The Sunshine in My Veins (Peterick) ➳ Book 1

Nineteen

"Lunchbox," Pete crooned as his eyes scanned the tiny room. He had seen Patrick stumble in, he knew he did. "I'd like you to meet some friends."

And Pete almost slapped himself in the face for that, but what else was he supposed to say? What else could lure Patrick out of his hiding place without ruining everything? It was all so rushed to begin with and then Patrick missing from their newest hiding place was just the icing on the cake.

Pete cast a glance to the men behind him, wondering if he should've left them outside. He opened his mouth to give an order, but a bolt of blue whizzed by his head, causing him to be shoved sideways.

"Target acquired," the red haired Killjoy said as his robotic eyes landed on a dark area of the store. He and his Killjoy companions returned fire as Patrick ducked underneath the table.

"Don't hurt him!" Pete snapped, but the Killjoys weren't listening. While they had orders to not seriously injure any of their targets they could easily hurt them enough to weaken them.

Patrick had to escape, but with his heart pounding in his chest and his breathing so fast he couldn't catch it he wondered how it was going to be possible. He was alone just as he had been in the beginning. Return fire and run, his mind told him, survival instincts kicking in. Run.

With more confidence than he knew he had, Patrick stood up and shot down each of the Killjoys, just enough to render them useless. As if he had planned it he turned around and flung himself through the hallway that would no doubt lead him to a second exit.

"Patrick!"

He hesitated for a moment. Pete had called them friends. Pete was the enemy, and while it killed Patrick to think that way, there wasn't any other options.

The emergency alarm pierced through the stormy night, mixing with the crashes of lightning and thunder, the pitter patter of rain. Calm as anything, Patrick hoisted the backpack higher on his back and began running. To where he wasn't quite sure, but he had to get some distance between him and whatever hell had just broken loose.

*

Since Dallon had kidnapped his boss's lover in exchange for previously stated demands he was more or less roaming around on a lost cause solo-turned-group mission that didn't really exist anymore. His boss had all but fired him, telling Dallon he was a dead man once the world was saved, but he still expected reports about the location of their targets. So Dallon complied, half-hoping to return into the man's good graces before he was turned into mince meat.

The three of them were still situated in their two separate houses a few days later, having no leads or encouragement to resume the hunt. Halsey still wasn't talking to Brendon or Dallon and they were quite content with the arrangement. At least that's what they told the other.

Laying in one of the beds, Dallon was contemplating on sleeping away the rest of the gloomy day when the door slowly cracked open. A quiet pair of footsteps scurried across the floor, coming to a halt moments later.

"Dallon," Brendon purred as he crawled his way up the bed. He slowly straddled the taller man's hips and stared down at him with wide eyes.

Dallon, who was now wide awake, could only look at Brendon curiously, waiting for him to make the next move. Cool hands left ghost touches on Dallon's sides, goosebumps rising on his arms. "Dallon," Brendon cooed again.

"Hm?"

"Please."

"What?"

Brendon didn't want to say it; he just wanted Dallon to know what he wanted and how to deal with it because in all honest Brendon was slightly ashamed of it. He didn't know why he was feeling what he was feeling, but something had to give.

Shaking his head, Brendon whimpered, "Don't make me say it."

Dallon smirked. "Can't help you if you don't tell me."

And Brendon almost left. He almost mustered up enough courage to climb off of Dallon and hide in the basement or something, but Dallon was quicker. His hands inched up Brendon's thighs causing Brendon to inhale sharply. Watching the last bit of resolve vanish from Brendon's face, Dallon sat up and pressed a short kiss to Brendon's lips. "What do you want, Brendon?"

"You."

Slowly, almost deliberately, Dallon laid back down, pulling Brendon on top of him. The latter was quick to take control is his needy state, control that was immediately revoked in a sharp slap to his ass.

"Patience."

"No," Brendon growled, attacking Dallon's lips with his own.

Their lips and teeth clashed together as their kisses became rougher and more needy. Brendon was a moaning mess that had nearly lost control of the situation the minute it had started. Dallon was his only saving grace.

Hands began removing pieces of clothing: shirts and pants scattered across the floor in a unceremonious manner that would leave them to deal with later. Kisses trailed from lips to neck to chest to stomach, leaving imaginary paths mapped out on the skin. Bodies moved in synchronization as the two became one in the most intimate of ways.

Time seemed to still as the two came down from their highs, letting them savour the final moments of what had been done, relishing in the euphoric feeling that would soon fade away. The rapid movements of their chests evened out, the layer of sweat had begun to dry, the burning feeling of lust was finally satisfied.

"What now?" Brendon asked as he curled into Dallon's side.

"I don't know," came Dallon's reply. "Sleep."

And while that hadn't been the appropriate answer to the question, Brendon nodded and let his head rest on Dallon's chest.

Sleep came easy for them, entangled in each other and exhausted. Neither of them stirred as a loud boom shook the house. Neither of them stirred as a loud piercing scream called out to them. Neither of them would know what had become of poor Halsey until the following morning.