Micah scoffed. “Yeah, because drugs don’t ruin the lives of plenty of women and children. And why do you think most homeless people are even out on the streets?”

“People who are addicted to drugs are going to get their hands on them one way or another,” Damon argued. “At least I make sure anything coming out of my enterprise is clean, and if anyone tries to tamper with the products… well, they’re swiftly dealt with.”

Micah swallowed. Damon was so close to him that when he tried to take in a shaky breath and fill his lungs, his chest brushed up against the man’s. “Dealt with? What does that mean?”

Did he mean “dealt with” as in fired… or murdered? Fuck, Micah felt like puking again – much like he had on Monday when he’d first discovered Damon’s real job. Had the man killed someone before? Micah’s head was still pounding with a migraine, and the hysterical question was on the tip of his tongue… but did he really want to know?

Micah had taken an oath as an NYPD detective to protect the citizens of New York, and if Damon admitted to being a murderer, it made no difference how many NDA’s the man had made him sign or how much Micah wanted to grab the man and shake him, but also kiss him even now… he’d have to arrest him.

“That’s nothing you need to concern yourself with.”

Fuck. Fuck. That wasn’t an answer at all.

Micah went to sidestep Damon, badly needing some space, but the man only moved with him, so Micah was forced to take his hands and splay them on the man’s chest, intending on pushing him backward. But Damon grabbed his wrists before he could. “I would never hurt you.”

The words were said imploringly, an almost desperate edge to Damon’s inflection, and as fucked as it was, Micah wanted to believe him – to sink into the man and let him comfort him even. But Damon thought Micah was just some down-on-his-luck prostitute, not someone who worked for the police. And he had no idea what Damon would do to him if he found out. The chilling reminder was like ice water being dumped down the front of his pants. Micah yanked his hands away from Damon – or, at least, he tried to. “Let go of me, and step away – right now.”

Several intense seconds passed where Damon did neither. But then, he slowly released Micah’s wrists and took two large, purposeful steps back. “You’re afraid of me,” he accused.

Damon actually had the nerve to sound hurt.

“I just fucking accused you of being a stalker, a psycho, a frickin’ super villain, and I scolded you for distributing drugs – loudly. I’m not scared of you. I’m pissed that you lied… and-and I’m disappointed,” he admitted, with a bit less steam.