by Jack Parker
Kurt refused to look at his killer. Instead his eyes remained ahead on the far wall, his mind growing silent. Kurt had lived a life in which he embraced the possibility of death every day, never knowing when it was coming but always being prepared. Today was different. Kurt had been every bit sure that he would die today. The weight of failure pulled so heavily on his heart that he almost looked forward to it. The last thing he felt was a panicked surge of regret. …Emery had said that he loved him and he'd never replied.
The gunshot echoed in the empty hangar like thunder.
* * *
Emery ran. Towards the fray, towards trouble, towards death, but it didn't matter. He'd never in his life had so little care for his own safety. He'd never felt so mechanically single minded about something. Kurt was in trouble. He had to get to him. That's all there was. It didn't matter how many people he had to kill or what pain he had to endure. When he made it to the hangar he broke through the door and balked at what he saw.
Kurt was on the ground. Standing above him was Barnum, holding a gun to his head. Hunter's favored right hand looked up just in time to be surprised before a single shot hit him between the eyes. He collapsed with that stunned countenance etched permanently into his corpse.
"Kurt!" Emery ran to him. Kurt was still on his knees, having winced from the sound of the shot, staring wide-eyed at Barnum's body that toppled in a heap before him.
"Emery?" Kurt's eyes followed him in awe as he dropped down to his knees in front of him. "What are you doing here?"
"Are you joking?" Emery put his hands on Kurt's face and felt like crying with relief. He lurched forward and hugged the man with all his remaining strength. Kurt, unable to return the gesture with his restraints, nuzzled his head against Emery's neck and sighed. "I'm getting you out of here."
"Best uncuff me then."
Emery pulled back and looked at Kurt. He wasn't faring well. He had paled from blood loss and fatigue, hunched over slightly like he'd taken a beating. "Just a moment." Emery sprang around and rummaged through Barnum's clothes before finding the key. He quickly unlocked the cuffs from Kurt's hands and tossed them aside. Kurt dropped forward, catching himself with his good hand. Emery took him by the arm and pulled him up to his feet.
"You've become a damn good shot," Kurt remarked as he looked down at Barnum. He bent down and picked up the dropped gun.
"Yes, and I hope that never comes in handy again. Come on now, let's hurry. I don't know if we'll be followed but I'm not taking any chances." Emery led Kurt quickly out the door and towards the cars parked out front. He recognized Barnum's black Subaru from the many times he'd seen it parked outside watching him at cafés and libraries and wherever the bloody hell else he went to try and escape Hunter's home for a few minutes' peace. Underneath the immediate instinct to survive was mortification at the idea of how many people he'd killed today, but he was a little glad about Barnum. He was pulling the keys out of his pocket when he heard footsteps approaching fast.
A man appeared, yelling something across the lot and holding up a gun. Hunter must have gotten communication through to his remaining men somehow. Emery didn't have time to react. Kurt shoved him out of the way with such force that he fell to the ground before holding up his gun in defense, but it was too late. Two shots hit Kurt in the chest. He staggered back and collapsed.
Emery watched him go down with terror. His adrenaline spiked. He scrambled off of his side, picking up his gun and returning fire. The man had no cover. Emery shots all struck and he fell dead. He dropped his gun, throwing himself back towards his downed partner. "Kurt! Oh my god!"
Kurt was looking up at the sky, breathing rapidly, shifting aimlessly and trying to get up like a stunned animal.
"No, no, no, don't…oh, shit…" Emery held his hands over Kurt's body, but didn't dare touch him. He'd been hit both high and low in the chest, just under his collar bone and on the far side near his ribcage. Blood was oozing out of him at an alarming rate.
He managed to roll to his side, looking up at Emery with dazed eyes. "…Run…"
"Shut up."
"Not much…t-time…"
"I'm not leaving you here!" Emery snapped. "Get up, Kurt! Come on!"
Kurt attempted. Blood leaked in thick rivulets onto the pavement and he slackened back down. "No…Emery…"
"I said I'm not bloody leaving you!" He grabbed Kurt by the collar of his shirt with both hands. "I will not let you die! Come on! You're the toughest sodding man I've ever met and you can get up!"
Kurt gritted his teeth and pushed his hand against the ground, hauling himself up just enough. Emery took him by the arm and pulled him the rest of the way, tugging him close, taking on as much of his weight as he could bear as he moved towards the car. He leaned Kurt against it for a moment to unlock the back seat and open the door. Kurt had nearly fallen over, but Emery snatched him back, pushing him into the car where he slumped against the seat with a hand over his lower wound.
"That's good, keep pressure. Hold on. Just hold on." Emery shut the door and went around to the driver's side, hopping in and starting it up as he turned around. Kurt was already leaning to one side heavily. "Don't lie down. Kurt, stay up. Stay awake. Look at me!"
Kurt was fading too fast. He didn't register Emery's commands anymore. He fell onto his side on the seats and his eyes rolled back into his head before closing.
"Fuck," Emery sputtered. He turned back around, hitting the gas hard, and the car tore from the airfield in a cloud of dust.
CHAPTER 21
Victor had never really been sure about his place in life. He was one of those kids all the adults talk about and all the other children hate. "Why are you acting this way? Do you see Victor behaving like that? Why don't you try to be more like Victor? He's smart. He's going places." Sure. When everyone around you won't shut up about how smart you are, you start to believe it. Maybe a little too much. It fosters you a nice sense of entitlement. What do you need to try so hard for? You're fucking smart. You've got nothing to prove to a world that already reveres you as top tier, so it's not slacking when you don't do the work; it's just that it's beneath you. Those little medals and plaques and gold stars are all amateur hour. You don't need them to tell you something you already know. And that's when things really turn to shit. It took a little too long for him to realize that being dubbed a genius was a terminal diagnosis. Boy did he ever fucking know it now.
He didn't like crime. He didn't think it was cool or macho or what the fuck ever, but it seemed to be all he could really do. His short temper didn't win him many golden opportunities in real world professional settings and it had all but sabotaged most of his past ambitions. He was too loud. Too brash. Too cocky and too sarcastic and said the word "fuck" too much. People didn't like him. Not good, ordinary people anyway. Still, he might have made it out alright if it weren't for that goddamn Knicks game.
Being smart never actually got him jack shit. Right now he might as well be the dumbest asshole on earth. In a matter of days Aleksei Ludkov was just going to hunt him down and murder the shit out of him anyway. What a perfect little ending to a perfect little life. Yeah, Victor was "going places" alright. Straight to hell in a hand basket. It would probably take him too long to remember every regret he ever had, so maybe he'd just go eat a fucking microwave burrito and watch basketball instead of moping about his pitiful final days. Or maybe he'd just lie here some more. Fuck it.
Victor sat up from his bed as he heard a car coming down the road. It was a fairly private plot so he was pretty sure it was a visitor coming for him. He quickly grabbed his gun and wished he'd had the foresight to put on more than just his underwear this morning as he tried to look out his window without being seen. Maybe that was them, right on cue. The Russian mob here to blow his smart fucking brains all over the wall. Well he wouldn't go down without a fight. And hell, maybe he'd get lucky and it would just be Sadie coming around for another afternoon booty call. He hoped so. He liked her.
The ca
r was coming fast, though. He could hear it screech to a halt outside his house and seconds later there was a banging on his door. He groaned in frustration, grabbing a nearby pair of jeans and yanking them on. If it was death, fine. If it was sex, better. But when he opened the door, staring into the last face in the world he thought he'd ever, ever see again, he didn't know what the fuck to think.
"Uhhhhhat the f—"
"You've got to help me," Emery fucking Eaton panted, bloody and crazed and nearly falling over.
Victor stared dumbly and furrowed his brow. "How in the fucking…I don't…what?"
Emery grabbed at his arm. "I realize it's a shock and I'll explain later, but for the love of god, come quick!"
Victor blinked as Emery rushed back to the car. He shook out of his stupor and followed, bare feet stinging on the icy earth. He joined Emery at the back door of the car, opening it to reveal Kurt Gabler lying unconscious in a pool of blood. "Jesus cum-guzzling Christ, what the fuck happened to him?"
"He was shot."
"…Okay."
"Please! I know I don't know you well—I don't even know how well you know him—but please help him! He's dying!" Emery leaned over the seat to check his pulse.
"I-I don't…" Victor shook his head. Looking at Kurt's wounds, however, something snapped and he suddenly went into autopilot. Two gunshot wounds, small caliber, upper pectoral and external oblique. Victim unconscious. Immediate action required. "Shit. Grab his legs."
Emery quickly obeyed. Victor crawled into the car behind him and gripped his arms. Together they hauled him out, dragging him into the house. Victor went to the kitchen and thrust everything off of his dining table with an arm before reaching down to grab Kurt again and haul him up onto its surface lying flat on his back. They quickly began undressing him, Victor taking a kitchen knife and slicing away his shirt to get a look at his injuries while Emery pulled off his gloves.
"Eugh, what the hell happened to his hand?"
"It's a long story."
"What are you doing here, I mean seriously? He needs to be in the fucking ER right now."
"Can't do that. Anyway I just came from the middle of nowhere. You're closer than most hospitals."
Victor leaned over and inspected Kurt's wounds diligently. "Yeah, well, how did you even know where I was?"
Emery watched with an anxious grimace. "You told me. About this place, here, in Whitchurch. I figured it's where you'd go back to."
"I guess I fucking did. Oh, damn…" he prodded at Kurt's bloody ribs.
"Is it bad?" Emery asked breathlessly.
Victor looked up. "It's not great. Shit, he's lost a lot of blood."
"Too much?"
Victor nodded. "Too much. I don't know what I can do. I have some supplies here for a transfusion, but I'm A positive, I-I don't know his blood type, it would be a lost cause."
Emery nodded, rolling up his sleeve. "You'll take mine. I'm a universal donor."
"Fuck. Are you sure?"
"Does it matter if I'm bloody sure?" Emery snapped firmly. "He's dying anyway! And yes, I'm sure!"
"Alright, Jesus!" Victor pushed away from the table, flustered, and went for his med kit. Emery remained behind, gripping Kurt's arm, begging him to hold on, please hold on, please just hold on. Victor definitely didn't feel very fucking smart right now, because he couldn't for the life of him figure this one out.
* * *
Emery sat on a couch in a small living room with his head in his hands, feeling completely hollow. The most terrifying day of his existence was coming to a close, but he wasn't going to let it end until he knew whether or not the man he loved would die. Scott had kicked him out of the kitchen hours ago while he worked. Emery wanted desperately to help, but the fact that he didn't know what he was doing coupled with the fact he'd just given a dangerous amount of blood had him banished to the couch to drink orange juice and regain strength. His stomach was horribly upset but he kept on drinking because he wasn't about to pass out. This wasn't how this was supposed to end. Kurt wasn't supposed to be the one making a sacrifice.
Emery closed his eyes and rubbed his temples hard. Why hadn't he been quicker to react? Why hadn't it been him? Why hadn't he killed that fucking bastard Hunter when he'd had the chance to? He'd done so much wrong. If Kurt died he'd never forgive himself. He'd never recover. He was sixteen all over again.
"It'll be alright, Emery. I'm here," Hunter said, hugging him close to his side. "I'm always here for you. You've lost her, but you haven't lost me."
Emery couldn't speak, looking at his hands where he sat in the car. Hunter was smiling at him kindly and it felt surreal. How could he be smiling? Emery knew that Hunter didn't want him to look sad, though. He didn't want him to dwell, he'd said. Don't think about her death. It'll only make it harder. That's what Hunter had said. That's what he told him just forty-five short minutes ago, when his mother had unexpectedly died alone in her hospital bed. Emery nodded without thinking and Hunter motioned for him to get out of the car. The air around him felt static as he trudged after his stepfather.
"We'll get you something to eat and you'll feel better."
He didn't. Eating made him feel worse. Being home made him feel worse. Hunter made him feel worse. It was all so, so much worse without her. Hunter tried to joke with him and talk with him, tried to get him to come upstairs and watch a movie to try and forget, but he couldn't do it. Instead he claimed he was tired, pretended to go to bed, and then sat outside alone to cry uncontrollably for hours and hours and hours.
Emery slowly took another drink of juice. Scott was right. He should have taken him to a hospital. They'd ask questions. Police would be called. Both of them would probably be arrested, but Kurt would live. He felt so stupid…Just a frightened little rich boy with no clue what he was doing trying to play grown up. He couldn't change anything, couldn't fix anything, and couldn't save anyone. If he could just go back to the beginning…if he could just go back and keep his mouth shut. Take Kurt's advice. Be returned home for the sum of two million pounds and live the rest of his life thinking that Kurt was an evil bastard but knowing that he was safe. Or if he could go back earlier and never offer Sterling that fucking cigarette. Or earlier. Earlier still, and stop Hunter from pinning him down that first night and…tell his mother…run…
"Em?"
Emery's eyes fluttered open, panicked that he'd nodded off. He looked at Scott fearfully and straightened up. "Is he alive?"
Scott nodded.
Emery covered his mouth as a sob forced its way up.
"That is the luckiest bastard I've ever fucking met," Scott said exhaustedly, rubbing his face. "He was shot in the chest and both bullets missed all his internals. If either had nicked a lung or a major artery, there'd be literally nothing I could do. He'd've bled out before you even got here."
Emery clenched his eyes shut, rubbing his forehead with a hand. "Thank you. Thank god for you."
"Well I dug the slugs out. Stitched him up. I need to get some meds, but if he doesn't develop an infection, he might just pull through."
"What can I do?" Emery asked immediately.
Scott jerked a thumb over his shoulder towards the kitchen. "He's stable for now, so you can come help me clean up."
Emery quickly stood up and made his way back into the kitchen. It was a gruesome scene. Blood was everywhere. Kurt was still prone on the table, breathing shallowly, and Emery leaned over him with a shuddering sigh. It was chilling to see him like this. "I'm so sorry, Kurt…" he whispered, gently placing a hand on his arm.
Scott watched from behind with curiosity. "He…won't wake up for a while. At least I hope not. Come on. Let's do this so I can get some sleep."
Emery nodded, taking up a rag and beginning to wipe the blood from the surrounding table numbly. God, there was so much. "I'm sorry I…dragged you into this. Couldn't think of anything else."
Scott shook his head as he went to the sink. "What did you drag me into, man? Are you being followed?"
/> "I don't think so."
"All the same, bring that fucking car around back. I don't need anyone seeing it."
Emery nodded. "Is this place secure? Does anyone know how to find you here?"
"Sheridan. But I sort of get the feeling that's a moot point." Scott said as he wrung out a bloody rag. "Otherwise no. I don't technically own this house. It's still in the name of the previous owner and I'm not connected with him—lives out of the country. Anyway, I guess folks around town might know my face, but who's looking? Ludkov? Eaton?"
"I-I don't know," Emery admitted. "But Hunter already knows who you are. He had your pictures and your criminal records when I confronted him. All of you."
"Fuck," Scott sighed.
"I'm sorry. I know this is…all because of me…" Emery stopped scrubbing at the blood for a moment, staring at the smears that seemed like they'd never be wiped clean again. He reached out quickly to clear a trickling line of blood off of Kurt's pale arm.
Scott came over with a clean rag and handed it to him. "Shit, I don't know, I mean it's not like it was your idea to get kidnapped. I'm not exactly shocked that Sheridan didn't know who he was fucking with. The guy has a real knack for leaping before he looks." He took Emery's bloody rag and walked back to the sink. "Can't blame just him, though. We all saw green. Greed kills. The only one of us who seemed to have that in his fuckin' head was Kurt."
Emery mulled over the guilt still churning in his gut and scrubbed harder at the mess. Yes, if they'd only listened to him. No one would be dead, Kurt wouldn't be injured, and Emery wouldn't be a killer. Yesterday he was your average law-abiding Briton—now he'd killed so many people in a single day that he'd lost track. He'd told himself that it was self-defense, but it wasn't. Not really. He'd done it to save himself from unfavorable circumstances, that was all. Was his life ever truly in danger? He wanted to blame Hunter. The horrid bastard, he wouldn't have had to kill anyone if he hadn't sicked his dogs on Kurt, and god, the things that twisted man had driven him to his whole fucking life and he'd just gone along with it like a brainless, spineless dog, from sex to lies to murder but it was just as much Emery's fault and his mother would be so ashamed of him, he…Emery didn't realize he was falling over until he was grabbed hard from behind by the arms.