by BA Tortuga
“Not my idea of a good time, no. And I want one of those chair-table things so I can fuck you after.”
MJ’s eyes went hot-hot, those hands squeezing him tight. “Oh hell yes.”
It was an effort, but he lifted one hand to stroke the sweaty hair off MJ’s swollen face. “We need to get you some ice.”
“Yeah. It’s tender.” MJ rested against him, solid and hot and slick.
Sonny growled. “He hits you again, I feed him to the sharks.”
“Works for me, Sunshine.”
They’d been nice long enough. It was time to let go of the flotsam and get on with the inking and fucking and retirement.
All they had to do was get through the damned meet.
Chapter Forty-One
THEY WERE going to make good their escape. Neil was bloody determined that they would. MJ and Sonny had set up their meet, and Neil had the feeling the whole thing would go pear-shaped in no time. He and Paddy needed to be ready to run.
“Have you got everything ready, love?” he asked, pacing the little cabin, staring at the whole setup Paddy had created.
“Yeah. Yeah. We’ll just buy clothes and stuff?” Between his gift and Paddy’s ability to ferret things out, they had the bags Boomer and Sonny had taken from Paddy’s apartment. They couldn’t take all of it, but he had access to his ready cash; they could travel.
“Yes. We’ll just buy what we need.” He put an arm around Paddy, pulling his lover close. “Are you all right?”
“Yes.” Paddy’s brain had gone into pure work mode from the time he’d hit Boomer, and the thoughts were dizzying, sharp, nearly inhuman.
“Good. We’ll be fine.” There were other thoughts, bombarding him both far and near, and they made his adrenaline soar.
“Yes. I have a flash-bang. When I throw it, you can’t look. I’ll warn you.” A glass container slid into Paddy’s pocket.
“Right.” Gracious, the things Paddy knew how to do. Sometimes it amazed him. Not frighten. Never that, because Paddy would never hurt him.
“I love you.” Paddy looked at him, eyes almost inhuman. Almost.
He stared right into the bright green, nodding. “I love you too, sweet. I’m ready.”
Paddy nodded. Yes. Paddy was ready, pockets packed, plan in place. “I think they’re coming, Neil. Don’t push him today.”
“I promise.” Sure enough, Sonny and MJ opened the hatch, and Sonny motioned him up, face stony, thoughts calm.
Paddy’s hand was on his back, Paddy’s fingers shaking.
“We’re going to have a little shore excursion, boys. Quick. Easy. Simple.” Boomer didn’t sound like he thought it was all that easy. Of course, it wasn’t, was it? They planned on getting rid of him and Paddy. Oh, he didn’t think MJ meant to kill them. No, indeed. After Paddy’s episode, it was Sonny that Neil worried about.
They stepped out into the sunshine, the dense woodlands of the island surprising him. Cat Island. He could hear the name echoed in both MJ’s and Sonny’s minds.
Well, at least he knew that much and could plan. He took a deep breath. “This is not going to go well, gentlemen. I can feel it.”
To his utter surprise, MJ nodded, lips tight. “There’s a bad fucking moon rising.”
They actually shared a wry look. “Just be prepared to get away quickly if need be.” Somehow it was important, which rather surprised him.
“Don’t worry about us.” That “us” was very clear, MJ’s hand on Sonny’s hip clearer.
“No. No, I will only worry about us.” He had his own love to be concerned with.
MJ’s lips quirked, and they headed down to the dock, Sonny and Boomer herding them quickly, quietly. MJ’s thoughts were sharper versions of Paddy’s, clear and razor-edged. MJ had a plan, and it was obvious the man wanted to have this over with, no matter what happened. He thought mostly of Sonny and of making sure they were safe and well supplied with Twinkies.
Of course, Neil knew that MJ and Sonny were both armed to the teeth and that they’d talked long and hard about arming him and Paddy. It wasn’t without a bit of irony that he noted that what protection they had, Paddy had provided. Really, they seemed to think he and Paddy were dangerous. They were not the hired killers here.
Something tickled at the back of his mind, like an agonized scream that slid off his neck and down his spine. Neil grabbed Paddy’s hand, hanging back.
“We’re supposed to meet in a tavern—Charlie’s. Harry said he’d be in the back.”
MJ was worried, nostrils flaring, moving them faster. No. Not worried. Manning wasn’t worried. Manning was scared.
Paddy’s fingers squeezed his, those eyes on his face. Neil. Neil, I don’t feel good. Neil.
Shhhh. He thought it hard, sending calming thoughts, not just to Paddy but to MJ as well. Calm. Must be calm.
They made their way to a pub, the place looking about as seedy as a place could. Seedy and empty.
“Keep them up here, Sunshine. Watch your ass.”
“I’ve got your back.” Sonny moved to stand next to him and Paddy, shoulders tense, bouncing on the balls of his feet.
The place was dark, empty, barring a single man in the far end of the room, his back to them, to the door.
MJ stepped forward, staying in the shadows near the wall. “Harry?”
Neil knew the minute MJ said the man’s name that he was no longer with them in spirit, even if he was in body. His voice sounded shockingly loud. “He’s dead.”
“What?” MJ moved forward, quick as a snake. A pistol appeared in the man’s hand like magic, free hand reaching out to grab the chair. “Harry?”
The thud as the man’s head hit the ground was quite loud.
“Fuck. Get them back to the fucking boat. Now.”
Paddy’s mind was screaming, over and over and over.
Echoes hit Neil like a tidal wave, and he tried to move, tried to tell Paddy now was the time for his little trick, but all he could do was grab Sonny’s arm and pull him around. “Woody. Someone talked to Woody. He gave them you, Sonny, your alias. The one you use in Key West.”
“Get them back to the boat.” MJ’s hands pushed through the dead man’s clothes, thoughts pure ice.
Paddy shook his head. No. No. No more boats. No more. Close your eyes. Close your eyes. Close your eyes. Neil closed his eyes and went on his faith in Paddy. He had no other choice. They couldn’t take any more.
There was a pop and a grunt and the overwhelming smell of burning before Paddy tugged his hand, started them running. He stumbled along for a moment before remembering to open his eyes, but then he righted himself, sprinting alongside his lover, asking his worn body for as much speed as it could muster. Sonny and MJ were on their own.
With any luck, he and Paddy would never see them again.
Chapter Forty-Two
FUCK HIM.
Fuck.
He kept his eyes closed—they were watering too fucking bad to be of any help anyway—and he headed straight for Sonny. Fucking Rick. Fucking cheap-assed, piece of shit, unprofessional flashbangs.
Fucking Harry.
His mind skittered away from that. He’d deal with that later. Much later.
“Sonny. Sonny. Where the fuck are you?” Stay low and keep moving. Moving. With his goddamn redneck.
“Right here.” Shit, the man almost clotheslined him, but that arm caught him, muscles like iron as Sonny dragged him to the door.
“No. Out the back.” He slid through the chairs, back toward the heavier darkness where he…. Shit. Which way? Where was the fucking trap?
“Come on.” The damned smoke disoriented them, but he figured out quick where Sonny was going. Right for that window at the end of the bar.
Fuck, he knew he’d kept the man for a reason. He knocked over as many bottles as he could along the way, waiting for Sonny to wriggle through before tossing a match. Strong hands caught his, the air when he slid outside three times lighter, easier to breathe. Not that he had time to ca
tch his breath, because damned if he didn’t hear sirens.
“Time to go, Precious.”
“Yes.” They took off in a rush, staying low and fast and off the fucking main road. Shit. Shit.
“We can’t go back to the boat, MJ.” Sonny ducked between two close-set buildings, searching his shirt. “Where’s the goddamned map?”
“All our shit’s on the boat, man. I’m not giving it up.”
That was theirs.
Home.
Goddammit.
“Okay, so we go back and gut the boat as much as we can, as long as it’s not swarming with cops. Then we kill it.” Those dark eyes were dead serious, brooking no argument.
He just growled, fury flooding him so bad it hurt. “We’ll discuss it later. Right now we have to get off this little fucking island.”
“Yeah. Ah-ha!” The map slid out of the thigh pocket of his pants, Sonny giving him a squeeze on the way up. “Okay, this is the least fucking obvious path back to the boat.”
One long, blunt finger traced a line on the map. Sonny kissed him. Hard. “You ready to run, MJ?”
“It’s time to hustle, redneck.” He held those eyes. “Something’s deeply fucked.”
“We’ll figure it out. That Neil…. Shit. Come on.” Sonny hauled ass, and he could hear shouting voices. Not close enough to get them, but close enough to get his ass moving.
They ran fast and hard, and then they stopped at the dock, trying to decide if the fucking boat was safe.
Sonny pointed him aft, slipping away fore, both of them silent as shadows. The boat looked as deserted as they’d left it, but they couldn’t be too fucking careful. Experience had taught them that.
He checked the engines, the hold, looking for anything that looked like it would explode. He found nothing but a mess of shit Paddy and Neil had screwed with. “Clear down here.”
“Clear up top.” They both knew they didn’t have much time. “Let’s get our shit together, Precious.”
“Start the engines.” He started gathering things. They could swap out on the big island and be gone in….
MJ stopped, ran for his laptop, the urge to check his funds, his information, undeniable. His fucking computer wasn’t where he’d left it, was open and booted up on their bunk. The screen-saver pictures made him ice-cold. “Go, Sonny! Now! Now! Now!”
Harry screaming, bleeding, groaning. Woody with a muzzle to his temple. Paula, bullet through the brain, neck broken, eyes open and empty.
They’d found him.
Jesus Christ.
Chapter Forty-Three
THEY WERE on another boat.
Paddy watched the man at the engine, motoring them toward somewhere big enough to have an airport or airplanes or something.
Something not a boat.
Anything not a boat.
He was pretty sure he hated boats.
Still, they’d done it. Gotten free, which was better than that guy at that nasty bar, because, damn, heads were supposed to stay attached.
Really.
God.
“Shh.” Neil squeezed his hand. Even when the boatman had given them a weird look when they got on the boat holding hands, Neil had just given the man a haughty look and not let go.
Paddy nodded, looked at Neil, eyes clinging to those icy eyes like Neil was his own personal life preserver.
He could do this.
He could.
They were free, and they’d find a place with a beach and good food and a real bed and a door that locked.
Of course, that hadn’t stopped MJ.
“No, he has his own fish to fry, love. He wanted to let us go.” Neil had said it before, and he looked so sure….
“He didn’t used to be so….” Bad? Broken? Hard? “Scarred.”
“No. I can see him in your thoughts.” Neil smiled, that smile he used to have a lot, back when they first met. “You had a crush.”
“Maybe.” His cheeks flushed, and he scooted a little closer. “He was very smart.”
But not like Neil. Nowhere near his Neil.
“Mm-hmm. I can see why you liked him, even now.” Neil’s thumb rubbed over his knuckles. “He’s brilliant. Broken, but brilliant.”
“Yeah.” Broken. Brilliant. And gone. Thank goodness. Where would they go now? What would they do? Could he call Bethy? Should he? Would he work?
No Bethy. He heard that clear as day. Bethy was compromised. That was that.
No Bethy. Okay. Paddy squeezed Neil’s fingers. He’d never not worked for someone before.
We’ll find you work.
Oh yes, Neil had people who knew people. He’d find them both work. He’d stay with Paddy, and they’d work.
“We’re coming to shore, sirs. You know where you want to go in?” Their boat captain had the whitest teeth.
“Yes. Deadman’s Cay,” Neil said. They had decided on that because Long Island was not a far hop from Cat Island, and Deadman’s Cay had its own airport. Plus, it avoided the government center in Clarence Town.
Deadman’s Cay, though? Was the worst name in the history of names.
They pulled into a nice dock that had a stretch of beach and some small hotels. Nothing worth taking note of if you were looking for someone. Neil paid the boatman the other half of his money, and Paddy had a half-baked memory of something about not paying the ferryman until you were on the other side.
Of course, that led to skeleton-hand thoughts, which meant falling heads, which meant freaking out, and he wasn’t going to do that.
Not even a little.
“Hotel or airport?”
“Hotel first. We’ll check in and then leave, and that might buy us some time.” Oh, fake check-in. Right.
“Good idea. Have you done this before?” He wanted to know everything about Neil.
Good thing they were going to have lots of time.
Chapter Forty-Four
THEY’D TRACKED Sunshine’s Bride for four days, the schooner moving restlessly through the water, lighting in a cove once for about twenty minutes, then an atoll for another hour. He’d had his men search, but Manning and his so-interesting Neanderthal sidekick hadn’t left anything behind but footprints.
It was fascinating. Pointless, but fascinating.
Of course, Manning always had been a fascination of his. Brilliant. Quick. Razor-sharp, but with an overweening sense of appreciation for life. He’d been waiting patiently for almost fifteen years to draw their prodigal son back into the fold and get a return on the vast investment they’d made.
Now, it was time.
Manning’d been flying solo and wasting his considerable talents on the tree-huggers of the world for altogether too long.
As soon as the Bride docked in a remote spot on Cat Island—which he could admit, suited him to the core, Manning returning to the scene of the crime, so to speak—he contacted the local authorities, or authority as it were, spoke to Phillipe, and informed him that the person who had murdered the American and set the bar ablaze had kidnapped one of his employees and had returned. It was simple to arrange to have himself and four associates assist in the arrest and recovery. After all, their suspect was a very dangerous man.
Incredibly dangerous.
Jack and Ben took the boat first, the rest of the team following. The all clear was called, and he bit off a curse, heading up on deck. “I thought you had this thing under surveillance.”
“We did, sir. No one exited the vessel.”
“Then they’re still on board. Find them.”
Greg moved onto the boat. The thing was an unholy mess. It must be the Neanderthal’s influence. Manning was quite psychotically neat.
“I have your father, Manning. He’s quite mad now, but he screams beautifully. Your mother is next. Do you understand? There’s not enough cannabis in the world to keep her from hurting.”
“…fucker.”
His ears perked, and he motioned to his operatives. There. Down in the hold.
He’d kill Mann
ing’s boy toy and then take the man back home and get to work undoing the years of damage Paula had done. Fucking cunt. Watching her die had been glorious.
Leaving Manning behind to die had been his mistake; he knew that now.
“Sir?” The operative came out the door, holding an open laptop in hand, cellular modem blinking. “There’s no one down there. Only this.”
He took the machine, lifted the screen. Bastard. Manning’s face was on screen, blue eyes like hard jewels. “Greg.”
“Manning.” He shook his head. “You led me on quite a chase. I have the island surrounded, you know.”
“Do I look concerned?”
“Are you enjoying your little dalliance? You know, I think I’ll break his knees for you, just to pay you back for wasting my time.”
Manning chuckled, a huge tanned hand appearing on his shoulder. “You didn’t think I’d let you find me that easily, did you?”
“Trace this. Find out where….”
He had just enough time to hear a low chuckle, see Manning lift a cell phone to his ear, hear dialing and then something on the boat ringing. From the edge of the lagoon, he could see a long white yacht heading out toward open sea. Fuck him.
“Run. Run. Run!”
His feet had just hit the dock when the world exploded in a flash of light that blocked out the sound of Manning’s laughter.
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