Kevin’s face fell, his anger seeming to subside. “We can talk about this later tonight.”

“No, Kevin, we can’t,” Ryan told him. “There’s nothing more to discuss. I’m meeting with Bryce and Casper again this afternoon after I talk to Z. They’ll be making the decisions going forward.”

“What does that mean? Decisions? Are you firing me?”

Ryan didn’t answer. He wouldn’t know until he spoke to Bryce and Casper in a couple of hours, but yeah, if they gave him the choice, Ryan would be cutting Kevin loose today. From his job. From Ryan’s life. He couldn’t stand to look at Kevin anymore. The man standing before him damn sure wasn’t the same one Ryan had fallen in love with so long ago.

“You don’t need to do anything rash,” Kevin stated, a hint of concern enhancing the words. “Give me a chance to make it up to you.”

“To me?” Ryan couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “This isn’t about me.”

“It never is, is it?” Kevin countered hotly. “I’m the one who’s at fault. Always me. You can’t even accept responsibility for the arguing, the fighting, the…alienation.”

“What. The. Fuck. Are. You. Talking. About?” Ryan couldn’t hold back any longer. He was being buried under the emotional overload, anger resonating, churning into something much more potent.

“I know you’ve been pushing me away, RT. That’s what you do. You push everyone away. And yes! Maybe that’s why I did it. I’m sick and fucking tired of you paying attention to everyone else. Maybe I need some attention. Did you ever think of that?”

Ryan stared at Kevin, shock and horror coalescing as his worst fears were realized. If he hadn’t misunderstood—and he really didn’t think he had—Kevin had just admitted to setting Trace and Z up.

It must’ve registered with Kevin what he’d said, because his eyes widened. “I didn’t mean that,” Kevin backtracked. “It wasn’t my fault. I swear to you it wasn’t my fault. Look, it won’t happen again. We can work this out, RT.”

No, they couldn’t, but Ryan couldn’t even say that much. He merely pointed toward the door.

“Don’t kick me out, RT. Don’t make me go. You owe it to us to listen, to be on my side.”

Ryan swallowed hard, studying Kevin’s face. He’d given the last few years of his life to this man, and it had all come down to this. “There is no more us,” he told Kevin as gently as he could, which honestly wasn’t much. He wished they’d been able to keep this topic separate from the discussion at hand, but it was inevitable. As it was, Ryan had managed to keep his distance from Kevin, speaking to him only in the office or on the phone, but it hadn’t been easy.

“No. Hold up. You don’t mean that,” Kevin sputtered.

“I do. It’s been over for a long time. This was just the last straw.”

“RT, please. Don’t—”

Raising his voice to be heard over Kevin’s continued tirade, Ryan said, “We’re done here. Now get out of my face.”

For the first time since the incident on Monday, Kevin appeared almost apologetic, but Ryan knew better. Not once during any of the conversations he’d had with Kevin had he ever said he was sorry—fault or not. And he never would. It wasn’t like Kevin to accept responsibility for his own actions.

Kevin turned toward the door, and Ryan was grateful.

Unfortunately, his hope that Kevin would walk away disappeared when, with his hand hovering over the knob, he turned back. Ryan’s stomach churned, anger and hurt merging into a potent mixture of hatred and disgust.

“I’ll give you some time to cool off. We can talk at home later. I’ll stop by.”

“Don’t bother,” Ryan answered. “I don’t have anything more to say to you.”

“RT. Come on, you can’t be ser—”

“Get outta my face.” Dropping into his chair, Ryan glared up at Kevin. “Go!”

When the door closed behind Kevin, Ryan sighed, dropping his head into his hands. How had things gone so horribly wrong?

He had to go talk to Bryce and Casper, figure out what their next steps were. As much as he wished it didn’t have to come to this, he knew that firing Kevin was the only way this could play out.

And in order to get on with his life, the final decision couldn’t come soon enough.

Zachariah Tavoularis had no idea why he had been called into the office on a Friday afternoon, but here he was, trying to smile as he limped through the nearly empty space toward the offices in the back. After the week he’d had, Z wanted nothing more than to put his feet up, relax, maybe have a beer or two. Specifically, he wanted to give his right foot a rest since he was pretty damn sure he’d broken his big toe in the skirmish that had ensued just four days ago.

Damn. Had it only been four days? It seemed like a hell of a lot longer than that.

After the fiasco that had nearly cost him his life, Z had been treated for the stab wound in his shoulder, but he’d kept his trap shut about his toe. No reason to get everyone more fired up than they already were when there wasn’t anything that could be done about it. When the shit hit the fan around this place, things got messy, and Z didn’t want to add to the strain he could already feel.

Rapping his knuckles on RT’s door, he waited until he was called to come inside.

“You wanted to see me?” Z asked, peeking his head in the door.

RT was sitting at his desk, his brow furrowed, his mouth a hard, thin line. He didn’t look happy at all.

“Yeah. Have a seat,” RT instructed, nodding toward the empty chair across from him.

He suddenly wished he could be anywhere but there. As it was, he’d spent the last four days thinking about the shit that had gone down and the fact that he’d been hung out to dry by one of his own. Having gone deep cover for months inside a drug cartel in order to unearth a missing wealthy businessman, Z and Trace had been lucky to escape alive. Fortunately, they had, but it damn sure hadn’t been easy. Despite being set up to take a fall, Z and Trace had still managed to extract the man they’d been hired to find from the cartel’s clutches.

Barely.

No thanks to that bastard Kevin Fischer.

Not wanting to rehash the incident, because the more he thought about it, the angrier he got, Z attempted to redirect the conversation before RT had a chance to steer it in that direction. “I already gave the details of what happened to Casper,” Z informed RT, trying not to limp too much although his toe was throbbing like a motherfucker. Probably would’ve been best not to stuff his foot into his boot, but riding his motorcycle without it hadn’t been an option.

So here he was, lowering himself into the chair in RT’s office.

“How’re you doin’?” RT asked, his eyes sliding to Z’s shoulder.

“Oh, that?” Z smiled, peering down at his shirt sleeve, which was hiding the white bandage that still covered the three-inch-deep gash in his arm. “Just a scratch.”

Z got caught up in RT’s crystal-blue gaze for a moment, unable to look away. Although his body’s untimely response wasn’t exactly appropriate considering Z worked for RT, he couldn’t help but be attracted to the man. Hell, he’d been harboring what he’d regarded as a slight crush on the guy for the better part of the last five years, maybe longer. Not that it mattered, because once RT had started dating Kevin, Z had done everything in his power not to think about him.

Most of the time it had worked.

Okay, some of the time.

“Are you really okay?” This time RT’s question sounded less business-like and more…personal.

What Z wouldn’t give for RT to care about him. Well, on a level other than employer to employee, that was. There was no doubt that RT cared about all of the enforcers who worked for Sniper 1 Security. He made that abundantly clear.

“I’m great,” Z lied. “Just chillin’, waitin’ for my next assignment.”