth of the morning. Looking away sharply, Fadel unlocked the cuffs and let them fall open.
Tucking the key in his pocket, he straightened up. He didn’t care what Style looked like.
Annoyed that the thought even crossed his mind, Fadel left the bedroom and headed for the kitchen.
It was early enough that Bison wasn’t up yet—but he would sleep until noon if Fadel let him. Normally, Fadel would make himself breakfast then go for a run, but he couldn’t leave Style here alone, which meant he’d never be alone again. Sighing to himself, Fadel turned to the fridge and stared inside for a long moment before pulling out the ingredients he needed for breakfast and settling into the kitchen.
At least one thing hadn’t changed, and that was the calmness of chopping vegetables, how he didn’t need to look up a recipe to know what he was doing as he mixed spices and listened to the sizzle of the pan as eggs splashed into the oil. Cooking had always been an escape—something he could do outside the safety of his room that Lily would accept and even encourage. That was probably why she had set them up at the restaurant this time around, even if they were supposed to run a whole place with just two of them.
Fadel looked up at the sounds of footsteps, but it was just Bison stumbling into the kitchen, yawning and rubbing at his messy hair. It wasn’t as if Style could leave without coming this way, not unless he wanted to risk jumping out a second story window. He’d break his arm at the very least if he tried.
Bison blinked blearily at him as he climbed onto a stool and blocked another yawn with his fist. “Where’s the hubby?”
Fadel shot him an unimpressed look across the counter, turning down the heat on the burner. “This isn’t funny.”
“I think it’s hilarious,” Bison said, grinning. “Mr. I-Won’t-Even-Look-At-A-Guy is now married. Are you going to register for gifts? I could get you a nice set of His and His Dildos.”
Reaching across, Fadel smacked Bison on the side of the head before Bison could duck. His, “Oi!” went ignored as Fadel shoved his finger under Bison’s nose.
“The day I think about fucking him is the day you’ll have to shoot me.”
Bison merely shrugged, pushing Fadel’s finger away as if it had no effect. “You gotta admit, he’s pretty.”
“Pretty fucking annoying,” Fadel muttered, turning back to his pan and pushing the eggs around with the spatula. It didn’t matter what Style looked like. Nothing could make Fadel consider him as an option.
“I wouldn’t kick him out of bed,” Bison offered, as if Fadel cared. Rolling his eyes, he didn’t respond. From what he knew of Bison’s extra-curricular activities, he didn’t seem that picky with his one-night stands. As long as they stayed for only one night, Fadel didn’t care.
He finished making breakfast instead, plating up the eggs and vegetables, a make-shift kind of stir fry that smelled good anyway. They really needed to go shopping for food, but Bison never did and Fadel couldn’t just take Style out, so they had to make do.
Bison had sunk down on the countertop, as if thinking of taking a nap right there, but he perked up at a sound on the stairs.
“There he is!” Bison greeted Style when he finally appeared. Fadel barely acknowledged him with a glance, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge. “My new brother-in-law! How’d you sleep?”
Style rubbed his face, looking only partially awake, wearing the same clothes Fadel had given him last night. “If you’re going to use handcuffs, more than just my wrist should be sore.”
Bison’s eyebrows went up but Fadel wasn’t going to encourage Style, grabbing a plate and shoving it across the counter instead.
Style, to his credit, did actually pause, as if considering whether or not Fadel might have poisoned it.
Fadel didn’t care if he ate it or if he chose to starve. But he’d made enough for two, and Bison never ate breakfast. So it would either go in the fridge or in Style’s stomach. It didn’t matter to him either way,
It took a minute, but Style took a careful bite after watching Fadel eat, his expression changing to something impressed as he swallowed.
“It’s good,” he said, as if surprised, and Fadel scoffed. Of course it was good. He’d made it. “You can cook?”
“He’s a great cook,” Bison butted in before Fadel could say anything. “Anything you want, he can make it. And he stress-cooks, so the worse it is, the better you eat.”
“Bison,” Fadel interrupted sharply, and Bison raised his eyebrows.
“What?”
Leaning forward, Fadel flicked Bison in the forehead with his finger.
Bison reeled back with a glare. “Ow!”
He didn’t need Style knowing anything more about him than what was absolutely necessary. And that included his penchant for cooking when he felt like everything was out of control.
Style was just watching them, something close to amusement in the way he smiled. Setting his elbows on the counter, he leaned toward Fadel. “Are you afraid of me knowing? We’re married now. Married people don’t have any secrets.”
Fadel scoffed, finishing his plate and setting it in the sink for later. “Who told you that bullshit?”
Style only tilted his head to the side when Fadel turned back to him. “What secret could you keep? I already saw you kill someone.”
Bison grimaced beside him, and Fadel’s gaze snapped to Style.
“What is wrong with you?” he demanded, and Style looked confused at the question.
“Is it bugged?” he asked, picking up the salt shaker and holding it to his ear.
Bison turned his laugh into a cough at Fadel’s glare, and Fadel snatched the shaker away from Style, slamming it back on the counter.
Why was he the only one taking this seriously? Yes, they’d managed to finish the job and he trusted Bison had done his job and gotten rid of the body in a way that no one would link it to them, but they had still screwed up and now both he and Style had to live with the consequences. If Style ever told anyone, Fadel would have no choice but to end him. And here he was, making stupid jokes.
“Go get dressed,” Fadel said sharply instead, dumping the rest of the dishes in the sink. “I’m tired of looking at your skinny legs.”
“You’re the one who made me miss leg day,” Style said, and Fadel curled his hands into fists instead of hitting Style even though it was so tempting to do it. “But if you want to go to the gym, I can spot you.”
“We’re not going anywhere,” Fadel said, and he felt the same disappointment that flashed across Style’s face. “You’re going to change and then you’re going to help me clean.”
“So romantic, my hubby,” Style said, a hint of sarcasm in his words that, frankly, Fadel didn’t think he warranted.
“Don’t call me that,” he snapped, but he was relieved when Style slid off the stool.
Bison kept quiet until Style disappeared up the stairs again before turning back to Fadel. “You two are going to have some happily ever after.”
Fadel grabbed the spatula and raised it and Bison flinched and scooted backward. He didn’t have to say anything as Bison gratefully left the kitchen. Sighing into the silence, he bowed his head over the sink. He’d never really expected a happily ever after and this was far from it.