by M. Tasia
“I’m a grown man, Finn. I can take care of myself. Now, go get ready for Miguel.” Saint added a stern note to his voice, hoping it would be enough for the kid to leave.
The silence was deafening, but after a few minutes Finn agreed. “Okay, but I’m not happy about it.”
“Understood,” Saint said as he reached out to shake Finn’s hand. He knew that Finn wasn’t a fan of physical touch so Saint kept it simple.
What he hadn’t expected was for Finn to step into Saint’s arms and hug him as if it were for the last time. “Don’t let him get to you.”
“I won’t, kid.”
Without saying another word, Finn left. Five minutes later, he heard the alarm for the back door and received a text from Finn saying that he’d left and had rearmed the security system.
Saint was now completely alone. The familiarity of it settled over him. This had been Saint’s reality for decades, so why now was he choking on the thought of it?
He attempted to clear his mind, but Max kept breaking into his concentration. How was he? What was he doing? Saint imagined Max would be on his way to Temecula since it was Friday night. A week of no contact had taken its toll on him. Saint missed Max something awful, but Saint had to keep focused.
He stood staring out of the large wood-framed windows of what would have been his penthouse condominium. The sun had sunk behind the buildings that surrounded him. There wasn’t a natural horizon that could be seen from his building but Saint knew it was out there, and the sunset would be stunning.
The door buzzer from the front entrance jarred him from his thoughts. His father had arrived, early as usual. Saint ran his fingers along the walls as he made his way down to the lobby, memorizing every groove, nick, and indent as he went.
The dream that was Max floated through his mind. It had been easy falling for Max, and to begin imagining a future. He should have known better, but if anything, he’d had the opportunity to know what love felt like. He’d be thankful for that. Because now Thomas Jeffrey had all the power once again to do with as he wished. The first time, he’d used Saint’s love for Johnny to trap him. This time, he’d have Saint’s love for Max as a bargaining chip. It was a brutal never-ending cycle.
Saint reached the front door without even remembering walking down the last flight of stairs. His body was on autopilot. When he unlocked and open it, Saint found his father tapping his fingers impatiently on a bar on the exterior gates. For the first time, Saint didn’t feel the initial fear that his father always managed to bring out in him.
After all, what did have left to lose?
***
Max picked up his cellphone on the third ring. He knew it wasn’t Saint’s ringtone so he wasn’t in a rush to answer it. By all rights, he should be on his way back to the farm to help with framing the new shed.
“Max here,” he snapped.
“Max, it’s Police Chief Davis. We’ve had a hit on the prints we lifted from that gas can we found out on your property the day of the fire.”
“Yeah, let me save you the trouble. Thomas Jeffrey, right?” Max didn’t care that Saint’s father was guilty of the arson. All that mattered was being able to convince Saint of that. He wasn’t to blame. Maybe you could yell at him again, dumbass.
“Uh, sorry but…who’s Thomas Jeffrey?”
A feeling of foreboding filled Max.
The police chief now had his complete attention.
***
The old steel gates squealed in protest as Saint pulled them open, allowing the man who had single-handedly ruined his life to enter the one place Saint thought he’d be safe.
“Have you finally come to your senses?” Thomas asked. That was one thing Saint hadn’t minded about his father. He got straight to the point.
“What do you want?” Because honestly Saint had no clue.
“For you to return to the practice.”
Saint couldn’t suppress his laughter from bubbling over. His father was truly insane. “I don’t believe I’m qualified to perform surgery,” Saint replied while waving his still healing hands in the air.
“Don’t be an ass, Saint. You would be put into more of an overseeing position with patients.”
Something wasn’t right with this. “Why? You yourself told me I was useless now, so why am I suddenly of value to you?”
His father pulled out his cell and checked his messages as if he were missing things that were more important by being here. “Some of the regular patients seem to have it in their heads that without you as part of the practice they would take their business elsewhere.”
“And if that was to get out, your reputation would be mud and your practice would fold in less than a year.” The anger in his father’s eyes confirmed that Saint had hit the mark with his statement. “Now you want me to come back and sit in an office so that patients would see me there. An impotent figurehead, nothing more.”
“You’d be paid for your time,” Thomas spat the words at him.
Saint looked at his father and instead of seeing the domineering, powerful man Saint had grown up despising, he now saw a desperate man, losing the one thing he held dearer to him than anything or anyone, his reputation.
“No. I’m not afraid of you anymore, old man. Johnny has a good life and is safe from your meddling. And I warn you, if you ever do something as stupid as setting fire to Max’s shed again, I’ll throw you in jail.”
Saint felt like a weight had been lifted. Now he needed to figure out a way to get Max to forgive him for leaving.
“Fire? What fire?” Thomas asked, and Saint believed his father knew nothing about the fire on the farm.
“That would be the one that I set,” came a familiar voice from the front doors.
Saint spun around and uttered the bastard’s name in absolute disgust. “Blake.”
“In the flesh,” he remarked before pulling a black handgun from behind his back and pointing it at Saint. “Told you it wasn’t over.”
Of course, this wasn’t the first time he’d had a gun aimed at him, but for some unknown reason Saint wasn’t terrified this time around. Maybe he was crazy.
Blake went ahead and shut the door before relocking it.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Saint bellowed, making his voice echo around the room.
Max’s ex looked taken aback by Saint’s aggression. Good. He was done having people hold him hostage, emotionally and physically.
“Son, maybe you should calm down,” Thomas suggested as he glanced between Blake and the gun.
“Does the gun scare you, Father?”
“Of course.”
“Then you know a portion of what I felt in that jungle where I was left to die.”
“Enough. I’m in charge here. Now let’s go,” Blake yelled before pointing toward the staircase. “To the roof.”
“No.” Saint had reached his limit and in that moment he didn’t necessarily care what might happen by his refusal.
Instead of anger, Blake smiled and changed Saint’s mind with only a few words. “Finn has to come back sooner or later. Maybe I’ll wait for him.”
“Bastard. You won’t lay one finger on him.”
“Then I suggest you start moving.” Blake waved the gun in the direction he wanted them to go.
Thomas led the way up the staircase. With every passing room, Saint understood he was walking to his death. He had to think of something. “Why are you doing this? It can’t be to simply get Max back.”
“Of course it’s not about Max; I don’t have to kill to get laid.”
“You haven’t killed anyone yet,” Thomas cut in. “This can all stop right here, no harm done. We can all just walk away.”
“Old Mrs. Cane would have to disagree with you there, but that was more of a mercy killing.”
“Mrs. Cane, the Connors’ neighbor?” He couldn’t have killed that sweet old woman.
“Not anymore, and once I buy her land and combine it with the Connors’ farmland, I’ll be o
ne of the bigger landowners in Temecula.”
“And here I thought I was insane.” After that far-fetched plan Saint’s mental health started looking not so bad. “You’ll never be able to pull that off.”
“Yes. I. Will.” Blake punctuated each word with a shove of the gun barrel into Saint’s back. “Once they find poor, senile Mrs. Cane dead of apparent natural causes, I, as a friend of the family, will graciously purchase the dilapidated property for sentimental reasons. And don’t worry too much about Max. I’ll be sure to take good care of him while he grieves your death.”
Okay, Blake was several crayons short of a box, so it was up to Saint to figure a way out of this. Before he had a chance to come up with a plan, his father grabbed a long, metal level left by one of the workers and chucked it at Blake, taking him off balance. With one misstep, Blake was falling backward down the flight of stairs.
The gun went off and the bullet ricocheted off the old plaster walls. Without stopping to think about it, Saint took off as Blake stumbled to his feet. Thomas was already long gone. Saint guessed it was each man for themselves, but he had an ace up his sleeve. This was his building.
Saint knew every nook and cranny, from back stairs to secret passageways. Max had been sure the hotel was a speakeasy during prohibition and may have had its fair share of illegal gambling in its over-century-long existence. Thinking of Max, Saint went down the back stairwell, through the kitchen, and into one of the old steel walk-in freezers. Of course, the freezer wasn’t working, thankfully, but it might give him a little more protection from the bullets.
Once he barricaded the door with the racks off the walls, Saint pulled out his cellphone from his front pocket. He made sure to turn it on silent before texting for help. He didn’t want to make a sound by calling, afraid that might bring Blake right to where he was hiding.
Max, Blake in building with gun, send help.
The sound of a gunshot coming from upstairs caused Saint to fumble his cellphone, sending it crashing to the concrete floor. The sound of breaking glass confirmed his fears. He’d smashed the screen of his phone. His only way to contact the outside was now lying in pieces in his hand. He didn’t even know if Max had gotten his message. Shit.
Two more shots rang out, sending Saint to the ground. Though the ancient freezer was made out of steel, Saint had no idea how much was needed to stop a bullet. He sat in the farthest corner away from the door and waited. It didn’t take long before his mind started fucking with him. The walls flipped back and forth between bars and sheet metal. At times, he could feel the heat of the jungle and smell the stench of decomposing flesh. Then it was gone and he was back in the dusty old freezer, not a palm tree insight.
Saint was aware of what was happening to him. This new trauma sent him back to the jungle where life as he knew it had died. He’d hoped he had the power to fight it considering he knew what was happening, but in truth, he was powerless. He looked down at his bloody hands. The gaping holes seemed bigger than he’d originally thought. He could almost see the floor through them.
Then the blood was gone from his hands but his stomach was pouring out blood all over the jungle floor. Wait…no… the floor was concrete in the freezer, he wasn’t in the jungle, and he wasn’t bleeding. Saint slammed his eyes shut, trying to push the memories away.
The first nudge against the freezer door had them flying back open. Another push dragged the shelves he’d used to brace the door backward by at least two inches.
“Knock, knock. Is anybody home?” Blake’s twisted singsong voice boomed through the door as he shoved it farther open.
Saint flew across the concrete floor and slammed his body into the door, reclosing it. He had no other choice but brace it with his own body. If a bullet were to make it through, he’d be a sitting duck.
“There you are. Thought you could get away from me. So did your father, but alas he was wrong as well.” Blake’s voice had changed from when he’d first walked in. Before, he was calculating and cold, now he was almost gleeful and euphoric. The cheese had completely slid off his cracker.
Was Thomas dead? Or was Blake playing some sick game? “The police are on their way. You better start running.” Saint had no idea if the cops were coming, but if he could convince Blake of it, he might leave. “I called them, they know everything.”
The pressure on the freezer door ceased, as if Blake had taken a step back to consider what Saint had said. Please leave. Saint never let up on the pressure he was using to keep the door shut. That’s what the asshole might be waiting for.
The painful ring from the vibration of a bullet ricocheting off the door made Saint yell and cover his ears. The bullet hadn’t made it through, making Saint wonder just how thick the steel was in this freezer.
“If the cops already know what I’ve done, then I might as well kill you. What’s one more?”
Saint felt the blood draining from his face. While being held and beaten in the jungle, he had always held out hope for rescue. Now, with his murderer only feet away on the other side of this door, Saint couldn’t drum up anything other than his death.
How Saint wished he’d had more time with Max. It was truly the first time he’d felt anything positive since his mother’s death. Max had given him a few weeks of happiness and he would hold on to that.
“Ready to die?” Blake laughed before he started unloading round after round into the steel door. It was only a matter of time before one made it through. This was it. He’d be seeing his beautiful mother again much sooner than he’d ever imagined.
“Put down the gun,” an authoritative voice ordered from somewhere on the other side of the door. “You’re under arrest.”
Holy shit, the LAPD had arrived after all. Saint waited to hear what would happen next. Surely, Blake knew when he was beat.
“Put it down.”
“Fuck you cop,” Blake yelled before the volley of gunfire filled the small kitchen area.
Saint heard the thud of a body hitting the ground, followed by a small stream of blood that came rushing under the door and onto Saint’s right hand. He crawled to the other side of the freezer, his handprint covered in blood marking his way.
A buzzing sound began in the back of his head. It felt as if a thousand bees had crawled inside of his skull. The world around him took on an ethereal quality as if nothing was real, a dream. He was floating above the blood and the jungle where no one could ever hurt him again.
Saint heard people talking but nothing could reach him inside of here as he lost himself to the buzzing. This was where he’d stay, safe from everything and everyone.
“Saint, babe. I need you to come back to me.”
He recognized that voice, helping to clear some of the buzzing.
“I’ve got you, you’re safe now. I won’t let anything happen to you.”
Saint let the voice wash over him. It was important, and he knew it, but he found it hard to hold on to the memory.
Warm hands cupped his face and soft lips kissed him. Saint wanted more. It felt like a bright light had turned on in his mind, chasing the noise away, leaving him looking into worried green eyes.
“Max.”
“Yes, sweetheart, I’m here.”
“I want to go to the hub. Please, I don’t want to be here anymore.” Saint hated the vulnerability in his voice, but at the moment, all he wanted was to be away from the milling crowd filling his kitchen.
“Of course, Saint. We’ll go there right now.” Max helped Saint to his feet and began to lead him out of the walk-in freezer. He couldn’t help but see the body slumped on the floor. Even if somehow he had turned away, Saint knew it was there.
He didn’t recognize any of the faces floating in front of him until he was led through the bar area and found Finn and Miguel standing off to the side. Finn ran into Saint’s arms and began crying.
“I’m okay, kid. Nothing to worry about.” Saint noticed his voice sounded small and distant. Was that what he really sounded like?
“I need to get him settled in the hub,” Max stated. “Can you run interference for us for a few minutes until Saint has a moment to collect himself?”
“Done,” Miguel confirmed as he gathered Finn into his arms, allowing Saint and Max to pass.
Saint lost track of what was going on around him. By the time his brain caught up he was lying on the couch, cleaned, with his head on Max’s lap. The feel of strong fingers combing through his hair soothed Saint even further. Slowly everything came into focus.
“Is my father alive?”
“No, I’m sorry, Saint.”
“Mrs. Cane. Blake said she was dead.”
“Yes, unfortunately, that is true,” Max replied, his voice a few octaves lower than before. Saint’s body began to shake uncontrollably and his lover wrapped him in a blanket and held him in his arms.
“I love you,” Saint said. “I didn’t want to leave you.” He had to get it out. How many times could he cheat death? He wanted Max to know the truth before anything else could happen.
Max’s arms tightened around him before Max said, “I know, and I love you too. Always.”
“Always.”
Chapter Fifteen
Two months after Blake went on his deadly rampage, Saint was finally beginning to feel like himself again. He had learned that Blake was the one responsible for the fire out on the farm. His father had been the one making inquiries into the licensing, codes, and trades of Saint’s building. Saint had no doubt, if his father had found even one thing out of place, he would have jumped on it and had the restoration halted. After Saint had time to think about it, that sounded about right. Thomas Jeffrey would never have gotten his hands dirty by setting a fire. His father was more of a sneak attack kind of man. Or at least he was.
The funeral had been small. Saint and Johnny didn’t want the circus of the who’s who of East Coast money showing up. The practice had been sold, and Jeffrey and Jeffrey was no more. Saint split the proceeds from the sale with Johnny. It was the least his brother deserved from the old man.