Vince shoved another black tee into the duffel, knuckles inked, arms and neck and collarbone all drowned in tattoos like his skin was never meant to be empty. Rings clinked on his fingers, piercings catching the dim light of the bedroom.

Vince didn’t ask. He never did.

He stood in the middle of the room, broad shoulders blocking the light, tattoos swallowing every inch of skin like ownership written in ink. Rings, piercings, that slow dangerous calm that made people shut the fuck up without realizing why. Zev was just as built, just as pretty, but he watched Vince the way gravity watches the ground.

“Fold it again,” Vince said.

Zev scoffed. “It’s fine.”

Vince lifted an eyebrow. That was it. Zev clicked his tongue, grabbed the shirt back out of the bag, and refolded it tighter. “You’re a control freak.”

“And you listen,” Vince replied, lighting a cigarette. Smoke curled around his jaw as he exhaled. “So what does that make you.”

Zev smirked, cracking open a bottle and taking a swig. “Lucky.”

Vince turned his back to the bag and casually unbuckled his pants, pushing them down just enough to swap his boxers, completely unbothered. Ink ran down his spine, dark and endless. Zev rolled his eyes, not even looking away from his drink.

“I’ve seen you naked before,” Zev said. “Relax.”

Vince didn’t even glance back. “Didn’t ask.”

He stepped closer, pants fixed, crowding Zev’s space, voice low and steady. “Don’t get cute.”

Zev’s grin widened anyway, heat flashing in his eyes. Outside, their black motorcycles waited, engines cooling, beasts trained to respond to Vince’s lead. Zev always rode second. Always followed his line through the dark. Anyone who watched them could tell who set the pace.

“You pack the booze?” Vince asked.

“Yeah.”

“The cash.”

“Yeah.”

“The shit we don’t want found.”

Zev tapped his pocket. “On me. Like always.”

“Good,” Vince said. “Then don’t fuck this up.”

Zev leaned back against the dresser, relaxed, trusting. “You act like I ever do.”

Vince grabbed his jacket, the leather heavy and familiar. “You don’t. Because I don’t let you.”

There it was. The truth without softness. Zev didn’t argue. He just watched Vince like the world made sense when Vince was in charge.

At home, they were brothers. Polite. Quiet. Careful. Outside, girls stared, flirted, tried to get between them, and Vince shut it down with a look, an arm slung over Zev’s shoulder like a warning sign. Mine. Off limits.

Vince killed the lights. “We leave in five.”