“I like you, Hans. More than I should. I know you figured me out. I came into this group because I thought I liked danger. What I liked was you.”

Liked him? Big old heart? Pietro had to be toying with him. “I won’t tell you when I’ll strike. You’ll use it against me.”

“I understand. You’re right, I could.” He sighed. “Trust must be earned. Starting today, I’m ready to earn yours.”

Uh-huh. Hans scoped out the landscape of the room. His bedroom. At least he had his books. He fell backwards onto the heap of blankets he called a bed. If there was going to be a fight, then he’d plan out precisely when he’d strike. If Pietro wanted to help, he could help when the shit hit the fan. No more allowing the filthy Captain to win. He’d make sure payback was a royal bitch.

“Hans.”

He turned his attention back to Pietro. “Haven’t moved.”

“Good.” Pietro helped Hans out of his shirt. He smoothed one hand across Hans’ chest. He licked his bottom lip and dragged his teeth over the blood-engorged skin.

Hans had seen Pietro a thousand times, but never expected Pietro to want anything more than awkward friendship. He shivered into Pietro’s touch. “What are you doing?”

Pietro popped the button on Hans’ jeans. “Attempting to help you recover.” He slid his hand under the denim and wrapped his fingers around Hans’ cock. “Am I helping?”

“Yeah,” Hans replied. His mouth ran dry, and his dick pressed hard into his jeans. He grabbed the waistband of his pants and shoved. A streak of pain ricocheted down his ribs. “Fuck.”