1 – Drinks & Confessions
The bar was dim, the air thick with the scent of whiskey, leather, and candle wax burned down to nothing.
Tank took another slow sip of his bourbon, studying Heath across the table.
The conversation had shifted.
It wasn’t a game anymore.
Not the way Heath had been treating it before.
There was something serious in his eyes now. Something hungry.
Heath leaned in slightly, his fingers tracing the rim of his glass. “I want more.”
Tank exhaled, rubbing his temples. “Of course you do.”
Heath smirked. “Come on, man. Don’t act like you don’t get it.”
Tank gave him a level look. “I get it. I just think you’re an idiot.”
Heath laughed. “Yeah, well. I’ve been called worse.”
Tank shook his head, setting his drink down. “Do you even understand what the fuck you’re asking for?”
Heath’s smirk didn’t falter. “Power.”
Tank’s jaw clenched. “Power isn’t free.”
Heath rolled his eyes. “You think I don’t know that?”
Tank leaned forward. “No, Heath. I don’t think you do. Because if you did, you wouldn’t be so fucking eager to throw yourself at something you can’t control.”
Heath’s smirk faded just slightly, but the hunger in his eyes remained.
“I’ve seen what you can do,” Heath said. “I felt it at Bear Bash. And I resisted it.”
Tank exhaled through his nose. “For how long?”
Heath shrugged. “Long enough.”
Tank’s fingers drummed against the table. “And you think that means something?”
Heath’s expression darkened. “Yeah. I do.”
There was something shifting in his voice now, something deeper.
And for the first time, Tank saw it—Heath wasn’t just interested in the power. He was desperate for it.
And desperate men?
They made stupid fucking choices.
Tank leaned back, rolling his shoulders. “Atlas told me something.”
Heath raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”
Tank’s voice was low, steady. “That others came before me. And they failed.”
Heath’s lips twitched, like he was holding back a smile.
Tank’s stomach twisted. “That’s funny to you?”
Heath exhaled, swirling his drink. “No. But it is interesting.”
Tank watched him carefully.
And then Heath said—
“I’ve met one of them.”
Tank froze.
Heath took a slow sip of his gin and tonic, his eyes gleaming. “Gideon Harlow.”
Tank’s pulse slammed.
The name was familiar.
Jason had mentioned it once—some paranormal erotica artist, famous for his disturbing, feverish depictions of something he could never quite name.
And now?
Now Heath was sitting across from him, saying that Gideon wasn’t just an artist.
He was a failed experiment.
Tank exhaled sharply, rubbing his jaw. “You’re serious?”
Heath nodded, eyes dark. “I tracked him down.”
Tank stared at him. “Why the fuck would you do that?”
Heath’s lips curled into a slow smile. “To see what happens when you fail.”
Tank’s stomach twisted again. “And?”
Heath’s expression flickered—just slightly.
And for the first time all night, his voice dropped to something quieter.
“…He’s barely there,” Heath admitted. “He babbles. He paints. But he can’t take care of himself. He’s got round-the-clock nurses helping him eat, shower—everything.”
Tank’s chest tightened.
Because that was exactly what Atlas had warned him about.
Gideon had been given power.
And it had destroyed him.
Tank let out a slow breath. “And you still want this?”
Heath’s jaw tightened. “Yes.”
Tank shook his head. “Jesus, Heath.”
Heath leaned forward, eyes sharp. “Gideon wasn’t strong enough. But that doesn’t mean I won’t be.”
Tank’s pulse pounded.
Because he knew that voice.
He’d heard it before.
It was the same voice he had used on Jason when he tried to warn him about Atlas.
The voice of someone who had already made their choice.
And no amount of reasoning was going to stop them.
Tank exhaled, rubbing his temples. “You’re a stubborn bastard, you know that?”
Heath grinned. “Takes one to know one.”
Tank studied him for a long moment.
Because Heath was already on this path.
Tank could try to stop him.
He could tell him to walk away, to leave this alone.
But Heath wouldn’t listen.
And maybe—just maybe—having someone else who understood what was happening to him wasn’t the worst thing in the world.
Tank sighed. “Fine.”
Heath’s eyebrow arched. “Fine?”
Tank’s voice was flat. “Fine. But don’t come crying to me when you end up just like Gideon.”
Heath smirked, raising his glass. “I’ll take my chances.”
Tank clinked his glass against Heath’s.
And deep down?
He had a bad fucking feeling about all of this.
No comments:
Post a Comment