Grayson sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, his head bowed into his hands.
The sheets behind him were a tangle of heat and sweat, Kane stretched across them in the kind of sleep Grayson couldn't even imagine reaching. Deep, untroubled, steady as stone. His chest rose and fell like the night hadn't touched him, like ghosts didn't exist in his world.
Grayson hated him for that calm. Hated how untouchable he looked.
Because his own head wouldn't stop spinning. Jack's face kept replaying—those words, the weight behind them. The way he'd said them. Casual, maybe, but deliberate. And what if he really knew? What if he was already talking? What if the cops were just waiting for the right moment to drag Grayson away?
The thought made his stomach turn. He'd been through this spiral before, after the alley, after the body. He thought time might dull the panic. It hadn't. If anything, it was sharper now.
He pushed up from the mattress quietly, careful not to wake Kane. His jeans were still in a heap near the bed, his shirt wrinkled in the corner. He dressed in the dim light of the city bleeding through the glass walls, each button louder than it had any right to be. His hands wouldn't stop trembling.
He was nearly at the door when his eyes caught on something on the floor.
The tie. Silk, dark against the pale rug, discarded like it meant nothing.
Grayson froze.
The sight of it pulled him back to Kane's office, to the feel of it tight around his throat, to the way surrender had been dragged from him, silk cutting the line between control and collapse. It was more than just fabric. It was power. A leash. A mark. And in that moment, it became something else.
Grayson bent down, picked it up. The silk slid smooth through his fingers, quiet and dangerous. He turned it over once, twice, the thought uncoiling until it was the only thing left in his head.
He'd done it before. He could do it again.
Jack wasn't going to let this go. Not if he really knew. And Grayson couldn't keep waiting for the axe to fall. Something had to give.
The tie felt heavier than it should have as he shoved it into his jacket pocket.
He straightened and looked back one last time. Kane hadn't stirred, not even a twitch, still sprawled across the sheets like the world could never touch him.
Grayson stared for a moment too long, then turned, slipped out the door, and didn't look back.
The elevator ride down stretched forever, the silence broken only by the sound of his own pulse. By the time he stepped onto the street, the weight of silk in his pocket was like an anchor.
This time, he wasn't running.
This time, he was going to end it.
Grayson set his jaw and started toward the Rusted Anchor.
****************
The Rusted Anchor was already half in shadow when Grayson reached it. The sign above the door flickered like it might die at any second. Jack was at the front door, keys jangling as he slid bolts into place, his shoulders rounded with the weariness of someone who'd worked too many years in the same bar. He didn't notice Grayson right away, and for a fleeting second, Grayson considered turning on his heel, walking the other way, and never coming back. But his feet stayed rooted.
Jack looked up finally, his eyes narrowing as he took in the figure standing a few feet away. "We're closed." His voice wasn't unkind, just blunt.
Grayson's throat tightened. "I'm not here for a drink."
Jack pocketed the keys but didn't unlock the door again. He leaned a shoulder against the frame, looking Grayson over in that slow, steady way that made his skin itch. "You were here earlier. With Kane."
The name made Grayson's stomach twist. He shoved his hands into his jacket pockets, trying to keep his voice steady. "Yeah. That was me."
Silence settled in, heavy. Jack didn't ask anything else, didn't invite him in, just let the quiet drag until Grayson's nerves started to shred themselves.
"You…" Grayson began, his voice cracking before he cleared his throat. "You know who I am, don't you?"
Jack's brows drew together faintly. "Should I?"
Grayson shifted on his feet, the words bubbling up before he could stop them. "You know what I did here."
That froze Jack in place. His eyes fixed on him, sharp in a way that had nothing to do with suspicion and everything to do with calculation.
Grayson's pulse thundered in his ears. He could hear himself breathing too fast, too shallow, but he couldn't stop.
Jack finally spoke, his voice slow, careful, like he was testing the ground before stepping onto it. "What you did… here?"
Grayson swallowed, the back of his throat raw. He gestured vaguely toward the side of the building, toward the alley he'd never stopped seeing in his nightmares. "In there."
Jack's gaze flicked in that direction, just for a second. When he looked back, something shifted in his expression — a tightening around the mouth, the narrowing of his eyes. Like the puzzle pieces were sliding into place, one by one.
"You killed someone," Jack said finally. Not an accusation. Not even a question. Just a fact laid bare between them. "That was you?"
Grayson felt the words sink into him like stones. His fists clenched at his sides, but his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. He didn't answer.
Jack studied him, quiet, his expression unreadable. Then he let out a slow breath, shaking his head once. "Christ."
Grayson's heart jackhammered. He wanted him to say more, to explain what he meant, but Jack just looked at him long, hard, like he was waiting for something.
And then, at last, the words came, measured and heavy.
"You don't know, do you?"
The bottom dropped out of Grayson's stomach. His mouth opened, but nothing came out. Finally he rasped. "Know what?"
Jack didn't answer right away. He let the silence stretch until it felt unbearable, until Grayson was caught on the hook of his own dread. Then he stepped forward, closing the gap by an inch, his voice lowering.
"That man. The one you put down in that alley. He wasn't just some drunk, random bastard." Jack's voice was quiet, but every word landed like a hammer. "He was Kane's brother."
The words didn't just break the silence — they obliterated it.
Grayson froze, the night collapsing in around him. His stomach lurched, his knees buckled. He staggered back a step, like Jack had swung and caught him clean in the chest.
"No." His voice cracked, raw, strangled. "No, that's—"
"You think I'd lie?" Jack cut in, eyes locked on his. Steady. Merciless. "You think I'd make something like that up?"
The neon above them buzzed and flickered, throwing the alley in harsh flashes of light, as if the whole world was stuttering with the weight of it. Kane's face burned in his head — the sharp smile, the steel in his gaze, the heat of his body pressed close in the penthouse hours ago — colliding, violently, with the memory of blood on his hands, of a man's weight going slack in that alley, of silence stretching on forever.
Grayson's throat closed. His chest caved in. He couldn't breathe. "Why—" He choked on it, the word scraping out of him. "Why the fuck am I still alive?"
Jack didn't flinch. Didn't blink. His gaze was flat, unwavering, like he was staring through Grayson into something deeper. "That," he said, voice low and sharp as a blade, "is the part I can't figure out."
The words didn't just hit — they carved through him, twisting, ripping something vital loose.
Grayson swayed, the ground shifting under his boots, the weight of it all dragging him down. Kane's brother. Kane's fucking brother.
The truth roared in his skull, louder than the city, louder than his own heartbeat. He pressed his palms to his temples, like he could block it out, force it back. But it was everywhere. Kane's hands on him. Kane's voice in his ear. Kane's mouth-
His stomach turned. His throat burned.
Jack's voice cut through it, steady, merciless. "You don't even know the half of it, do you? You don't know who the fuck you're lying down with."
Grayson's eyes snapped up.
Jack's smirk was thin, bitter. "Christ. You really don't. Kane's got you wrapped so tight you can't even see he's playing you."
The words detonated in him, each one worse than the last, and something gave way — a fragile thread snapping under the weight of it.
His hand slipped into his jacket pocket. Fingers brushed silk. Smooth. Familiar. Kane's tie. The one he'd taken without thinking. The one that still smelled faintly of him.
Jack kept talking, oblivious to the way the air had shifted. "You want my advice? Run. Tonight. Only reason you're breathing is because Kane's biding his time. One day, he's gonna wake up and decide you're not worth it. And when that day comes—"
Grayson moved.
The tie was out before he even knew he'd pulled it. His body acted on pure instinct, pure panic, pure fury. He lunged, shoving Jack back into the alley wall.
Jack's hands shot up, grabbing at him, but Grayson was already looping the silk around his throat, pulling tight. The fabric bit into his palms, smooth and unyielding.
Jack choked, eyes wide, hands clawing at the tie, at Grayson's wrists. He tried to speak, tried to rasp words through the strangled breath, but Grayson pulled tighter.
"Shut up," he hissed, his own voice shaking. "Shut the fuck up."
Jack's face turned red, then purple. His nails raked Grayson's skin, desperate. His boots kicked against the pavement, scraping, thudding.
Grayson's arms trembled, but he didn't let go. Couldn't. Every word Jack had said burned through him like acid. Kane's brother. Wrapped around his finger. Walking dead.
Tears stung his eyes, hot and useless. "I didn't know," he rasped, voice breaking. "I didn't fucking know."
Jack made a guttural sound — half snarl, half plea. His movements slowed. His grip weakened.
Grayson pulled harder, his teeth gritted so tight his jaw ached. His whole body shook with it, the effort, the rage, the terror.
And then Jack went still.
The silence hit harder than the struggle. No boots scraping, no nails clawing, no sound at all but Grayson's ragged breathing and the distant hum of the city.
He kept the tie tight for a long moment, shaking, until the reality of it seeped in. Until his arms gave out and the fabric slipped from his fists.
Jack crumpled to the ground, the silk still wound around his throat.
Grayson staggered back, chest heaving, the alley spinning around him. His hands shook. His vision blurred. Kane's tie hung loose, limp, dangling like some obscene trophy.
And all Grayson could think was: I've done it again.
His phone was suddenly in his hand. He didn't remember pulling it out. Just the sharp beeps of numbers, the hum in his ear, and then—
"911, what's your emergency?"
His voice cracked, rough. "There's a body. At the Rusted Anchor."
The operator's tone sharpened. "Sir, can you—"
Grayson cut her off, words rushing like he was bleeding them out. "If you want Kane, you'll find proof on the tie. The one around his neck. It's his."
A pause. Fingers clacking faintly. "Sir, what's your name?"
He dragged a hand through his hair, breath catching. "Doesn't matter. Just—listen. My fingerprints are on it too, but you don't give a shit about me. You want him, don't you? That's how you nail him. That's your shot."
The operator hesitated. "Sir, are you saying you—"
"I'm saying Kane." His voice cracked, then hardened. "I'm saying he's the one you want. You're missing a cop, aren't you? That was him. He made th officer disappear. Just like he'll do to me if you don't move."
"Sir, stay on the line. Units are on the way—"
But he snapped the phone shut, shoving it back into his pocket, stumbling out of the alley. His hands wouldn't stop shaking. The ghost of the silk clung to his fingertips, no matter how hard he wiped them against his jeans.
The sirens would come. Questions would come.
And when Kane found out—Grayson wasn't sure which he feared more.