Gage

by Jessica Joy

  Turning toward the movement I try to focus through the shifting shadows cast by the lights of the city coming through the wall of windows. There. Past the kitchen island, a dark figure is creeping along the wall, making its way toward mine and Gage’s side of the penthouse. Fuck.

  I watch the figure for a moment longer until it disappears around the corner. I move without thinking, popping up to my feet and dashing over to the desk at the far end of the loft. On one of our first days here, Sawyer mentioned DiMarco has guns stashed all over the apartment, there’s one in the kitchen, one in each bedroom, and one in the top drawer of the desk up here. I tug open the drawer and grab the gun, a little snub-nosed affair that is light and easy to handle in close quarters. The weight of the little revolver feels familiar and comforting from all those years spent learning to shoot with my cop father. I roll the cylinder open, ensuring it is loaded, and gently snap it back into place as quietly as possible. Pulling off my socks so I don’t slip, I start making my way as silently as possible down the spiral staircase to the main floor.

  Moving quickly, I make my way across the main room and into the hall. The door to my room is open, the soft glow from the bathroom light spilling into the hallway. I stand frozen in the hall for another beat, listening intently. Part of me is hoping I don’t hear anything, or fuck, if I do it’s singing lullabies or something; anything other than what I feel in my gut. My stomach sinks and my heart jumps in my throat when I hear the sound of a struggle, a muffled voice and muffled thuds.

  I take one last steadying breath and step into the doorway, gun raised. There is a figure in a black hoodie, with the hood pulled up, leaning over the bed pressing a pillow down on Gage’s head. Gage, who always sleeps on his stomach, is at a severe disadvantage, thrashing and failing his limbs in an attempt to connect with his attacker. I take in the scene in a moment and react on instinct. Raising the gun, aim, breathe, squeeze. Aim, breathe, squeeze. The two shots fly into the attacker’s back in quick succession.

  The attacker goes limp, falling across Gage’s body in a heap. Gage immediately rolls over, shoving the body to the floor as he sits up, looking around frantically. His eyes connect with mine and he visibly relaxes, his shoulders collapsing in on themselves and a touch of the panic melting from his features. Jumping off the bed he comes to me, gently slipping the gun from my hands; I didn’t realize I was still holding it aimed at the man lying in an awkward heap on the floor. Gage takes the gun, flips the safety and pulls me against him, wrapping an arm tightly around my waist and drags me from the room into the hallway.

  “Did I… is he...” I stammer, not sure if I really want to know the answer.

  “Shhh I’ve got ye. I’ve got ye Al,” he soothes, pressing kisses to my hair and rubbing circles against my back. The adrenaline kicks in and I’m shaking so hard I can hardly wrap my arms around him. All I could do was act. Seeing Gage like that, vulnerable and hurting, it made all the anxiety and fear from the last few months come screaming back. The helplessness I felt hearing about Seattle, the anguish at seeing him all hooked up bruised and broken in the hospital bed that first night, the soul deep worry watching him lay there as still as the dead in the hospital here in Chicago, unsure if he would ever wake up. The anger, hurt, and confusion, the utter and complete loneliness when he woke without his memories. All of that and more rushed through me, both flooding and clearing my mind in the moment and all I could do was react.

  “Ye did good mo phráta beag. So damn good,” he mummers against my temple, pulling me closer still, trying to soothe my shaking. Sawyer’s feet slapping against the floor snaps me out of my head and I see him run up holding his gun.

  “I … I need to know Gage,” I whisper, my voice steadier now, but incapable of producing anything above a whisper. I look from him to Sawyer, trying to understand everything that is happening.

  “Aye love, aye love,” he soothes, “I’m here, mo phráta beag. I’m here. I’m safe, I’m alright. Ye did so good Al. So damn good. Ye did it Al. Ye saved me, my brilliant Al. So good,” he continues to coo, peppering kisses across my face, my hair, against my ear. It’s exactly what I needed because something melts inside me, the knowledge that he is alright, that he isn’t lying there helpless like he was in that coma, that he is standing here in front of me, holding me and reassuring me breaks the last thread of panic and fear inside me.

  “What was that?” Sawyer asks in a hushed whisper.

  “Inside, go check,” Gage says, nodding his head toward the bedroom.

  I step away from him, finally looking up and meeting his gaze. His blue eyes are lit with fire as they meet mine, panic and anger blazing together with a startling intensity as he looks back at me. There’s relief in their depths, relief that he’s alive? That I am? I’m not sure, but I know his hands have settled around my biceps as if he doesn’t want to let me go as I attempt to put a little distance between us.

  He’s the one that just got attacked damnit, he’s the one with someone’s blood streaked across the skin of his back. Blood. The sharp coppery bite of it invades my senses, becoming the only thing I can smell as if the thought of it allowed my senses to start processing input again. Looking down at my hands I see my palms are now caked with it from where I was gripping Gage’s back as he held me. I go to look past him, to take in whatever scene is waiting for us over by the bed but he stops me, sidestepping into my line of sight again and blocking my view as Sawyer moves into the room.

  “No Al. Ye don’t need te see that. Ye don’t need that in yer mind,” he says calm, yet firm, trying to spare me from whatever carnage my actions caused.

  “Gage. It’s already in my mind. I need to know the reality, so I don’t make up even worse in my head,” I say, my voice still barely above a whisper, my throat feeling like it's closing on me.

  “Let Sawyer do it, okay? Let him go look and I’ll stay right here, safe with ye,” he asks, hooking his finger under my chin and forcing me to meet his gaze.

  I nod weakly against his hold, unable to force another word out.

  “I’ve got her, go,” Gage says to Sawyer. I go to turn and ask him about Tessa and Evan by pointing back down the hall but he cuts me off before I have a chance.

  “They’re fine. Tessa’s with Evan in his room. Everyone’s fine Lexi,” he says in a soothing tone. Fine, safe. Everyone’s safe. I give him a weak nod and release a relieved breath, turning back to look at Gage, who is standing in front of me, holding my arms.

  Sawyer turns and disappears into the darkness of the bedroom, pistol trained on the still body lying next to the bed. Gage looks over my shoulder to say something to Sawyer, “That Fucker jumped me in my sleep and Lexi took him down. Make sure he’s not gettin’ up.” then looking down at me, “Ye saved me Al, in every way.”

  His words send a wave of warmth through me, heating my chilled skin ‘til I feel almost functional again. I know I shouldn’t be smiling at a time like this but hearing the pride in his voice as he says I saved him, a small smile tugs at the corner of my lips.

  Gage keeps my back to the door, trying to shield me from the details of the scene until Sawyer gives him some sign that it’s ok for me to see what I’ve wrought. After all those years of training to shoot this is the first time I have ever shot at anything more than a paper target. I know that whoever is in there is dead; they would have moved or something by now if they weren’t. There is a little part of me though that needs to hear it confirmed, needs to hear that I actually took a life tonight. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t hoping that that wasn’t the case, but I also know that what I did was what had to be done.

  Sawyer must reach over along the wall and flip on the lights, because the room is flooded with bright light and the scene by the bed is now exposed in stark relief. The bed and floor are covered in dark red pools of thick blood. The figure in the hoodie is crumpled on the floor, their body twisted awkwardly as Gage approaches. Their head is still covered by the hood of the sweater, and Sawyer pulls it dow
n as he rolls the body onto its back.

  “Gage take her to the living room,” Sawyer says. I can’t see who it is with Gage blocking my view, but the calm, cool, and collected way Sawyer is talking to Gage is less than reassuring. Whatever else happens tonight, I know our lives just got a lot more complicated. Again.

  Chapter 19

  Gage

  An hour after the attack, the four of us are down in the rec room with Sawyer and I sitting at the counter in the kitchen while Lexi and Tessa keep Evan occupied around the room all the while waiting for DiMarco to grace us with his presence. As soon as Sawyer pulled me aside to show me who the fucker was that attacked me, I grabbed our go-bags from our rooms, yanked Lexi in tow and told Sawyer to bring his clan with him. I don’t want any of us setting another foot in that fuckin’ place. Fuck, if I had my way, we would all be in on our way to anywhere but right fuckin’ here. But runnin’ ain’t really my or Sawyer’s style so we’re both sitting here, seething, as we wait for that lowlife-cocksucking-motherfucking-asshole mobster.

  The elevator dings its arrival and I’m out of my seat and across the room before DiMarco clears the doors. Grabbing him by the lapels, I drag him from the lift and shove him against the wall, my arm across his throat. “Who the fuck do ye think ye are ye two timing, lying, back stabbing son of a jackal!” I growl.

  The fucker doesn’t even have the decency to look phased as he hangs there and rolls his eyes, gesturing to my arm at his throat. I snarl at him and drop my arm, grasping his lapels again and shoving him back against the wall again, his head bouncing off the plaster with the movement.

  “Talk,” I growl. Sawyer is next to me now, and I know him well enough to know that he isn’t standing here to intimidate DiMarco as much as he’s here to hold me back from killing the fucker if I don’t like his answers. We both had the good sense to leave the guns upstairs for fear of shooting something we’d both regret.

  “Patrick, I have no idea to what you’re referring to. All I know is that I was summoned here at three in the morning by my honored guests with some level of urgency. I had assumed you would enlighten me as to what business was so urgent you insisted that Antonia drag me out of my bed,” DiMarco says in that pretentious haughty way of his, like he can’t be bothered to deal with the peasants at this moment.

  “Well, send Antonia me love for having te clean up after yer sorry arse all these years, but cut the shite DiMarco. Ye expect me te believe there’s a single person on yer payroll who can so much as wipe their arse without ye knowin’? Explain.” I snap. There’s a flash of… confusion that crosses DiMarco’s face for a moment before he rights himself and moves to brush me away. Intrigued by that little lapse of control, I let him go and step back, curious to hear what he has to say.

  “Can we talk about this over coffee like civilized humans?” he asks, stepping around me and toward the barstools Lexi and Tessa now occupy; Evan now passed out on a pile of blankets and pillows in front of the couch. Both look as confused as ever but are blessedly staying quiet as we work our way through this… conversation. We haven’t told either of them who is lying on the floor upstairs. I need to hear it from DiMarco first, need to hear him explain to them what the fuck he’s done.

  Tessa stands and pours DiMarco a mug of coffee from the pot, and they both settle back onto stools as Sawyer and I take our places again. DiMarco takes a long sip from his mug before setting it down on the counter and fixing his cold eyes back on me. “So. Care to tell me why I’m here Patrick?”

  “Ye’re here to explain to us why the fook I was attacked in me own bed tonight,” I bellow but quickly drop my tone to under my breath when Tessa pulls a face and points to the sleeping baby. Now with a forced whisper I continue, “And why Lexi had to shoot and kill the bastard before he killed me and did God knows what else to everyone else in this room. Ye’re here to explain why it’s one of yer men lying in a pool of his own blood upstairs right now,” I explain coldly, endeavoring to keep all emotions from my voice.

  “Who?” is all he says. His tone is measured, calm, but his eyes are blazing and a slight flex of his knuckles betraying the roiling anger beneath.

  My eyes dart to Lexi for a moment before returning to DiMarco and say the one thing that’s been ringing in my mind since we rolled that fucker over. “Leonardo Bianchi.”

  Lexi gasps, her hands flying to cover her mouth as tears start streaming down her face. She curls into her sister and sobs against Tessa’s shoulder. Tessa looks just as confused but gives me a short nod, telling me she’s got Lex and I need to continue. I look back to DiMarco and find him staring down at the counter, his hands clutching his mug so tight the tips of his fingers have gone white.

  I give him a minute to process, watching his every move for any of the tells to show he knew, to show me that he orchestrated the whole thing as some shitty revenge. The tense set of his shoulders, the slightly shaking cup in his white knuckles tells the truth of it, he’s just as angry as we are. Interesting. Not only does Salvatore DiMarco rule Chicago with an iron fist, but he’s legendary for never showing anything but cool indifference no matter how fucked up the situation. The fact he isn’t even attempting to hide his reaction right now speaks volumes. He really didn’t know.

  Not lifting his gaze, DiMarco finally says, “No. It cannot be him.” He finally looks at me and his gaze is ice. He wants to be ice? Fine, then he can deal with fire.

  “Not him? Ye think I’m a feckin’ eejit Sal? Ye think I would make this up?” I explode, pounding my fists against the stone counter and earning another warning glance from Tessa.

  “Watch yourself, Patrick. You are on delicate ground. You accuse one of my men of going against me and my hospitality. You accuse a man I have known his whole life and watched him grow. A man I trust enough to be the personal guard to you and yours. A man who has been best friends with my baby sister since they were young. You come and accuse that man of crossing the Family? Of crossing me?” DiMarco asks, his tone only getting colder the more insistent he gets.

  “What, because he’s fuckin’ Vivi, he couldn’t possibly flip? Honestly Sal?” I scoff.

  “He wasn’t sleeping with Viviana, he knew better than that,” DiMarco says dismissively.

  “THEY WERE GOING TO GET MARRIED!” comes an almost frantic and crazed scream from the other end of the bar. All heads snap to Lexi who is now standing away from the rest of us with a crazed look on her face and tears streaming down her flushed cheeks. Her fists are clenched tightly at her sides and she is all but vibrating as she stands there staring down DiMarco.

  “Lex…” I say, stepping toward her, but she cuts me off.

  “No! Don’t. Don’t say another fucking word. Any of you!” She rounds on DiMarco before continuing. “You! You pompous, arrogant, self-important son of a bitch. The fact you don’t think one of your men could do this proves just how deluded you really are. And Leo? Yeah. He and Viviana were planning to go to Vegas next month for their one-year anniversary. I fucking helped him pick out the lingerie for their first night! He went on and on about how happy they were when we were alone but they both were too afraid to tell you, to tell anyone, you bastard. All he wanted to do was impress you. So, you know what he did tonight? He came into the penthouse, your penthouse and tried to fucking smother Gage in his sleep. A man you gave your word to protect. But no, of course he couldn’t have done that, because the almighty Salvatore DiMarco doesn’t want to believe he is anything less than all powerful.”

  Lexi’s face is completely flushed, her shoulders heaving with each breath, as she channels all her rage onto DiMarco. She’s shaking, looking like she might vibrate out of her skin as she stares the most powerful man in Chicago down with a glare that would make a lesser man piss himself.

  “Ms. Hayes, I appreciate your feelings, but I still…” Sal starts in that infuriatingly glacial tone.

  “Still don’t think he could?” she scoffs. “Go upstairs Sal. Go ahead. He’s still up there. In Gage’s bedroom wh
ere I had to put two bullets in his back with your own fucking gun just to save a man who is under your protection. Go on. Go look,” she seethes.

  “Ms. Hayes, you have just confessed to killing one of my men in my home with my gun. So, tell me why I should believe a word you have to say about the matter, little girl?” DiMarco asks coolly.

  “Little girl?! You asshole…” Lexi screams, lunging for DiMarco in pure fury. Jumping up, I intercept her before she can reach him and claw his eyes out. I pull her into my chest and hold her tightly against me, her head buried in my good shoulder.

  She struggles against my hold for a moment before she crumbles into me once again. Loud, shuddering sobs wracking her body as her fists go from pounding against my chest to fisting my shirt; clutching at me as her legs give out under the weight of her sobs. Wrapping my arms more firmly around her, I support her as she falls apart, attempting to offer her what comfort I can.

  “Ye’re done,” I snap at DiMarco over Lexi’s head. “Either go see for yerself and start doing something constructive, or I start calling in every favor and chit I racked up over the years with every single other power in this city that wants to see ye ruined. I know where the fuckin’ bodies are buried Sal, I god damned put them there. Take yer pick,” I say, my tone cold and brooking no arguments.