Chapter 4
JACE MARINO
The apartnt was quiet except for the faint scratching of my pen against paper. Criminal law essays. Most of them rushed. So are barely coherent. One was good, but that was an exception I could probably trace back to coffee and desperation.
I’d been at it for over two hours, a half-empty glass of water sweating a ring into the desk. I was halfway through telling one essay why "preditated" and "oops" were not interchangeable when my phone buzzed.
Mateo.
Marco’s out downtown. Party. You might want to check it out.
I stared at the screen, feeling the headache form between my eyes. Marco was a free spirit—yes—but "free spirit" often ant my problem to fix.
I tossed the pen down. "Of course," I muttered to the empty apartnt.
It wasn’t like I wanted to go. Parties weren’t my thing, especially not where the Serrano boys liked to show up and mark territory. But leaving Marco unsupervised when they were in the area? That was asking for trouble.
Downtown was loud before I even stepped out of the car. Bass thumped through the pavent, rattling in my chest as I walked toward a house lit up like a warning beacon. Bodies spilled out into the yard and street—laughing, shouting, wrapped up in the kind of chaos that always ended with soone bleeding.
I kept to the edges as I went in, scanning for Marco. I’d learned a long ti ago that when you moved like you belonged sowhere, most people didn’t stop to question it.
I didn’t see him at first. What I did see was soone else.
Julian Pole.
He was standing by the kitchen doorway, holding a red cup like it were so kind of dangerous specin. He glanced down at it, then up at the person offering it, shaking his head. Once. Twice. Three tis. He still ended up with it in his hand.
He didn’t take a sip. Just held it, like maybe he thought pretending to drink would keep people from bothering him. His friends were nowhere in sight.
I told myself to keep moving. I had a brother to find. But my eyes kept tracking back to him. The way he scanned the room was like he’d been dropped in the middle of the wrong movie. The way his shoulders kept tensing every ti soone brushed past him.
He didn’t belong here. Not with this crowd.
I finally spotted Marco across the room, talking too close to one of the Serrano boys. His grin was wide, but I knew the signs—this was him walking into trouble on purpose. I started toward him, cutting through the press of people.
That’s when the first shot rang out.
The bass cut out like soone had ripped the cord from the speaker. The air snapped tight with panic. People scread, shoved toward the exits.
I pushed against the current, my eyes already tracking back to the kitchen doorway.
Julian wasn’t there anymore.
I caught sight of him a few feet away, his steps uneven,off balance. His hand slipped from the counter he’d been using to steady himself. His knees buckled.
By the ti I reached him, he was seconds from hitting the floor. I caught him under the arms, his weight slumping into .
He didn’t wake up.
I carried him out to the car, keeping his head tucked against my shoulder so it didn’t knock against anything. He was lighter than I expected. Warm, but not in a good way.
I didn’t take him to the hospital. Not with the Serranos still in the area. They’d want to know who he was, and his na was one I didn’t want tied to theirs—or mine—in that way.
Before I drove off I called my brother Mateo to co get his friends I know they an a lot to him and I know they are sowhere scared and probably alone.
I don’t know why I did that.
The streets were quiet by the ti we reached my building. I got him upstairs without anyone seeing and set him down on the couch. He made a small sound, like he was trying to wake up but thought better of it.
I brought a blanket, covered him. Then I sat in the armchair across from him.
I should’ve gone to bed. Instead, I stayed there. Watching. Making sure his breathing was steady.
In the low light, it was easy to notice things I hadn’t before. The way his lashes were darker at the tips. The small crease between his brows that didn’t go away, even asleep. His mouth—soft, a little parted, like he was mid-thought in a dream.
He shifted once, turning toward the back of the couch. A curl of hair fell over his forehead, and without thinking, I reached to push it back. I stopped halfway.
I told myself I was just making sure he was okay. Just keeping watch. But I didn’t take my eyes off him until the sun started to co up.
Light crept in through the blinds, spilling across the couch. Julian groaned before his eyes even opened, his hand moving to block the sun.
"You’re awake," I said from the kitchen.
He blinked up at , hair sticking out in every possible direction. "Where am I?" His voice was rough, like he’d been chewing gravel.
"My place," I said, walking over with a mug of water.
"You were about two seconds from face-planting into a sticky beer puddle last night."
I passed the mug to him
"Drink, Slowly."
He sat up, wincing.
"My head feels like... I don’t know... "
"Good. You’ll rember that next ti you take a drink from a stranger." I leaned on the back of the armchair.
"And you threw up on my favorite shirt. "
Lies.
"You’ll be paying for that."
He blinked, then stamred, "I—what? No, I—"
"I’ll take the paynt in effort," I cut in. "You need a tutor. I’m offering."
He froze. "A tutor? I—no, I’m fine, I—"
"Fine?" I said. "You’ve been trailing in my class for weeks. You’ve got ti for parties, apparently, but not a tutor?"
That got him shrinking into the couch cushions, like maybe the fabric could swallow him whole.
Cute.
"Unless," I added, "you’d rather I bring it up with your father. Detective Pole, right?"
His head snapped up. "No!" he tensed up
With a soft voice and eyes that hold too many emotions, he glanced up at .
"No, please—"
My heart tightened.
What was that?
"Good," I said," we start Monday."
I leaned on the back of the armchair. "Your friends will be here soon."
That got his attention. "Rico? Luka?"
"Yeah," I said. "I called them."
His brows drew together. "How did you even know to call them?"
I smirked. "I’m a law professor. I ask questions for a living."
Before he could respond, the front door dinged.
"Let get that"
I walked to the front door halfway before the door opened and they stord in.
"Julian!" Luka practically dove onto the couch, wrapping his arms around him. "We thought you were dead!"
Rico joined in, hugging from the other side. "Dead and buried!"
They both pulled back just to fake-cry, loud and dramatic, then hugged him again.
Julian groaned. "You guys are embarrassing, I’m fine.."
I stepped back, crossing my arms, watching the chaos unfold.
"Hold on," Julian said
"How did you guys get ho"
His friends glance in my direction.
Then to Julian, they share a look before he gasps.
"We are dead," Julian said
"So dead," Luka said
"We slept at a stranger’s house who happened to look soooo good, built like a Greek god, when I saw him this mor..."
The one I take to be Rico claps a hand over his mouth
"You talk too much Luka and he’s not a stranger, he.."
He points towards .
"His brother."
" I know that," Luka said.
Julian glanced up at .
"Alright," I said once they’d cald down enough to breathe. "Shower. Change into clean clothes—use mine. I’ll drop you ho."
"And again no one is dying, I made sure of that."
Their shoulders relaxed a bit.
As Julian got up, Luka leaned toward Rico and whispered just loud enough for to hear, "Professor’s got him in his clothes already."
Rico grinned. "That’s practically marriage."
Julian shot them both a look over his shoulder, cheeks going pink, before disappearing toward the bathroom.
Progress.
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