Darius stepped back and lifted a brow. “Looking for someone?”
“I knew it was you,” Gray whisper-yelled furiously. “Why the fuck would you follow me?”
Darius remained infuriatingly casual and composed, not to mention drop-dead gorgeous. He drove Gray batshit crazy in all ways imaginable.
He hated it.
“Never mind, you don’t have to answer.” Gray clenched his jaw and suppressed a growl. “You don’t trust me. That’s why. You don’t think I can fend for myself.”
“Are you done?”
That voice. The impact it had on Gray hadn’t changed for shit. That low timbre, the richness…
Gray’s fury grew, but he wasn’t always sure who it was directed at. Darius or his own weaknesses.
Then he let out a humorless chuckle when he thought of the letter Darius had left him. About respecting his wishes, about knowing better than to ask Gray to turn around… No wonder. There was no need to ask Gray to return, because Darius hadn’t actually left his side.
Darius folded his arms over his chest, his leather jacket straining around his shoulders and biceps. “If I didn’t trust you, I would’ve barged in the second you met up with a well-known mobster. If I didn’t trust you, Gray, I would’ve intervened before you let Kellan fucking Ford into your hotel room.”
That sucked the air out of Gray’s lungs. “You’ve really been watching my every move, haven’t you?”
He inclined his head.
“And let me guess, you’ve checked up on everyone I’ve interacted with by using your super-secret spy sources,” Gray bit out, sarcasm lacing his tone.
For some reason, that made Darius’s mouth twist upward slightly. “Christ, you’re young sometimes, knucklehead.”
Anger won out, and Gray shoved hard at Darius’s chest. “Fuck off.”
Darius recovered quickly and planted a hand on Gray’s shoulder, pushing him against the door of the truck, but he maintained his arm-length distance. “Get a fucking grip,” he told a glaring Gray. “I’m just saying I’ve been around a minute, and I know who runs Philly. It took a damn internet search to find Ford.”
Before Gray could respond, Darius suddenly backed off with a pinched expression, and he growled a vicious curse.
“That’s right!” Jayden yelled. “I got more where that came from, son!”
Gray watched in horror as Jayden crawled up from underneath the truck, his coat all muddied from the wet ground. Holy fuck. He’d jammed something into Darius’s calf. A knife. A small pocketknife. It was lodged in his leg, through his jeans.
Darius stood bent over, hands on his thighs, and sucked in a sharp breath.
“Go’way!” Jayden shouted.
“Jayden!” Gray snapped into action at long last and got down on one knee before the boy. “It’s okay, buddy. It’s okay. He’s all right.”
Jayden huffed and glared at Darius. “You was fighting. He pushed you.”
Oh Christ. Gray didn’t know what to say. Unable to stop himself, he rose up and hugged Jayden to him. He couldn’t even be mad that an eight-year-old had felt the need to protect him. Okay, it was a bit frustrating, he couldn’t lie, but given Jayden’s lifestyle up until now… There were some habits that were going to be tough to break.
“Friends fight sometimes,” he reasoned with Jayden. “We need a new rule. No more knives.”
“That’s going a bit far,” Darius interjected with a groan as he straightened. He was definitely in pain. “But maybe less stabbing. Fuck.” He released a breath and grimaced as he glanced down at his leg. “Gray, I need you to head over to my car and grab the first aid kit in my duffel.” He reached into the pocket of his jeans and produced a key. “It’s the black Chevy at the end of the row.”
“Okay.” Gray didn’t need to ask Jayden to come with him; the boy plastered himself to Gray and followed.
“Are you sure he’s a friend?” he asked dubiously.
“I’m sure.” Gray smoothed down Jayden’s hair. “His name is Darius. He’s saved my life more than once. He saved Jonas too—before we were outnumbered.”
“Fuck.” Jayden appeared stricken for a second. “Do you think he will forgive me?”
“Absolutely.”
They located Darius’s Florida rental, and Gray unlocked the car to grab the kit. Typical Darius. Always prepared. Who the hell traveled with a first aid kit? He’d understand it if it’d been Darius’s own car. But this was a kit he’d put together recently. The pouch was new.
Back home, Mom had an impressive first aid kit in her car, but she had four sons, three of whom played hockey. Someone was always injured.
Shit. Gray came across a Glock in the duffel and quickly covered it with one of Darius’s T-shirts. Then he closed the door and locked up again.
“Let’s tend to our patient,” he said.
They found Darius in the same spot, though now he was busy cutting up a part of his jeans with another knife.
“That’s a big knife,” Jayden whispered. “Mine aren’t that big.”
“You have more than one?” Gray asked in disbelief.