Enraged, Rylan turned to Connor. “She wouldn’t be here without Reese.” He pointed a finger in Hudson’s direction. He couldn’t even look at her without thinking of the unfairness of it all. Dominik had saved his sister, but he clearly wasn’t risking his neck for Reese.
“I know, man.” Connor rubbed the back of his neck. “She’s not going to die in there. I’m calling everyone in and we’ll come up with a plan, all right? We’ll take her when they bring her out.”
“Let’s go now. We’ll plan when we’re outside the city walls.”
Connor rejected the half-baked idea. “No. They’re not going to try her until tomorrow. Let’s wait for Dominik to get back with more details. We’ll be able to bring all the right equipment and right people. Besides, you two need to sleep or you’re not coming with us.”
Rylan opened his mouth to object, but Connor shook his head again. “Not happening, Ry. Whatever you’re thinking, stop.”
Short of hijacking the chopper, Rylan didn’t have any choice. He jacked his hand through his hair in frustration and then spun on his heel. The heat at his back told him that Sloan was right behind him, but Rylan didn’t say a single word as he practically sprinted toward his cabin. He waited until the other man had crossed the threshold before pouncing.
“Don’t you have any feelings? What the hell is the matter with you?” His teeth ground together. “Did you lose your balls in Reese’s cunt? Is that why you’re too weak to—”
He didn’t get the next word out because Sloan’s fist was in his face.
Rylan licked the blood at the corner of his mouth and smiled. Yeah, it was on. He was going to beat this motherfucker who’d left Reese behind. He allowed the righteous fury to drown out his own screaming guilt and launched himself forward, fists out, jaw clenched.
Sloan ducked, but Rylan’s arm was quick enough to land a blow. The impact vibrated up his arm and rang his bell almost as hard as he’d rung Sloan’s. The man’s head snapped back, and then he bared his teeth and drove his shoulder into Rylan’s stomach. They crashed into one of the beds, fists flying and adrenaline surging.
Rylan grabbed the man around the neck and tried to apply pressure to his windpipe, but Sloan was able to push Rylan’s head back far enough to prevent him from gaining any leverage. Then Sloan’s hand went to the back of Rylan’s neck. Rylan saw the action in slow motion—the strong forehead moving toward him, ready to crash into his. He braced himself.
But the head butt that he expected didn’t land.
Instead it was a hard, angry kiss that slammed against his mouth, both salty and wet. Sloan was . . . crying, yet there were no sounds in the cabin except for their harsh breathing.
Rylan’s heart stopped, and he reared back as far as Sloan’s grip would allow.
The other man’s tears streaked down his face in an unrelenting downpour. The expression on Sloan’s face was gut-wrenching. Pale and tired, full of need and anger and regret.
“I miss her too,” he groaned against Rylan’s mouth.
“I should’ve never backed her crazy plan,” Rylan mumbled in response.
His outrage had been wiped away by Sloan’s grief, replaced by bone-crushing guilt that tightened his throat. He’d been trying to ignore it, using his anger toward Sloan to shroud the real reason he was so fucking destroyed: It was his fault Reese had been captured.
In his reckless desire to be seen as an equal, he’d driven Reese to the outpost when Sloan had tried to hold them back and keep them safe.
If anyone should be livid, it was Sloan. But the man acknowledged Rylan’s tortured confession with silence, and in those long quiet moments, Rylan almost broke down in tears of his own.
Since Reese’s capture, all he’d kept thinking was that if he didn’t get her back, he was worse than his father. Sure, his dad had whored his mother out, but he’d never sent her into a dangerous situation to die. Not like Rylan. Rylan had stood in that room egging Reese on while Sloan had been the voice of reason. And now she was gone, and the two men were lost.
They clung to each other, desperate to find some comfort. Rylan’s fingers shook as he pulled at Sloan’s clothes. Their shirts came off. Their pants followed, and soon they were rolling around on the musty cabin floor, naked and hard. It was nothing more than a frantic attempt at distraction, Rylan knew that, but his body responded regardless, pleading for relief, for a way to shut off his brain, even if only for a few minutes.
His erection slid against Sloan’s, and the heat of their grief-stricken desire burned Rylan like a physical thing. It couldn’t have felt more real if someone had held a branding iron to his back.
He gasped when Sloan’s hand reached between them to grip him.
“Take me,” Sloan growled. “Put your damn hand on me.”
Rylan reached down blindly. His knuckles knocked into Sloan’s and then he found the other man’s hard shaft. Iron sharpened iron. They stroked each other in jerky, uncoordinated movements as they sought their release.