Page 78 of Five for Silver

“Four words?” Romeo repeated. “Four words tobring about your downfall.”

Chad nodded from where he lay out on thesofa. Romeo had his arms folded and beat a finger against the bulgeof one of his biceps. He’d been tense since Chad had first retoldhis conversation with Vincent, unconsciously showcasing all hismuscle as if a threat lay on the horizon.

He looked, in a word, dangerous, and Chad’sthroat tightened.

They fell into silence again with Romeostaring out of the window, and Chad laying on his back trying hishardest to keep his thoughts away from Romeo’s hands and all thewonderful and terrible things they could do.

But he was angry, and frustrated, and hefailed to keep his damning thoughts at bay.

“Tell me again.” Romeo’s voice startledChad’s mind back to the present. He’d been drifting, swept awaywith thoughts of Romeo wrapping his hands around Vincent’s neck andsqueezing until his eyes teased falling from their sockets.

His blood rushed south at such athought.

Four words. Romeo wouldn’t let him speakanygiven the chance. Four gurgles maybe. Four gasps ofbreaths if Chad asked Romeo to drag it out.

He knew Romeo would if he asked.

“Chad!”

Chad avoided Romeo’s gaze, but the snap inhis voice said he wasn’t satisfied with his recollection.

“Tell me exactly what you said, and what hesaid back.”

“Again?” Chad groaned and shifted thecushion conveniently placed over his crotch. He hit a new low,getting hard just thinking about Romeo strangling someone.

It wasn’t a memory, it was a fantasy. He wasfantasizing about Romeo’s hands on someone, trapping their lastbreath inside their chest until they ran out of oxygen.

“Yes! And stop kneading that cushion.”

Romeo grabbed it and threw it across theroom. Chad snatched up another one, and hugged it to himself,blushing furiously.

“Can’t we just … you know, watch somethingon TV or go to bed—”

“No.”

Romeo sat down on the coffee tablemaintaining his arms crossed posture, his spine taut, body readyfor Vincent to fly through the door. His fingers were no longersplayed casually over his biceps. They were squeezing, even histapping finger had stopped in favor of strangling his arms.

“Romeo, I’ve already told you fivetimes.”

Five times Chad had repeated what hadhappened with Vincent, and each time Romeo had brooded over theretelling, staring at nothing while his stiff, straining body hadrobbed Chad of logical thought.

“Yes, but each time there’s slightdiscrepancies.”

Chad crossed his arms, not in a machodisplay, his muscles were laughable compared to Romeo’s, but heknotted them together in a sign of offense. His memory wasn’t theproblem. His frustration over Vincent had latched on to Romeo andturned into a different kind, but that didn’t mean he couldn’taccurately recall what he said.

He was a detective with an eye for detailand the memory to match.

“Like what?” he asked.

“Well. When you said, ‘Let’s hear them?’ didyou say to Vincent to do his worst, or to do his best?”

“Worst—”

“Are you sure? The second time you told meyou said best.”

“I said do your worst.” Chad looked away.“And he had this smug assed look in his eye like he could see thefucking future, like I was an idiot for not being able to see it,too.” Chad reached down for the magpie cushion. He sunk his nailsinto it. “And before the drive, when he mentioned you, he used thepresent tense, like he knew. Like heknows.”

“He doesn’t. It was a stab at you, that’sall.”

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