Kat Cassidy

Breakdown is the third and final book in Kat Cassidy’s Hot Wire M/M romance series which contains themes of crime, suspense, family drama, hurt/comfort, dark humor, addiction, and abuse.   It should not be read as a standalone. Rated M for mature.

Read an excerpt…

Hot Wire: Breakdown

Prologue

Olivia was all nervous energy. Her fingers drummed rapidly on her paper cup as Peter paid for the coffee. They took it to go, cutting across Glendale Boulevard and onto the pathway that circled the Echo Park reservoir. The place was nearly abandoned at this time of year, the evening chill of the January air driving the regular crowds indoors. No unwanted ears. Peter pulled his peacoat tighter around himself and waited until a lone jogger passed them to speak.

“I still say we should have rented a swan boat,” he joked.

“I don’t think they do that in the winter.” Liv’s smile was strained. “And I’m pretty sure you’ve outgrown the novelty of a paddleboat that looks like an asshole bird.”

“If you never got to enjoy something the first time out, can you actually outgrow it? I’m thinking my mid-thirties is when I’m really going to start doing all the shit I missed out on. Learn how to ride a bike, join a little league team, the works.”

“You know how to ride a bike, shithead. I taught you.”

Peter snorted. “Taught me? More like let me go with no training wheels while I careened into on-coming traffic. Same difference, right?”

“Bauers don’t do training wheels. Besides, we lived on a cul-de-sac. The only traffic was mom’s old Firebird.” She nudged him gently with her elbow, her shoulders finally relaxing. “Hey, you learned, didn’t you?”

He made a so-so gesture with his hand. “I don’t think I’ll be competing in the Tour-De-France anytime soon. Which is a real shame; my ass looks great in spandex.”

She chuckled, but it still seemed forced. “Nik good?”

“He’s okay.” Honestly, Nik was a bit of a mess right now, not that Peter blamed him. Stavros’ trial date had been set for mid-February, and Nik was slated to take the stand. It seemed unfair to make him relive that night. “He’s gearing up for the trial.”

“It’s in a few weeks, right?”

“Starts the tenth.” And Peter couldn’t wait until it was over. Nik could use the peace. They both could. “How’s Dave?”

“Good. Busy with work,” Liv said.

“Yeah, I imagine keeping dad behind bars is sort of a 24/7, all-hands-on-deck type gig, huh?” It never stopped being a little strange that Liv’s boyfriend’s job was keeping their crime-lord father locked away. A therapist would have a field day with that one but Bauers did therapy even less than they did training wheels—with Peter, as always, being the notable exception.

The joke didn’t even get a smile this time. They walked on, letting the click of Liv’s heels and the wind through the palms fill the silence. Things hadn’t been the same between them since the shit with Mia. It was starting to feel like a permanent state of affairs. He supposed he couldn’t blame Olivia; she’d given him more chances than most and he’d burned through them like they were inexhaustible. It was more than just that, though. They’d been inseparable as small-time crooks under their father’s malevolent thumb, but Peter was clawing his way out of the life and Liv was digging further in. He was starting to feel the distance.

“Is everything okay?” he asked her finally. Peter didn’t like the caution he heard in his own voice. It had never been this hard for him to talk to his sister.

“Half of LA’s on fire. There’s a turf war over every fucking corner and every fucking type of business in this city. Any dealer, pimp, conman, or thief who isn’t a Russian or a Greek is washing up dead on the shore and Families are killing each other in the streets. So, no, Peter, everything is about as far from okay as fucking possible right now. It’s war out there.” She sounded exhausted. Worse, Peter couldn’t ignore the undercurrent of panic in her voice. It scared him.

“But what about you?”

“Me?” She laughed bitterly. “Oh, I’m fucking ruined.” Liv pressed her middle and index finger into the spot between her eyebrows. “Matteo Giannopoulos and Anton Volkov are fucking ruining me.”

Peter reached out to put a hand on her shoulder, and Liv pulled away from his touch.

“Don’t,” she said flatly. “Don’t act like this is something that’s just happening to me. Matt’s been out for my blood since Stav got pinched and Volkov’s still pissed about that fucking stunt you pulled at his poker game.”

He took a long pull of coffee, making a concerted effort to keep his temper under control. “You think I don’t know I fucked up, Liv?”

“That your idea of an apology?” The muscles in her jaw twitched. “I think, yet again, you don’t have to live with the consequences of your fuck-ups. But, yet again, I do, and I’m forced to clean up your mess.”

Peter flinched; he knew what Liv wanted from him. He wasn’t ready to give it. “What if we paid Volkov back for the damage? I could talk to Nik, maybe leverage some money on the garage…”

“Jesus, Peter, you think I didn’t think of that? I have tried to pay him back. Volkov doesn’t care about the money. He wants to tear out my bitch eyes and piss down the sockets. That’s a quote by the way.” She chuckled grimly. “It doesn’t matter what I do. Wherever I set up, he keeps finding my shops somehow. Volkov’s not going to stop coming for me unless I fucking stop him first.”

He didn’t like the sound of that, not one fucking bit. “What are you planning, Liv?”

A hollow pit opened up in the bottom of his stomach. He could almost hear his father’s voice. When the time comes—and trust me, there will come a time—you will help your sister save the business. It’s my legacy. That voice lived inside him, no matter what he did.

Peter had agreed that day, not because of some stupid Bauer legacy, but for Mia, and for Nik. He’d naively hoped the time would never come for that chip to be cashed. You didn’t just back out on a promise to Erik Bauer. Even from jail, he could put all of them in more danger than Stasia Toles could ever dream up.

“I don’t know. Maybe nothing,” she said dismissively. “Don’t worry about it.”

Peter examined his sister in the dull winter sunlight. It seemed like she had aged five years over the past six months, the circles dark under her eyes and the creases deep and permanent in her forehead.

He sighed. She wasn’t going to want to hear this, but it was the only way he could think of to keep her and everyone else in his life safe.

“So maybe that’s it then,” Peter said, struggling to keep his voice even. “Maybe it’s time to call it quits before someone does it for you, huh?”

Liv’s back stiffened at the suggestion. “No,” she said heatedly, “I’m not—”

He could practically see all the words on the tip of her tongue. A failure. A quitter. Weak. Like you. She let them go unsaid. Unlike Peter, Olivia wasn’t accustomed to losing. He could tell she didn’t like how it felt.

“I mean, what the fuck else am I supposed to do?” she asked, so quietly he almost didn’t hear it.

Peter had experienced that horrible free-fall that came when your entire self-worth was tied to your value as a criminal. Another gift from their father. “Literally anything but this, Olivia,” he suggested gently. “Something you like? Something you’re good at?”

Olivia laughed, but there was no joy in it. “I’m good at this, Peter. It’s the only thing I am good at.”

“There’s a world outside of this,” Peter said, suspecting he’d already lost the argument. He couldn’t help but feel that maybe she would’ve listened to him if he wasn’t the one who had fucked this up so badly on her last summer. “Going legit’s not so bad. Almost none of my fellow mechanics want to kill me.”

“Oh, fuck off,” she said, without any real heat. “Do you really see me spending the rest of my life at some nine to five?”

He didn’t, and it broke his fucking heart. “At least you’d have a ‘rest of your life.’ If you stay in this business, you might not have a rest of the year, Liv.”

“Still sounds like you think this is just my problem. I asked you to come here today so I could make it very clear that it isn’t. Watch your fucking back, Pete. I might not always be there to protect your perfect little life.”

He just let that hang there. Responding would mean saying a lot of things he wasn’t ready to give a voice to.

She drained her coffee and turned to go. “Look, it’s not that I don’t appreciate your brotherly concern, but I can fix this, Peter. I’ll figure it out. I always do.” The smile she gave him was closer to a grimace. “See you around, huh?”

“Yeah, I’ll, uh, see you later,” he said, hoping to God it was true.

“Try not to worry. It doesn’t help,” she called over her shoulder.

Every time he met with her these days, it seemed like it might be the last time. That just like his mother, Olivia might evaporate into thin air and never be heard from again. Peter tracked her across Park Ave until she turned the corner, her movements jittery, her head scanning the streets for some unseen enemy.

He was worried. It didn’t help.

Chapter One

Under the harsh light from the flashing camera, the pool of blood was a shiny black void on the pavement. The gruesome tableau had been tidied as best as possible before the reporter took the picture—the neat lines of police tape hung, the photo evidence markers tented, and the bodies bagged, as though attaching a sense of order to the scene could mitigate the horror. Bullet holes pockmarked the stucco exterior of Club Hestia, and the blood told the rest of the tale.

The kill was as impersonal and cold as the article’s headline: “Organized Criminal Violence Escalates in LA.” Not particularly inspired, but a wave of nausea turned Peter’s stomach all the same. He was insulated from it out here in Northridge, but it seemed like every other day there was some fresh story about bodies piling up in every neighborhood of the city proper.

Peter scanned the page, the names of the victims registering with sickening familiarity. Stav’s crew weren’t the first people to end up dead as a result of LA’s newly minted gang war, but they were the first Peter had shared a drink with. Most of them had allied with Adara during the great Giannopoulos split. Apparently, they’d picked the wrong side.

“Good morning!” Mia said chipperly.

Peter startled. He hadn’t heard Mia entering the kitchen. Hell, he hadn’t even realized it was morning already. He’d stayed up all night, sifting through the articles, trying to find the parts of the story that Liv wasn’t telling him hiding between the lines.

“Morning, kiddo,” he replied mechanically. Peter rolled his shoulders a few times. They ached from three days spent on the unforgiving courtroom bench and a night spent hunched over the kitchen table.

“Peter?” Mia asked.

“Hrm?” He was only half-listening to her. The TV babbled on low from the living room, nearly drowned out by the heavy drone of Nik’s snoring. He must have fallen asleep on the sofa waiting for Peter to go up to bed with him. Guilt chewed at him; Nik could’ve used a good night’s sleep and Peter should’ve made sure of that. He was scheduled to testify today, and Stavros’ trial had been hell enough on him already.

Liv knew the trial was happening this week, but he hadn’t heard so much as a peep from her; it wasn’t like her to not call, even when they were on the outs. He glanced anxiously at his phone, willing some sort of message from her to be there.

He hadn’t seen her since Echo Park, and her communication had grown vague and infrequent. Like she was purposely trying to make him worry. Something ugly and black wrapped its tentacles around Peter’s chest, choking out anything that wasn’t impotent rage. He spent the last few months sick from dread, but the anger was new. He was angry at Liv. At himself. At their piece-of-shit father for not giving them a single fucking chance for normalcy.

“Peter?” Mia said again, more insistently. She tugged his sleeve and her eyes roved up to the grisly image on his screen.

“Don’t,” Peter snapped, knocking her hand away and slamming the laptop shut before she saw too much.

“I’m sorry.” Her brief shock gave way to a swell of fat tears spilling down her cheeks. “I was just…I just wanted some water, please,” she said miserably.

The misdirected fury evaporated. Jesus fucking Christ, what was wrong with him?

She was a kid. She was a little fucking kid who didn’t even have enough autonomy to pour herself a glass of water when she was thirsty. She needed him and Peter had just jumped down her throat like a goddamn monster.

 “Sorry.” He tried to offer a reassuring smile. He felt like crying himself.

Her sniffling abated but her bottom lip trembled unchecked. “It’s okay,” she said warily, like she was afraid of upsetting him. Like she was afraid of him.

Shame clawed at Peter’s guts. He couldn’t even meet Mia’s eye when he handed her the glass of water. “Your dad’s in the living room,” he mumbled, like that had anything to do with anything.

Peter retreated, taking the steps two at a time to the upstairs bathroom and locking the door behind him. He sat on the rim of the tub, his head in his hands. He was losing control. Fuck, maybe he was just fooling himself into thinking he had it in the first place. He’d been on a knife’s edge for weeks. And of course the first person he’d taken it out on was a little girl. Dad would be so proud.

God, he couldn’t stand how weak he was. Desperate. Damaged in ways he couldn’t even begin to describe. And, worst of all, unforgivably lacking: as a brother, as a partner, as a stand-in parent. Liv already knew, but it was only a matter of time until Nik wised up to how thoroughly he’d been conned. Peter was losing his ability to hide. He turned on the shower because he wasn’t sure when he’d started, but he was sobbing now, messy, hitching, painful noises that he didn’t want anyone to hear.

He didn’t know how long he stayed up there for. Too long, apparently, because Nik came after a while and knocked softly at the door. “Peter?”

“Yeah, just give me a sec,” he called, sounding raw and wretched.

But Peter couldn’t open the door; he couldn’t face Nik after what he’d just done. Eventually he saw Nik’s shadow walk away. One of these days he wasn’t going to come back. He’d come to his senses and realize that Peter’s love was only good for getting people hurt. Peter gripped hard onto the edge of the tub, a fresh wave of self-loathing breaking over him.

Then he would be alone like he deserved.

“Peter, please, you are worrying me.” This time Nik had come back, if only because it was his house too and Peter had locked himself in their bathroom like a goddamn lunatic.

Peter’s throat was hot and tight and he couldn’t reply. The gentle whir of a cordless drill filled the silence. The doorknob on Peter’s side dropped off and hit the floor, and then Nik pushed open the door. He looked ridiculous, his shirt unbuttoned and his tie hanging loose around his neck as he tucked the drill into the back of his dress pants. The whole thing was so incredibly Nik that it made Peter’s heart clench up again at the thought of losing him.

Nik’s bare feet made sucking sounds as he crossed the damp ceramic tile. It was as muggy as a sauna in here and he was going to ruin his new suit. Nik didn’t seem to care. He sat on the lid of the toilet seat opposite Peter, waiting for him to explain.

Peter wasn’t sure he could. He drew in a wet, shaky breath. “You could’ve picked that lock with a butter knife,” he said finally, his voice quivering. “You didn’t have to take the whole thing off.”

Nik shrugged. He shifted to seat himself beside Peter on the edge of the tub. “That is your area of expertise, not mine.” He thumbed along Peter’s jawline, and then reached behind him to turn off the running shower. “Besides, it is not the first time. Mia has accidentally trapped herself in the bathroom before.”

Peter tore off a hank of toilet paper and blew his nose messily, hiding his face. “She okay?”

“She is fine. I got her out in less than five minutes.”

“No, I mean this morning, Nik.”

“Sure. I just put her on the bus.”

“Fuck.” Peter was supposed to be helping Mia get ready for school in the morning to take some of the burden off Nik this week. Naturally, he’d dropped the ball on the most important day.

Nik never expected Peter to do any more parenting than he was comfortable with. Nik and Mia had developed a comfortable rhythm on their own and Peter was afforded the luxury of being able to step in only when he wanted to. Sometimes that meant it was hard to tell how far his responsibilities for Mia extended. He was flailing at best.

Nik’s brow creased with confusion. “What happened, Peter?”

God, Mia hadn’t even told him. Then again, he’d never worked up the courage to say anything when he was a child either, had he?

Sudden, white-hot fury blazed within him at Nik for not seeing what happened this morning and for not stopping it. Seconds later those emotions felt so fucking irrational and so hypocritical that there was nothing left to do but hate himself for feeling them. Jesus Christ, he was coming apart at the fucking seams.

The therapy didn’t seem to be doing him any good. In his recent sessions with Dr. Kavazanjian, Peter had been trying to conjure up some concrete image of his mother, coming up empty every time. No matter how hard Peter tried, he couldn’t seem to pin down the specifics of Cynthia Bauer. Over the years she’d become more of an idea to him, a symbol for how un-fucked-up his life could have been if only she’d been around.

But here—in this stupid bathroom, on the day Nik needed him to keep it together the most—a memory of her hit Peter like a punch to the gut, sudden and real and raw. His heart thumped wildly. He sucked air, his chest painfully constricted. He sobbed helplessly.

He’d never been able to tell her either.

Sitting across from her at that kitchen table the night before she lef—before dad killed her, he amended. She’d asked. Looked him right in the eye and asked, “Was there something else, sweet-pea?” If he’d told her, would she have left with him and Liv that night? Would she still be alive?

“Peter.” Nik ran his hand down the curve of Peter’s spine, startling him out of the memory. “Breathe.”

Peter did, more at the insistence of Nik’s calming strokes than his own volition. He pulled in a lungful of the humid air and exhaled it in short, trembling bursts.

“I need you to tell me what is wrong.”

One thing at a time. “I yelled at Mia,” Peter said, barely getting the words out.

Nik’s brows knit, his expression concerned but utterly baffled.

“No, Nik, I think I scared her,” Peter said, his voice cracking. He scared himself.

Nik’s shoulders relaxed, the crease in his forehead disappearing completely. “Alright. That is alright. I mean, it is not ideal but it is not the end of the world, yes? It happens. I have lost my temper before too.”

Peter lived with them and he couldn’t picture it. Fatherhood fit Nik like a well-tailored suit.

“Did you apologize to her?”
 
“Yeah.”

“Okay, then.” Nik gave his knee a solid pat as though that settled it.

“No, you don’t understand, Nik. She surprised me and my first reaction was to yell at her and knock her hand away. I fucking swear I didn’t hurt her but...” He trailed off, staring at his traitorous hands. “Maybe… maybe I could. Maybe that’s in me somewhere.”

“Oh.” Comprehension flashed across Nik’s face, sudden and startled. “You would not hurt Mia.” Nik said it like an affirmation, but Peter wondered if his boyfriend was considering a question mark at the end of that sentence.

“I would never want to hurt her.” Peter hung his head. “What if I can’t control myself? I’ve been weak all my life, Nik.”

“Today, you did not hurt my daughter,” Nik repeated gently. He put his arm around Peter’s waist. “To tell you the truth, I do not think you ever will. I would not have you in my home if I thought there was any part of you capable of that. Life has given you a lot of chances to be a bad man, Peter, and yet here you are. I do not call that weak.”

“Sure, give me a medal. I’m a real fucking hero for not beating your daughter,” he choked out. It only made him feel worse that Nik was being so goddamn understanding. Peter tried to pull out of his embrace but Nik held him firmly in place, turning Peter’s chin with his other hand so they were face to face. Nik’s eyes were deep and trusting, and Peter’s insides writhed like snakes.

“You do not have to be so hard on yourself all of the time.”

Peter wanted that to be true. Wanted to be worthy of someone like Nik and not have to constantly be terrified of falling short of the mark. It felt lately that the universe was holding his sins against everyone but him. It fell to him to hold himself to account for that suffering.

In their most recent, unsatisfying session his therapist, Kavazanjian had told him, “We don't get what we want in life, Peter. We get what we think we deserve.” Whatever Peter deserved, it sure as shit wasn’t someone like Nik.

“But I should be better, Nik.”

“You will do better next time.” Nik gave him an encouraging squeeze. “I promise, she is okay.”

“No, she seemed okay,” Peter said bitterly, breaking his gaze. “There’s a difference, trust me.”

Nik blew out a long breath, working his thumb in small, thoughtful circles against Peter’s ribcage. “I will talk to her. You can apologize to her again later. Perhaps I should watch more closely. Mia is very strong, but maybe sometimes I… She has places only her mother could reach.” He frowned. “I do not suppose that any of us are at our best right now. But I promise you, this morning is not the cause.”

Peter scrubbed his hand back through his hair. He no longer experienced the same dark jealousy that would have followed Nik invoking his dead wife, but he felt a pang of regret that he couldn’t offer Mia the things that Helena could have. “Please don’t act like this is somehow your fault,” he said, choking out an exasperated laugh.

If Peter was too self-loathing, then Nik was far too quick to blame himself. They would go along fine for weeks, but as soon as they hit any kind of snag or stress it was all too easy to fall back into their old patterns. Peter understood it was a process, he did, but he was just so fucking exhausted of being his old self sometimes.

“I know you are concerned about your sister and I have not been…I was distracted with the trial,” Nik continued.

He cupped Nik’s face in his hand. “Not distracted, properly focused. And I’m supposed to be helping you with that, not—” Peter gestured feebly to the dismantled door handle, “—giving you another thing to worry about.”

“I promise you, I have plenty of worry to go around. I can spare some for you.”

 “You’re kind of proving my point here, Petrakis.”

“You know how I like to feel useful.” Nik’s warmth radiated against him, steady and safe.

He shot Peter a faint smile and Peter returned it in spite of himself.

“Hey, at least one of us does.”

“None of that,” Nik scolded mildly. “I will remind you as many times as you need to hear it: you are useful and wonderful and one of the best things in my life. You are here and you love me and that is enough. I could not have gotten through this without you.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, you are such a cornball,” Peter complained weakly, leaning his head on Nik’s shoulder. It was embarrassing how much he still craved hearing it; Nik could see his need to be wanted so plainly.

“It is true,” Nik said, pressing a kiss into the hair at his temple.

Peter didn’t know how he had survived so long without it. He sighed. “I don’t know. Sometimes I feel like I’m struggling to find my footing here a little, especially with Mia.” Peter kneaded his thumb into Nik’s palm. “Raising kids has never exactly been a strong suit for the Bauers.”

“Maybe,” Nik conceded. “I watch you and your sister though, and I can see you know the importance of family.”

Yeah, if family meant blind loyalty and conditional affection all wrapped-up in coercion and guilt. “I don’t know if you noticed, but we kind of have a fucked up idea of that too, Nik.”

“Yes, I will admit that I do not miss all the crime. But you are loyal, Peter and you have found better places to put that loyalty. You are a good man.”

Peter laughed softly. “The jury’s still out on that one. Speaking of, we better get going so you’re not late. I don’t want the court to get the wrong idea about which one of us is the delinquent around here.”

“Former delinquent,” Nik said, and pressed a gentle kiss against Peter’s nose. “After today, we will be able to put everything before this in the past where it belongs. You and me and Mia, we will move forward, yes? Together.”

“Yeah,” Peter agreed, because it seemed almost cruel not to. He wasn’t sure he shared Nik’s optimism that locking Stavros firmly behind bars meant all of their troubles would stay there neatly sealed away with him.

But he could almost convince himself of it when Nik kissed him here in the cramped, muggy bathroom of their home—of the first place that had felt like home in such a long time that Peter found himself utterly overwhelmed by it. Nik’s mouth was pliant and soft and Peter took all of it, full of need. Like the kiss was a promise between them. Like Nik could actually ensure that all this shit was finally behind them for good.

And God, Peter hated how much he needed to believe him.