Chapter 64: Chapter Sixty Five

"Ahha!" Hunter moaned, his fingers digging into Nikhil’s broad shoulders as the wave of intense pleasure crested over him.

The master bedroom in the Heights penthouse was bathed in early morning sunlight, the river outside glinting like liquid silver beyond the floor-to-ceiling glass. Hunter collapsed forward, slick with sweat and gasping for air, landing directly beside Nikhil on the massive bed. He rolled onto his side, resting his head against Nikhil’s chest as their heartbeats thundered in unison.

Nikhil wrapped an arm tightly around Hunter, pulling him close, his chest heaving as he let out a long, heavy breath. "Oh God..."

Hunter let out a soft chuckle, his hand resting over the prominent, warm curve of his stomach where their child lay completely undisturbed by the commotion. "What?"

Nikhil turned his head, kissing the crown of Hunter’s damp hair. "I think this pregnancy is giving you way too much energy."

Hunter raised an eyebrow, a teasing glint in his dark eyes as he looked up at his husband. "Are you saying you hate it?"

"Never said that," Nikhil murmured with a breathless grin, leaning down to capture Hunter's lips in a slow, sweet kiss that tasted of morning warmth and deep contentment.

In the background, the wall-mounted television,which had been playing quietly on mute all morning,flashed bright red news banners. Nikhil picked up the remote from the nightstand and unmuted it, letting the audio drift into the room while he idly ran his fingers through Hunter's hair.

"...we turn now to breaking news out of the East District," the news anchor announced, her voice crisp and professional. "The Benson shipping heir, Thomson Benson, has just been released on emergency bail after his legal team staged a frantic overnight petition. Sources indicate the mayor’s office was personally contacted to expedite the hearing, ensuring the young socialite didn't spend another hour in a central holding cell following his arrest last night."

Nikhil and Hunter both sat up in bed, the lighthearted mood dimming instantly. On the screen, grainy footage played showing Tommy Benson,disheveled, wearing a dark jacket, and surrounded by high-priced defense attorneys,being rushed through a throng of flashing cameras toward a waiting black luxury sedan.

"The release comes after Benson was allegedly found armed with a concealed firearm inside an exclusive East District lounge late Friday evening," the reporter continued.

Hunter frowned, his hand tightening around Nikhil’s wrist as he stared at the screen. "That’s the lounge..."

Nikhil turned to look at him, his brow furrowed. "What?"

"That’s the place Saint took us to," Hunter said, his voice dropping as the memory of the flat pop-pop-pop echoed back in his mind. "When I called Saint last night, he told me he was fine. He said nothing happened... so a rich guy went there armed?"

Nikhil looked at the television screen, where the black sedan was speeding away from the courthouse, then looked back at Hunter’s pale, questioning face. He reached out, gently cupping Hunter’s jaw, his expression softening into an ironclad protectiveness.

"So long as you and our child weren't involved in that, I don't really care," Nikhil said firmly, his thumb brushing over Hunter’s cheekbone. He took the remote, clicked the red power button, and the screen went black, plunging the room back into peaceful quiet.

Nikhil set the remote aside and turned back to Hunter, his arms wrapping around his waist to pull him down into the pillows once more. "Now... where were we?"

Hunter smiled, the lingering shadow of the news fading as he buried his face in the crook of Nikhil’s neck.

Forty minutes later, across town near the exit gates of the central precinct, the black luxury sedan idling in the alleyway was surrounded by tinted windows and idling exhaust.

Tommy sat in the deep leather rear seat, his jaw clenched, staring blankly at the back of the driver's headrest. His hands were still trembling slightly,not from fear, but from the humiliation of the holding cell and the cold metal of the handcuffs that had left red marks on his wrists.

The rear passenger door suddenly clicked open. A figure wearing a dark coat, a pulled-down cap, and a heavy scarf slipped smoothly into the seat beside Tommy, slamming the door shut with a solid thwack.

Tommy’s eyes snapped sideways, his posture instantly going rigid. "You."

The driver put the car in gear without a word, pulling out smoothly into the morning traffic.

Saint pulled off the scarf, revealing the white medical tape wrapped around his palms and the sharp, exhausted lines of his face. His hangover was still throbbing behind his eyes, but his gaze was entirely clear.

"You have to lay low for a while," Saint said, his voice clipped and quiet. "Till this blows over. The media is going to be on it like crazy, Tommy."

Tommy let out a harsh, bitter laugh, turning his body to face Saint. "Why the fuck do you give a shit?! You're the cause of all this!"

Saint licked his dry lips, a flash of frustration burning in his throat, but he forced himself to stay calm. He leaned his head back against the leather headrest, exhaling a long, slow breath.

"My problem has never been with you, Tommy," Saint murmured softly. "So I don't understand why you would..." He trailed off, blowing out a heavy sigh that sounded like years of exhaustion catching up to him. "Look. I can't make it better. Apparently, you hate me so much you'd bring a loaded gun to my head."

Saint turned his head to look Tommy dead in the eye. "I am sorry. I know it won't do anything, but you have to take it. And stop messing up your life. Tommy, what happened to you? You don't fucking study... you don't have a job... okay, you don't need any of those things with your family's money, but dude! Do something. Open a stupid company that could fire everyone if they want! But stop causing trouble. Legal trouble. I won't be there to save you next time. You'll end up in prison... or worse, dead. See a therapist or something. Get friends."

Tommy glared at him, his lip curling into a snarl that masked a deep, raw pain. "I had a friend."

Saint frowned, his eyebrows pulling together. "Had? I'm talking about present tense here, buddy."

"I had a friend," Tommy spat, his voice cracking with unvented fury. "You. And you betrayed me. You made me trust you! And then you went and tried to ruin my family's business. To ruin my father!"

Saint froze for a fraction of a second, the phantom memory of Harry Benson’s taste,cognac and silk,flashing through his mind before he buried it deep down. His face hardened into an unreadable mask.

"Tommy..." Saint said softly, his tone shifting into something far more complex. "What your father and I... our fight... well, my one-sided one... isn't about you. That's complicated."

Tommy narrowed his eyes, sensing the sudden shift in Saint’s energy, the unyielding wall behind Saint's eyes. The intimacy of their old friendship was gone, replaced by a dark, dangerous web he couldn't see the edges of.

"Get out of my car," Tommy said, his voice dropping into a cold, flat line.

Saint didn't argue. He looked at Tommy for one long, silent moment,seeing the broken, privileged boy he had tried to protect from central booking, and the man who had pointed a gun at his chest.

"Driver, stop here," Saint requested calmly.

The sedan smoothly pulled over to the curb near a quiet intersection. Saint reached for the door handle, giving Tommy one last, inscrutable look before stepping out into the crisp morning air and letting the door shut between them for good.