by Jack Parker
…
"You might amount to something if you had a mind to, Kurt, but it's clear that you don't."
He hated this speech. The man didn't have any right. "Amount to you, you mean?"
"I don't pretend to know what you'd be, but there isn't enough of me in you for that."
…
He was out of breath, laughing like an idiot, and that just made Kurt angrier. "Come on now, Gabler, you weren't scared, were you?"
"Piss off. What did you want to go and do something so bloody stupid for, anyway?"
"For a lark! Oh, that face of yours…I think I'll start calling you 'Mum'."
"You can stop calling me altogether after a stunt like that. Find your own way home."
Hands stopped him, grasping his jacket and shoving him into the brick wall. Green eyes stared into his with something he couldn't identify, but his skin prickled all over. "Don't be sore." Lips were on his.
He pulled back. "Graham, what—!"
"Shh, shut up now. This is what you wanted, yes? I see how you look at me. I know you've been wanting it, come on, kiss me back…"
And he did. He'd never kissed anyone before, and he had no clue he'd been wanting this, but he had. God help him, so this is what he'd wanted all that time…
…
Gregory Mitchell was tall, gray-haired, in good shape, and about forty-three years old. He sat in a pub laughing with his mates like he probably had done every night of his life before, not a care in the world. That easy laugh stuck in Kurt's head like shrapnel, forever embedded. He waited until they were all gone and only Mitchell remained, then he approached him where he sat at the table in the pub's very center. "Mr. Mitchell?"
He turned up, quizzically, drunkenly. Kurt thought he'd be nervous, but he wasn't. He was itching. Burning. "Yes?"
Shock only registered on Mitchell's face for a brief instant before the trigger pulled. The blood on Kurt's skin felt cleansing.
…
"Atta boy, Gabler! That's how it's done!" Bernard cheered, impressed.
A hand clapped his shoulder as he looked down to the groaning man at his feet. He spit blood onto the pavement and shook his head. "Shall I kill him?"
"Easy now. He didn't get away with it. We've still got the money and I think he's learned his lesson about sucker punching, don't you?"
Kurt wiped his lip, glancing at the blood. "I'm not a teacher." And so the beating continued.
Afterwards Kurt sat on a stack of crates just outside, bitten tongue still bleeding and a drug-addled would-be thief nearly dead in the alley way behind him. Bernard struggled with his girth and his bad leg to sit across from him, handing him a dishtowel. "You've got a lot of guts, boy. A lot of meanness. A man like you can get himself far, with a little help."
Kurt gave him a suspicious look.
"I've got a job that needs doin'. Something just shy of legal. I've got a bit of weaponry I need to move and it's got to be quiet. Think you can make a go of it?"
…
Pale eyes remained trained on Kurt's face, seeming too large in the skull of the lanky, towering man before him. "Do you know who I am?" he asked, a faint and unfamiliar accent behind his words.
"No," Kurt answered. "But I know what you call yourself."
The man smiled thinly. "I see. Well I know who you are, Mr. Gabler. You come very highly recommended to me. Why is that?"
"I get the job done."
"Hm. But you're young. How old are you?"
"Twenty-seven."
The man clucked his tongue. "Yes, that's very young. When Hodgkins told me about you, I pictured a much older man. Weathered. Grizzled, perhaps. He claims that you feel nothing. Not even pain. How can such a young man be so…dispassionate?"
Kurt looked up to meet that ghostly gaze with flawless poise. "By having his priorities straight."
The man grinned widely. It stretched across his face too far, like it didn't belong there. "It seems that Hodgkins was right…I think I'll be pleased with your work indeed."
…
"This is it. Trust me, easy as pie. An in and out job with a killer payout."
Kurt looked down at the photograph in his hand, shaking his head. "Who is this?"
Sheridan tapped the photo. "A millionaire's son. Emery Eaton."
…
"…Gabler. That's German, isn't it?"
Arrogant little bastard.
…
As he looked down at the drunken, bleeding young man below him, the guilt that struck him was visceral. As if it jarred something loose. As if it was the first thing he'd felt in years.
…
"Forget it," he said, and Kurt was being pushed back, dumbly obeying, captivated by a scorching kiss that erased all other options. Licentious hands undressed him, stroked him, pawed at him and a cool blue gaze held him steadily entranced. He needed this more than he knew. Fucking Emery made him feel like he was admitting something dire, though he wasn't sure what.
…
Arms flung around his neck and he fell back, totally unprepared. A barrage of kisses followed.
"Don't worry? Don't tell me that! I thought you might have been killed; don't bloody ever do that again."
For the first time in his life, even if it was just for a moment, he suddenly didn't feel expendable.
…
"…I don't see that there's anything wrong with your heart."
…
"I'm going home."
"What?"
"I'm going back to Chelsea…"
"I was fifteen when he first forced himself on me."
"…It's the only way."
…
"Du musst tapfer sein, Liebchen."
…
"Kurt, I'm in love with you."
…
Kurt looked up from his chair. He could see the window's edges illuminated with violet light from the shortly rising sun and a sense of grave determination settled over him. Kurt began to reassemble his third handgun, tucking it away into his coat with the others once finished and sitting calmly to await the day.
* * *
As Emery sat on his bed after a restless night, he felt like a prisoner awaiting the guillotine. Any moment now the blade would drop and he was locked in until then. He didn't know what Kurt planned to do. What could he possibly think of? If only he could convince the man that his plan was best. It was the only way they'd make it out of this, as much as he didn't want to go back to Hunter…god, how the idea sickened him. He didn't know how to pretend he was grateful, how to forge the smiles despite being heartbroken, how to rebuild a trust he didn't want and ignore the fact he madly loved someone who he'd likely never see again. But for Kurt, he would. He had to. The only thing worse than having to part with someone you loved was knowing that they were dead because of you.
Kurt came into his room just after dawn and Emery stood up, keeping a brave face. "Are they planning to take me back now?"
"Yes. They've contacted Eaton. We're due to collect payment in exchange for your return within the hour."
Emery nodded. "That's good."
Kurt was silent for a moment. "I'm going to get you out of this."
Emery shook his head. "No, Kurt. I'm going to get you out of this."
They stared at each other evenly before Kurt looked away, taking Emery by the arm to lead him out.
The mood downstairs was exactly as tense and treacherous as it had been the night before. Sterling was sitting at the table, rubbing his wounded shoulder while Sheridan paced. He stopped when he saw Kurt and Emery. "Well Eaton, it's been real, but your little vacation is over."
Emery looked down. "I know."
"Do you?" Sheridan came closer, snapping his fingers in front of Emery's face to get him to look back up. "Fuck, and here I thought you were the real deal. I mean it. I feel like you coulda been something, kid. If your family wasn't making deals with dirty Ruskis, you could've."
"I didn't know about that," Emery said, meeting Sheridan's eyes challengingly.
Sheridan snorted. "Yeah. Maybe you did and maybe you didn't. But it cost us a man and it cost us blood." He gestured to Sterling. "How do you plan to make up for that?"
"You'll be paid."
"Hey, Sterling would've been paid whether or not he had a bullet in his shoulder, but he does," Sheridan snapped. "And I don't like people who make me look fucking stupid. Clearly your stepdad thinks I'm a clown. That I'm not serious. The only thing I can think of to fix that is to take me a fucking souvenir for my trouble."
"Souvenir?"
"Yeah. Something that'll remind that asshole father of yours just how bad he fucked up. What screwing around with us cost him," Sheridan explained, walking back to the table. He held out his hand to Sterling, who reached down into his boot and pulled out a large hunting knife. Sheridan snatched it by the handle and turned to Emery.
Emery felt a cold sweat forming as the tip of the blade was placed under his chin.
"I thought about this all night. Maybe an eye…your tongue… the rest of your straight, perfect teeth…but that's all too much of a liability. Killing your ass wouldn't do me any good right now. So I'm thinking I'll be generous and just take one of your goddamn fingers. That sound fair?"
"You'll get what you want and more," Emery tried to reason weakly. "You don't have to do that."
"No," Sheridan agreed, a sinister glint in his eyes. "I just really, really want to."
Emery swallowed heavily. Sheridan snatched him by the shirt and thrust him towards the table where Sterling caught him, yanking one of his arms out and forcing it onto the surface. Emery struggled instinctively but was no match for the man's brawn even one armed. Sheridan went to his other side and flattened Emery's squirming hand with his own palm. Panic began to set in. As he lowered the knife, however, another hand grasped Sheridan's wrist and kept it firmly at bay.
Sheridan looked to Kurt, confused as the other man wrenched the knife from him. "The fuck are you doing?"
"What do you think?" Kurt growled, throwing a hateful look Emery's way. "I'm doing it myself."
Sheridan blinked. "You? Why?"
"Partly because I've done this before. I can do it clean. But mostly because you fucking owe it to me after making me this insufferable little shit's nursemaid since he was brought here." He pointed the knife at Sheridan. "I won't be made a fool of."
Sheridan gauged him for a long moment, looking between Kurt and Emery before taking a step back. Even he wasn't immune to Kurt's special brand of intensity. "Shit. I guess if you feel that way about it, be my guest… I like this suit too much to bloody it up anyhow."
Kurt grabbed Emery around the neck with an arm and used his other hand to dig into the first aid kit that was spread out on the table from treating Sterling's shoulder to produce a roll of bandages. He pulled Emery away from the table.
"Where you going?" Sheridan demanded.
"It'll be easier to get blood out of linoleum than hardwood," Kurt replied, glancing at the floor. He gestured to Sterling aimlessly. "Tend to him. Won't take me a moment."
Emery's brain was of no use here. He simply stumbled as Kurt dragged him off down the hallway and into a utility room, grasping at the arm around his neck with his fingers until he was released. It was a small enclosure with a washer, dryer, sink, and a rickety folding table in the center covered with cobwebbed laundry baskets. Emery wandered in as the door shut behind them and put his hands on top of his head, walking to the end of the room. "This is bad," he said. "Shit."
Kurt sighed as he threw the knife down onto the table and leaned his palms against the edge, lowering his head in frustration. "Damn his fucking savagery."
"What are we going to do now?" Emery asked, looking around the room. There were no other doors or windows.
"There's nothing we can do. There are only two exits both in plain sight. If we try to leave now, they'll pursue us and probably kill us. They're good shots and Sheridan has the keys to the only car. We need to buy time."
Emery rubbed the back of his neck, scanning the ceiling hopelessly. "How?"
"There's only one way."
Emery turned to look at him. It took him only a second to register that Kurt's left hand was splayed on the table before him, but he wasn't able to react accordingly until after Kurt had already brought the knife down in a calculated chop that severed his smallest finger from the hand.
Emery couldn't help the astonished yelp of horror that flew from him as he rushed to Kurt's side, grabbing his knife-wielding arm in an unconscious attempt to stop what had already occurred. "What did you do?! My god, Kurt, what have you done?!"
Kurt's teeth were clenched together tightly, breaths silent gasps in and out as he fumbled with the bandages in his other hand. "Quiet now," he advised with unbelievable calm.
"You idiot!" Emery scolded. Uncontrollable tears were beginning to well up. "Oh Jesus, your hand, you shouldn't have done that!" With quaking hands he ripped the bandages away from Kurt, tearing off a segment.
"Give it here," Kurt said, panting a little from the pain. He grabbed the section of bandage and held it against his wound. "Sheridan wants blood. I'm seeing that he gets it."
"No, no, not like this," Emery stammered. Tears spilled over and suddenly he couldn't hold any of it back. He wanted to throw up. "Fuck…"
"Give me your hand," Kurt requested. When Emery couldn't, Kurt reached out and took his left, tucking the last finger into his palm for him and wrapping the now blood soaked bandage around the hand to simulate injury. After that he pulled his gloves out of his pocket and pushed another rolled up wad of bandages into the finger of his left glove, then forced his bleeding hand into it. He pulled on his other glove with his teeth and looked back at Emery. "Act like that bloody well smarts," he said, nodding towards Emery's wrapped hand. Kurt took another bandage and pinched the severed finger off of the table, wrapping it up and stuffing it into his pocket.
"Christ!" Emery sobbed, feeling dizzy. "You didn't have to do that! Y-you didn't…"
Kurt reached out with his good hand and pulled Emery into him, hooking an arm around his neck firmly. "You're upset…" he said in a tender voice. "That's good. Keep at it…It'll convince them."
"Kurt, my god…how could you?"
Kurt pulled back slightly, pushing his forehead against Emery's. "I told you I wouldn't let anything happen to you…and I won't."
Emery felt Kurt's grip on the back of his neck turning him and pushing him back out the door. He couldn't see straight. He walked quickly as he was pushed, directionless, shivering as Kurt's cooling blood pressed into his hand from the bandage. When they made it back to the others he was shoved hard enough that he collapsed onto his knees, clutching his covered hand tightly to his chest and letting out a short groan of genuine distress that was easily mistaken for one of a physical nature. Kurt left him like that and marched up to Sheridan, depositing the bloody appendage into his hand with a glower.
"Nice work," Sheridan muttered, studying it before holding it up to Emery. "Don't look so glum, kid…Kurt here did you a favor. I would've taken a fuckin' thumb."
Emery jerked his head away, closing his eyes and struggling once more not to vomit. He had always been wary of Sheridan, but now he was beginning to feel true hatred.
"Get him up, let's go," Sheridan motioned with a hand.
Sterling struggled out of his chair, still gripping at his shoulder and casting an ugly sneer down at Emery. Kurt reached down and dragged Emery back to his feet as they headed out. It wasn't as cold outside as it had been. Emery could barely feel anything but the wet bandages on his hand and Kurt's fingers secured around tightly around his upper arm, but any chill he would have otherwise felt was banished by the petrified sweat he'd broken into. He was forced into the backseat of the van out front, pushed to the end where Kurt sat next to him while Sheridan and Sterling filed into the front.
Emery couldn't help throwing concerned looks Kurt's way. His face was a mask of indifference. His pain tolerance was unbelievable. It a
lmost seemed as though he truly felt nothing, but after close inspection Emery could see his left arm trembling a little at his side. A fresh wave of tears threatened to come up, but he held them back. He couldn't stand the idea that Kurt was hurting in his place. Emery turned away, sinking into a state of unthinking detachment to try and save himself from the roiling storm of despair underneath.
Whatever their destination was, it wasn't far this time. After a ten minute drive, Emery could see they were approaching some sort of deserted plot that he shortly recognized as an abandoned airfield. A rusted, once-white biplane with its fair share of bird's nests lay toppled in the middle of a grass-grown runway. In the distance, where the car was headed, was a row of enormous but unkempt hangars. The perfect sort of place to conduct unseen business. It had the foreboding atmosphere of a last stop.
The van pulled around behind one of the hangars and came to a halt. Emery steeled his nerves when the other three men exited the vehicle. Was Hunter here already? Waiting? Leash in hand, ready to reclaim his pet? This was sure to be the most nauseating reunion of his life…Emery kept his footing as Kurt came around the other side and yanked him out of the car by one shoulder. He wordlessly followed them through the back door into a spacious, empty hangar. Their footsteps echoed all around them as he was led to the center. Then he was stopped and turned around, Kurt keeping a grip on his arm as Sheridan looked at them.
"Okay. Listen up, Jr. Daddy'll be here in ten, so," Sheridan pulled out his gun, "this is your final destination. As soon as we get the cash, we'll tell him where to find you."
"I won't go anywhere," Emery agreed.
"See a day ago, I might've trusted you. Today though? Today I'm not taking any chances." Sheridan gestured to Sterling. "Al, wait outside and make sure the kid stays here. Kill him if he doesn't. Keep outta sight. Kurt, you come with me to meet Eaton."
"I'll stay with him," Kurt said.
Sheridan waved a hand at him. "I need Sterling to do it. His shoulder's all fucked up; he won't be able to help me load the drop. So come on, let's go."
Please Kurt…Emery thought nervously as his gaze shifted between them. Please just go. Don't make a fuss. Don't make yourself a target.