Oh, that was a sore subject. Riley grimaced and would’ve pulled away, but there was simply no way to avoid a creature nestled up against your bones. He submitted to the continued petting with ill grace, glaring at the ceiling.

“I was an idiot, that’s what went wrong,” he growled, his voice tight with vexation, humiliation, hurt, regret…. Misha had always been good at bringing out everything Riley was trying so hard to suppress. He’d resembled McClane in that respect. Fuckers. Riley rubbed his hands over his eyes angrily, wiping away the sleep grit. “I knew something was going on. Didn’t wanna see it.”

But, of course, he’d seen it anyway, because catching Misha with that rifle… that had been a shock, but it hadn’t been a surprise. All the odd calls Misha had fielded since they’d met; the locked drawers and sudden business trips, the armed visitors with their heavy Russian accents and detached gazes, the murmurs Riley had heard in the neighborhood about mob connections and blood money… those damn tattoos. Stars on his shoulders and on his knees, a skull over his heart. It wasn’t really all that subtle. You could google that sort of information, for Christ’s sake. For a career criminal, Misha was bad at hiding and a shit liar to boot.

“If I hadn’t wanted him so much, I’d’ve gotten out sooner,” Riley confessed, and, man, that still stung. He’d been led around by his dick like a stupid teenager. He’d been needy, starved for affection, and Misha had seemed so sincere, had been dogged in his pursuit like no one else before, and it had clouded Riley’s judgment to an unhealthy degree. Hadn’t helped that he’d been drawn to Misha from the start, like iron to a magnet. He still felt that damn pull, a deep, painful yearning that never quit.

His jaw ached and he realized he was gritting his teeth. It was an effort to stop.

“Couldn’t keep lying to myself anymore when I saw him with that gun.” Discussing the merits of a head shot over a body shot when murdering someone in his own home, no less. “So I got the fuck out.” Like a little bunny rabbit with its tail on fire.

He didn’t shoot you, though, McClane stated, apparently needing to have that confirmed even though he already knew Riley had gotten out uninjured. And Andrej didn’t shoot you, either.

“Nope.” Riley shook his head, tracing the sunlight seeping in through the gaps in the heavy curtains. “I kicked the fucking door shut so hard it got stuck, and hauled ass.” Straight out the front door at a dead run. If he hadn’t still had his overnight bag in the truck from their last weekend trip, he wouldn’t even have had his ID and driver’s license. Though, honestly, right then he hadn’t thought about that. He’d been in full-out survival mode.

“I’m an idiot sometimes, but I don’t fuck mafia.”