The Dead Don't Lie

by Anne Russo

  Ian reached for his gun, checking the rounds, gasping for breath. Wary, he started to where Grady must have fled, determined. It didn’t matter how many men awaited him. He wasn’t leaving here until Grady was dead and gone.

  He stepped into the next room. Weapon raised, prepared to go to war. Shots rang out. Ian drew back a fraction too late as a bullet grazed his shoulder and spun him. The force of it dropped him to his knees. Far from fatal, it still stole the air from his lungs. Ian’s vision black before roaring into hyper focus several fluttering heartbeats later. Instant pain blossomed, punching through the flood of adrenaline.

  Ian fought rolling waves of nausea. A free hand pressed against the wound, blood flowing hot and sticky over his palm. Ian grimaced through the strain, trying to gather back his shaky breath. Air returned now in slow increments. He inched farther for cover, tucking himself behind the door frame and out of the way. More shots struck the wood, inches from his face. A flurry of splinters flew.

  In the silence after, Ian glanced around the wall, only to meet with another round of gunfire. The renewed firefight forced him into retreating once more. But it had been worth the risk, giving him the precious few seconds, he needed to assess the threat he faced. Grady had two men guarding him, both highly trained judging by how close they’d come to separating his head from the rest of his body. Under normal circumstances, he’d try to wait for them to run out of bullets, but he couldn’t afford the luxury. Not when bleeding out. Still, he didn’t come this far to accept defeat.

  Ian fired into the room, and another hail of gunfire rang out, forcing him to withdraw. He took one breath, two, and readied himself for what he’d face. Determined not to miss, Ian stepped out, surprising them with his boldness. Ian moved on pure instinct as he shot into the still clearing smoke at Grady’s bodyguards, one after the other. He put one bullet in the guy on the right, dead straight to the heart, dropping him. The second struggled to aim. Too late. Ian fired, sending him stumbling into the wall behind him.

  Grady threw his hands up in submission, pleading, offering money and connections. Whatever he could to save his slimy ass. Ian reached him in two long strides, looming over his quaking, pathetic presence. He pressed his gun into his forehead, driving Grady to his knees.

  “You motherfucker!”

  A burst of raw fury bursting forth as he slammed the butt of his weapon into the bridge of Grady’s nose. Ian relished the satisfying crunch of breaking bone as blood gushed. Grady’s shrill screams of agony music to his ears.

  “I told you I would find you, you piece of shit!” He pressed the weapon in deeper.

  Grady covered his face, pleading with him through a mouthful of blood. “Wait, don’t—I—your friend, I didn’t—”

  “Only because he’s fucking smarter than you are,” Ian cut him off, seething with cold, murderous fury.

  “Hold on, I—I could use someone like you. I’d—I can pay you anything you want.”

  “You think you can buy me?” Ian fumed, lips curled in a sneer. “Well, you’re wrong. This is my payment, ending you.”

  Grady began begging, pleading for mercy. A grotesque and blustering mess as blood dripped from his shattered nose, staining his lips and teeth red.

  “Anything, Ian. Hear me out.”

  Ian laughed out loud at the suggestion. “No, you hear me, your men are dead. And once you are too. I’m going to dismantle your organization piece by piece until there’s nothing left.”

  Ian took delight in the terror stricken look on Grady’s face. He aimed and shot into the upper thigh. Grady hollered in agony as he fought to stay upright, blood gushing from the wound.

  “Hurts, doesn’t it? I told you I would do it slowly.”

  Grady continued begging for his life, promises rushing forth in a panicked stream as he babbled nonsense. Ian watched, pleased.

  “You want names? Other targets? I can be useful to you and the people you work for.”

  Ian shook his head, grinning a little before he stepped back and shot him again, this time in the other thigh. Grady screamed as more blood soaked the surrounding floor, pooling near Ian’s feet. Still, it wasn’t enough, not enough torture and not enough blood.

  “What the fuck do you want? I’ll give you anything!” Grady screamed at him.

  “I want you to suffer,” Ian answered, satisfied as Grady’s eyes went enormous at the promise. A promise Ian kept as Grady’s dying screams echoed across the empty warehouse, fading out into the dark.

  Chapter 15

  Adam and Mei stumbled out of the crumbling warehouse, making their way through piles of bricks and debris, using scattered bodies to guide them. Once outside, they discovered Regan waiting for them.

  “You found him,” Regan exclaimed, flashing a relieved grin in Adam’s direction as she joined Mei in carrying him to safety. “Did you find Ian, too?”

  Mei sighed, nodding, “Yes, but he went after Grady. Come on, let’s get him out of here.”

  They hurried to where they had parked their vehicle, both women mindful as they laid Adam on the backseat, where he fell in and out of consciousness.

  “He’s in rough shape, isn’t he?” Adam heard Regan ask.

  “He’s stable for now,” Mei answered, examining Adam, voice shaky with worry. “Call Vince. Have him head home to get things situated.”

  Regan dashed off, while Mei turned back to Adam, grasping her hand as he fought to keep conscious. “Don’t you leave without him,” he pleaded as glazed and bloodshot eyes searched for hers in the meager light.

  “Never,” she vowed, squeezing his hand for emphasis. “I promise.”

  The sun had set now, as they waited, Regan joining them. Adam struggled to stay vigilant, the tension palpable. A solemn half hour ticked by before a movement in the distance caught Regan’s attention. Regan and Mei rushed from the vehicle toward a dark, staggering figure limping toward them. Adam’s heart clenched as he made out Ian’s shape in the gloom.

  The door opened, and Ian slid into the backseat beside him. He threw his head back, groaning as Regan helped to situate him. Ian’s teeth gritted, clutching his shoulder as blood spilled between his fingers. Adam couldn’t tell which of them had taken the worst beating. Ian’s face was a swollen mess of darkening bruises and bloody cuts. Still, he grinned at the utter relief on Adam’s face, the corners of his mouth lifting.

  They peeled out of the parking lot, the rolling black ocean behind them as they sped off into the night. Regan twisted around in her seat to hand Ian towels. Adam took them, ignoring his injuries to assess Ian’s wound. A gunshot from quick inspection, superficial but bleeding heavy.

  Ian groaned as Adam pressed, attempting to stave off the blood flow. His usual olive complexion, sallow and waxen. Still, his stare found Adam’s in the glow of passing streetlights and storefronts and held.

  “Are you all right?” Adam asked, low enough for their ears only.

  “I’m fine,” Ian answered, finding the curve of his cheek in the dark.

  Adam covered his hand with his own, sighing into the touch. “Is he dead?”

  Ian nodded.

  “Good,” Adam answered, heavy eyed as he drifted in and out. A soft, pleased smile on his lips as Ian’s fingers entwined with his own and refused to let go.

  * * * *

  Once back at the mansion, Hector carried Adam from the car depositing him in the nearest available bed. Ian by his side, ignoring his severe injuries over Mei’s fervent protests.

  Adam writhed in agony, stifling screams as his pain reawakened, renewed. Waves of unconsciousness sweeping over him as he searched for Ian’s face to anchor him to reality. Still, he didn’t appear real, swimming in front of Adam’s vision, a strange mix of nightmare and savior. His fathomless eyes fixated on him.

  “It hurts—”

  “I know. It’ll stop soon,” Ian soothed, stepping away as Mei approached. A syringe in hand as she pushed up the tattered sleeve of his ruined shirt and slid the needle home.

/>   “Your shoulder—are you okay?” Adam tried to ask, but words failed him.

  Ian appeared to be in as terrible shape as himself, maybe worse. He stood, posture stooped, his clothing filthy, torn, and stained with blood. His face bore the marks of a brutal confrontation, a vicious array of cuts and bruises, many still raw and open. On instinct, Adam moved to touch them, but Ian caught his hand.

  “Yes, I’m fine,” he reassured as darkness rose, encroaching Adam’s edges of consciousness, a rising wave. “I’m fine now,” he repeated, glassy eyed as he coughed and lowered his gaze, though the hold on Adam’s hand tightened.

  There was something in his expression; Adam wondered if he might have imagined. A look brief but tender—a sense of peace echoing the tune of Adam’s weary but grateful heart.

  “You’re safe, I promise,” Ian whispered. “Go to sleep.”

  Adam struggled against the heaviness, the desperate urge to drift away with whatever drug Mei had injected. To once, take Ian at his word, to put his faith in him. His trust. Adam needed to desperately. So he did. And for the first time in recent memory slept the slumber of someone protected, cherished. For once, the nightmares were banished and held at bay.

  * * * *

  When Adam came to after a day of much needed rest, he found himself alone. It surprised him that Ian wasn’t there, waiting. A thought he soon banished, embarrassed for having entertained the notion. His body screamed in protest when he tried to sit up, as even breathing hurt and from one cursory glance at his bandaged ribs, he understood why.

  Adam took his time crawling out of bed. Stiff and aching, he peeled off his clothes before retreating to the bathroom. Even anticipating the worst, Adam was shocked by his first glimpse at the damage. He didn’t even resemble himself; most of his face still swollen and now a blotchy dark purple. Adam fingered a nasty black bruise along his jaw, flinching when it stung.

  In desperate need of a shower, Adam made the water as hot as he could stand, mindful of the bandages, staying under the scalding spray for a half hour before dressing.

  At last, he ventured outside his room to see if anyone was home. The apartment was empty save Kalifa, for once not with her ever present shadow. She sat alone at the dining room table, drinking a cup of tea and paging through a well-worn copy of Anne Sexton’s poems.

  “Hello,” he announced, pausing at the entryway.

  She didn’t glance up from her book to acknowledge him. “Hello.” She took a delicate sip of her drink, turning a page with the other hand.

  “Where is everyone?”

  “Not my job to know.”

  Adam fought the urge to roll his eyes. Instead, he poured himself a glass of apple juice, chugging it in one breath. He glanced up from his second glass to find Kalifa studying him with a curious expression on her face.

  “Yes?” he asked, squirming under the weight of mysterious eyes.

  “You look well. I’m glad,” she announced, returning to her book.

  Adam was floored by the sentiment. Perhaps he’d judged her wrong? Either way, he struggled to find something to say but settled on a simple thank you, one she acknowledged and dismissed with the barest of nods before going back to her tea.

  * * * *

  Ian didn’t return for two days. In the meantime, Adam met up with the rest of the group. Everyone was delighted to see him up and on his feet. The only one still watching him with suspicion was Hector. No matter where Hector stood in a room, his gaze followed Adam, calculating and aware. It made Adam paranoid as if he wronged him and was unaware of how. Luckily Adam didn’t have to spend much time with him and keeping busy made it painless enough to stay out of his way.

  He’d seen Katherine once since his rescue, taken aback by her chilly, if not outright hostile reception, when they met. The vague note of disappointment he ascertained. Adam got the sense she blamed him for his kidnapping, though he suspected she had heaped plenty of blame on Ian, too.

  Speaking of Ian, he’d made himself scarce. At first, Adam worried, but soon worry grew to irritation when he realized Ian was avoiding him. He tossed and turned, remembering Ian’s expression before he’d gone after Grady. A glimpse of the real Ian—his worry and concern for Adam evident.

  On the second night, he still couldn’t sleep, their living quarters too hot and stuffy. The windowless rooms were making him even more claustrophobic than usual. He stumbled outside to the secluded back gardens, dressed only in his pajama bottoms and a T-shirt. He wandered over to his chosen bench, but someone else had beaten him to it.

  Ian glanced up, climbing to his feet as Adam approached. “What are you doing out here?”

  “What are you doing out here?” Adam countered.

  “I needed some air,” Ian answered as he shifted from one foot to the other, shoulders squared.

  “Where have you been?” Adam stepped closer, sniffing the air, catching the lingering odor of cigarettes and someone else’s obnoxious cologne. Adam’s stomach somersaulted, overcome by a surge of jealousy as he put two and two together.

  “Around,” Ian shrugged and tried to step past him.

  Adam stopped him with a hand on his arm, surprised by the violent way, Ian recoiled from his touch. “You didn’t come and see me,” Adam chewed on his bottom lip as he mulled over what to say next.

  “I wanted to,” Ian answered, swallowing hard as if struggling around the words.

  “Well, why didn’t you?” Adam demanded, wondering if he had imagined the flicker of guilt he caught.

  “Because it’s best if we keep our distance for the time being.”

  “About that night—the hotel,” Adam started, but Ian cut him off with a firm shake of his head.

  “Let’s put that behind us.”

  “Why?”

  “I can’t do this with you. Not tonight.”

  I can’t do this with you.

  A slap in the face, those words a sharp stinging blow. A simple statement, but it encompassed so much. After what they’d faced together, they remained stuck at square one with no means to move forward.

  “You came for me.”

  “I’ll always come for you,” Ian vowed. The words were uttered with such conviction Adam’s whole body broke out in goosebumps. “I would for any of you,” he added.

  “I know,” Adam acknowledged, trembling despite the warm, summer air. “It doesn’t change the fact you did. You saved my life.”

  The sentiment seemed to take Ian back. “You saved your own life,” Ian replied after a moment, clearing his throat. “Anyway, I’m going to bed. Good night, Adam.”

  Adam wanted to argue the point further. But, the wretchedness he spied on Ian’s face, the way he carried himself, and his injured shoulder’s obvious pain stopped Adam in his tracks. Instead, he settled for a quiet good night, watching, weary. Ian’s retreating figure fading into the gloom before disappearing into the dark.

  * * * *

  A month passed before Adam was more or less his old self. Still healing, he pushed himself harder, marveling at everything he could do now with ease. A five minute mile without breaking a sweat. Hand-to-hand with Mei for a half hour at a time. Him taking a gun off an attacker no longer laughable, but something he did effortlessly. Practice at last bore results, the skills he’d spent the previous year mastering second nature. Adam sought to learn more, do more. Never again would anyone catch him off guard. He vowed next time (and there’d be a next time) he’d be the one calling the shots, especially when it came to Ian. Ian, who he urged himself to forget but could not. Because, like the proverbial bad penny, he always turned up when least expected.

  “Hello? Are you in there?”

  “Huh?” Adam coughed, shifting his hold on the pad he had been using to help Mei spar.

  Mei chuckled, relaxing her fighting stance. “Where’d you go?”

  Adam shook his head. “Nowhere. I’m fine. Where were we?”

  “Don’t change the subject. Something’s wrong, I can tell. Out with it.”
/>   Adam let loose a massive, drawn out groan, the words out before he could take them back. “I think I’m in love with him.”

  “Ah, so you do like him,” Mei responded with a smirk as she blew a lock of hair out of her face.

  “I’m serious, Mei. I honestly think I’m in love with that asshole. Jesus Christ, what the fuck is wrong with me?”

  Adam retreated to the corner of the mat, Mei following as he dropped on the bench and used the edge of his T-shirt to wipe the sweat from his brow. Mei joined him and reached for a towel, taking the time for a quick clean up before offering her advice on the matter.

  “You know, I shouldn’t be speaking for Ian, but it’s obvious…” Mei paused, biting her lip.

  Adam reddened, wishing he had never brought the topic up. “Me and my dumb mouth. Can we please forget what I said?”

  “Why? There’s no reason for you to be embarrassed.”

  “I’m—I’m not embarrassed,” Adam protested. “I just know it’s impossible. Ian and I. For reasons too many to mention.”

  “Look, Ian. Well, calling Ian complicated is putting it mildly.”

  Adam understood. Her loyalty to Ian ran deep. There was a powerful bond there, one sealed in blood and fostered by unwavering trust. So Adam recognized how difficult it was for her to divulge Ian’s secrets and not consider it a betrayal.

  “Ian’s not like the rest of us. We’ve all had lives outside here at one point. Not Ian. For years after his mother’s death, he lived here alone with only a tutor for company.”

  “That sounds miserable,” Adam sympathized.

  Mei agreed. “It was, but it only got worse after his father died. He was seven when Katherine shipped him off to school. On his thirteenth birthday, she sent someone to bring him home. He’s been doing this ever since.”

  “I know. I mean, the little Ian has let slip. Why are you telling me this, though?” Adam questioned, confused by her motives.

  “I don’t know.” Mei frowned. “Deep down, I think he’d want you to understand. The truth is Ian’s been waiting all his life to die, preparing, never considering he’d have to learn how to live.”