He mopped up the soggy mess and threw away the paper towels, deciding whether it was safe to continue eating around a man who, over cereal, casually brought up the fact that Cole had enjoyed being bathed while blackout drunk. One of the cups of coffee appeared beside his cereal bowl. There was not any latte art or anything, but it looked fancier than anything Cole had ever made at home, which consisted of microwaved water and instant coffee. He pouted at Gideon.

“What do you mean I liked it?”

Gideon leaned against the counter and sipped his coffee, then shrugged. “You liked it. You told me so. Said that it was nice to have someone taking care of you.”

Cole put his face in his hands. “I was drunk,” he defended.

“Nothing wrong with wanting someone to take care of you,” Gideon said. “Especially after what you’d gone through.”

Gideon was probably talking about last night specifically, but Cole saw his entire life flash before his eyes. He blinked a few times and frowned. “I don’t need you to take care of me.”

“You may not need it, but you do want it.”

Cole dropped the spoon into his bowl and shoved it away, flexing his fingers wide. Things felt like they were rapidly spiraling out of control. He did not know Gideon one bit.

He did not know what he did to make all the money that funded his crazy mansion and his hobby of throwing thousands of dollars at strippers. Terrible things, he was sure, since Gideon was in the inner family, and they were supposedly the worst of the worst. He did not know if Gideon really was a playboy like James said he was – although since he and Cole first met in a strip club, that was probably true.

He did not even know if Gideon was a dog or a cat person.

But he did know what Gideon was like in bed - domineering. He got off on playing mind games to make Cole remain still or beg. He probably loved having Cole say he wanted Gideon to take care of him. He was gloating about it.

But Cole’s head was still spinning. He was still on the merry-go-round, his entire world shifting and changing around him so quickly that it was all just a blur. When he did step off, he would likely fall flat on his face and, even then, need some time to get his feet under him. He did not feel equipped at that particular moment to have whatever conversation Gideon was trying to have. Or to examine the fact that he was far less distressed by the idea of Gideon taking care of him than he should be.

He shook his head. He should deny being into it. The last time he tried to rely on someone had been with Logan, which ended up spectacularly terrible and eventually led to his whole debacle. But he did not want to. And all he could get out was, “Yeah, well…”

He took a page out of Gideon’s book and let the sentence trail off.

Before Gideon could demand clarity, a loud bang echoed through the hallway outside the kitchen. Two of the bodyguards – goons, Cole decided to be more accurate - from last night appeared in the doorway. They were once again dressed in their suits and sunglasses, all big-shouldered and pinched expressions. Instead of saying a greeting like a normal human being, they just stood there and stared at Gideon, who stared back in some type of psycho-mobster telepathic form of communication. Cole picked up his coffee and watched with interest – glad for the distraction.

“Time to go,” one of the goons said when it became clear that Gideon was not going to move unless verbally prompted.

“Um.” Cole popped his lips at the end of a long hum, “I’m still drinking my coffee.”

Everyone, Gideon included, sent him a startled look. Cole slurped loudly.

Maybe they all thought that the display of violence last night would make him meek and cooperative, but they did not know him. He might cooperate, but he would be an absolute nightmare about it. This was how he dealt with uncomfortable situations - by pulling out an alter ego version of himself, kind of like how he whipped out Nikki at work.

It used to get him into trouble with Logan a lot before he learned to keep his head down. He should probably keep his head down in this scenario, too, but dangerous situations had somewhat lost their edge after years of living with the constant threat of violence hanging over his head. He had fallen into a rut at Logan’s club, but this was a fresh danger, which brought out the worst in him.

“Too bad,” the goon said. Cole slurped some more coffee in response. 

The goons looked at Gideon like he was the husband, so he should step in and control Cole or something. Gideon just raised an eyebrow and drank his own coffee.

“Would you like a cup?” Cole offered.

“Haha,” one of the goons intoned, stepping toward Cole like he was about to grab him. Cole sucked in a scandalized breath and very deliberately dumped his coffee all over the guy’s arm as soon as it was within reach. It had cooled enough to drink but was still hot enough to startle. The goon shouted, and Cole leaped from the stool with an exclamation of his own.

“Goodness!” He held a hand over his mouth and widened his eyes. “I’m sorry! You startled me. It’s not burning you, is it?”

He grabbed the soaked arm and dragged it to the sink. The goon protested, but the whole sequence of events had caught him off guard, so by the time he was trying to tug his arm away, Cole had already doused it in cold water. The faucet head was one of those removable ones, which was excellent because he could use it to rinse off the goon’s entire arm, thoroughly soaking his jacket and then fumbling and ‘accidentally’ aiming the stream of water right at the guy’s face.

He reared back and broke out of Cole’s grip, sputtering and cursing as he tried to wipe the water off his face. “What the fuck!” he kept shouting.

Cole stood there with the faucet extension in one hand and a dumbfounded expression on his face. He put his hand in front of his mouth again in mock shock. “Oops, sorry.”

Gideon continued to sip his coffee with one hip propped against the counter throughout the entire ordeal. He did not budge one inch, expression unreadable. The wet goon whirled on him in outrage, which was enough to elicit a response. He pushed away from the counter and drained the rest of his mug.

“Time to go, baby.” He told Cole, his voice a mixture of hard command and sticky sweetness. “Go get dressed.”

“Oh, absolutely not!” Cole jammed the faucet back together and hopped over the big wet spot on the kitchen floor. “If you are going to drag me out of here before I’m ready, you need to face the consequences!”

He flitted right past the second goon, who had remained in the doorway with a bemused expression on his face the whole time. His head turned as he watched Cole fly past, but he made no move to stop him, so the path to the door was unimpeded. He flung himself out onto the porch and took his first proper look at the area around the house.

They were in the woods, which meant out of downtown proper. The roofs and siding of other houses peeked through the trees, so there was not a great swath of wilderness surrounding them. A driveway stretched from the loop in front of the house out a sizeable distance through the trees until Cole could no longer see it. 

The porch was a wide concrete slab that extended in a semi-circle away from the door. Far overhead was a roof supporting looping chains from which a cast iron lantern hung. Classical columns supported the roof, extending upward from the edge of the porch. A set of three curved steps led to a walkway through the grass to the driveway loop, where the town car from last night sat.

Cole hopped down the steps, ignoring how chilly the concrete was on his bare toes. He launched himself toward the car before anyone could follow him outside to drag him back and force him to wear proper clothes. What he had on was fine. He and Gideon were almost the same height, although Gideon was a bit taller and much broader. With a couple rolls of the waistband, the sweatpants fit well, and the shirt only hung around his collarbones a little obscenely. A coat would be nice, but it was pretty mild today, so he would be fine. He cackled to himself as he ripped open the car door and crawled inside.

A look back confirmed that the house was a large antebellum brick mansion with perfectly symmetrical windows and an immaculate front garden of hedges and stark wintry flower beds. To the side stood a separate four-car garage. Cole rolled his eyes at how typical the whole place looked. The only thing that could have been more cliché was a bachelor pad penthouse. He bet himself that there was both an in-ground pool and a hot tub in the backyard.

Eventually, Gideon emerged from the front door, flanked by the goons. He was dressed in a neat pair of dark jeans and a sweater, over which he now wore a peacoat. This was probably his version of casual. Cole curled up in the seat, tucking his feet into the cuffs of the sweatpants and clinging to his flippant attitude so he would not feel the dawning terror of the fact that he was about to get himself into yet another messy, way over-his-head situation. If Logan was the pot, then the Bartas were definitely the fire. His chest twisted uncomfortably.

Gideon ducked into the backseat beside Cole and slammed the door shut. With raised eyebrows, he held up a pair of bedroom slippers and a sweatshirt. Cole had a moment of clinging to his resolve before he snatched the slippers from him and pulled them over his cold toes.

“You sure you don’t need someone to take care of you?”

Cole pouted, “You’ve ruined my plan. Imagine the scene we would have made at the courthouse if I had shown up barefoot.”

The driver's door opened, and one of the goons slid behind the wheel. Gideon shook his head at Cole, then turned away to smirk out the window like he was hiding a smile. Cole curled his toes against the soft, fuzzy inside of the slippers. Then, because he was feeling bold and blustery from channeling his inner battiness, he leaned across the seat to murmur, “But I like it.”

Gideon looked at him out of the corner of his eyes and licked his lip but held his silence as the other goon dropped into the passenger seat. Then, they pulled away from the curb.