It was around midnight when they'd finished refueling the jet and headed back to Kingsport. But Oscar had already started to realize how little that meant, because it felt like it had been night forever.

Max had tried to explain how they were gaining or losing hours, which just made them all sound like some sort of wormhole-hopping time travelers.

All the punk knew was that somehow, after a six-hour flight, his phone told him it had only been an hour, and the sun was still nowhere in sight after over twelve hours. Jet lagged didn't even begin to describe how off Oscar felt.

Max's driver, Petie, picked them up from the airport in a limousine, and since scally cap guy was criticizing his taste in art, he turned up his music, flooding the entire length of the cab with it. The R&B-sounding vocalist's words floated between a quick, pulsing beat that sounded like something Oscar would expect to hear in a club... Not exactly what he imagined an old Irish mobster to be jamming out to.

"...I've never seen...seen one like you. You're a knife... Sharp and deadly. And it's me...that you cut into."

But it wasn't just the time zone shuffle or the buzz of the limo's bass that had the punk feeling weird. His realization about Max's feelings was without a doubt the biggest trip for him of this seemingly endless night. His mind still didn't know how to shift gears from friends and fuck buddies to a...couple?

"But I don't mind... In fact, I like it. Though I'm terrified... I'm turned on, but scared of you..."

To be fair, he'd never actually dated men... His and Daryl's arrangement was humiliating, but it was a transaction—a service—not a relationship. Men didn't date men in their world; not unless they were weak, and on the west side, being weak made you a target.

Oscar had never had anyone do something nice for him without there being a reason or something expected in return.

The only person who'd ever shown him any sort of affection without asking for anything in exchange for it was his Nan. That was what made her so dear to him; why he'd do anything to avoid asking her for money or favors, why he'd do anything to keep her safe, and why he could never tell her the truth. Sure, she probably knew he was lying, but at least she was kind enough to pretend that she believed he could be a good person. That was all he needed—one person that believed in him and loved him no matter what.

But then Max, or Marcus, sauntered into his life. What he'd taken as another male trying to show off to him, had suddenly changed into him showing off for him...to get his attention, not because of his ego, but because he wanted him to be his...

"She's a monster. Beautiful monster. Beautiful monster. But I don't mind..."

Oscar had no idea what to do, or how to feel about that. At the back of his mind, he felt like it was wrong, like accepting Max's affections made him the vulnerable one, the weak one. But what he'd seen in Max's eyes on the plane, when they were alone...that was probably the most exposed he'd ever seen anyone.

In fact, if anyone had placed themselves in the vulnerable position here, it wasn't Oscar... It was Max.

"And I need her. Said I need her. Beautiful monster. But I don't mind... No, I don't mind..."

Oscar pulled his gaze away from the tinted passenger window of the limo and let his gaze settle on the figure of Max sitting quietly across the leather bench seat from him. They were about halfway through the city; roads still mostly empty before the morning rush. The sky was just starting to change colors, and Oscar slid across the smooth black leather, and leaned his weight against Max's sturdy frame, taking advantage of the time they still had alone before they were back at the estate.

Max draped his arm over Oz's shoulder, resting his head against the punk's. "Thanks for letting me drag you out to dinner..." Max said against his hair, breath slightly ruffling a few strands.

He kind of didn't want to get home yet. He was tired, yeah, and he had shit to check up on, and the Italians to deal with, and Luke to harass, and so on, and so forth, but for right now, he was just enjoying having Oz against him. Couldn't help but brainstorm what he wanted to do next with the punk... What he wanted to show him, where he wanted to take him... It was sooo fucking distracting.

"...Beautiful monster. Beautiful monster~ Beautiful monster. Beautiful monster, yeah~ But I don't mind."

Before a reply left Oscar, a distinct pop that was off-beat shattered the moment, and blistered one of the windows along the driver's side of the limo. Three more followed as Max shoved Oz onto the carpeted floor of the vehicle.

"God dammit!" Max growled, grabbing onto the seat to brace himself as Petie righted the car after having swerved.

"Boss?!" Duncan twisted in the front passenger seat trying to get a look into the back.

Max answered through gritted teeth. "Fine! Gun?"

"The bitches are trying ta pull us over," Petie said as Duncan passed what looked like a custom, compact sub-machine gun to Max.

"Who is?" Max barked as he tried to stay low.

Petie replied, but Max couldn't make it out over the music as more gunfire whizzed past the car, one sounding like they'd skimmed the slick roof, definitely marring the pearl-white paint.

Oscar felt helpless, and it wasn't a feeling he liked. All he could think about was if he'd been on his bike how easily he could have toyed with them or gotten away. But stuck in the limo he and Max were just fish in a barrel; a pretty, luxury, very-easy-to-target, barrel.

The only thing he could do was fire back, but even that was risky. The moment he lowered the window a crack he heard gunfire pepper the back of the limo.

"Son of a bitch!" the punk cursed.

"Stay down," Max hissed, just before catching the tail end of a demand shouted from outside of the car. The accent was thick, and familiar. He risked lowering the window a bit further.

"Arturo?" Max called back, "What the fuck do you think you're doing?!"

"My friends wanna talk to you, Mr. Gallagher!"

"Friends..." Max muttered, gaze narrowed. "Stupid way to initiate a conversation!"

"What?"

"No thanks!" Max pushed the button on the side of the door, and the open window began to glide back up.

"The cartel wants you to keep your nose outta their business!"

The window paused.

"You mean the Italians' business?" Max shot back, glancing at Oscar.

"They know about the set ups!" Arturo said. "About the cops!"

"And?"

"And I had Luke give 'em their shit back! This was your warning, Marcus! If you're smart, you an' your family will take it!"

A few seconds later, their assaulters had sped away, and Duncan had hopped out of the front passenger seat to check on Max and Oscar in the back, while Petie called for another car to be brought to them.

The amount of blood on Oscar's face was deceptive, because the gash above his eyebrow wasn't very big. It wasn't even from a bullet, but instead, the result of his head meeting the side door and broken glass when Petie had swerved to avoid hitting another car.

"Is there a gang in Kingsport, you haven't pissed off?" Oz wondered as he held a monogrammed hand towel against his head.

"This...is a little more complicated... We didn't just piss them off," Max said, gently pulling Oz's hand with the hand towel away from his face for a moment to check on the wound. He knew there was gonna be a problem when Luke had called, trying to negotiate for more money, then back out of their arrangement entirely...

He should have mentioned it to his Da, should have kept a closer eye on Luke and Arturo, and he hadn't... He'd been distracted with trying to romance and protect a certain punk... It wasn't the end of the world, but it was definitely a problem. He needed to get home.

Oscar winced slightly as the air brushed across the small gash that was steadily oozing bright red. He must have looked like quite the sight; still wearing the bathrobe and slippers from the jet, and now standing next to the limo that had more holes in it than a bad romance novel plot.

Oscar'd be glad when they finally got back to the manor, and he could change into some real clothes and get some coffee. But Just as he was thinking that, he felt his phone buzz within the robe's fluffy front pocket, and pulled it out to see Rufino's name and number scrolling across the screen.

With a sigh, he silenced the call and stuffed the phone back in his pocket only to hear the muffled sound of a text notification. "Fan-fucking-tastic..."

Turns out he'd missed a few texts, but only the latest showed on his phone's home screen.

[7:23] Pasta boy: Where are you???

"Sooo, a certain meatball-loving asshat, wants to know where I'm at. What should I tell him?" Oscar asked as he glanced from his phone to Max.

Max raised a brow. "Meatba-?" Oh. Max sighed, rubbing his temple. "Tell him the truth. We were heading for Baypark and got shot up. Blame his guys. Say I might be suspicious of you. Let's see what he says to that..."

Nick and I can't believe our silly gay mafia romance has made it to over 3,000 reads and almost 500 votes!! Y'all are so amazing T w T and we're so grateful to you all for indulging us in this experiment of a project!!

Things are continuing to heat up for our boys! Did that guy say the cartel??? 😬 On a scale of 1 to f**ked, how much trouble do you think they're gonna be in?

Also, Oz mentioned feeling like being on his motorcycle would've been safer. What about you? Would you have rather been in the limo or on a bike in this chapter?

Shout out to MorganCason4 ! Thanks so much for your support!!