by Kyle Baxter
“Okay?” Frederick was forbidden from seeing Joel, but why was he saying this? Frederick turned full on to him. “Did something else happen? I know Denis made fun of you. I’m sorry, and I’ll take care of that—”
“I don’t need you to fight my battles,” Joel said stiffly.
“Be that as it many, Denis is a jerk. The others told him so after you left. I tried calling you last night, but you didn’t pick up.” Frederick was definitely going to have a word with Denis. Joel might not need him to fight his battles, but he could not stand by either. He’d do anything to protect Joel.
“Julia told me you’ve been forbidden to see me.” Joel ladled stew onto a refugee’s tray.
“Yes, and she gave me your message not to call,” Freddie whispered. “I didn’t like it. I looked for you all day. I want to talk. But that doesn’t explain why you said we can’t be seen together. Why do you think that? What changed?”
Joel stared down into his eyes. He seemed to turn that over in his mind, then backed off of it. “Who is Julia to you? I mean, I like her and she’s gorgeous. If your family is planning out your future, you could do worse for arranged marriages.”
“Julia? No!” He was horrified. “That would never work. I love her, but no. Not like that.”
“Why not? You care about each other a lot. That’s clear.” Joel turned to him. “I mean, I’d date her if I was you. I almost want to, as me!”
That made Freddie laugh. Stopping, he looked up at the taller man. “I’ve known Julia since I was a kid. She’s a family friend—no, it’s more than that.” He took a deep breath. “She was Alois’s girlfriend. They were going to be married. He died before they could announce the engagement. She’s like a sister to me.”
Joel’s mouth went, Oh.
“Kann ich bitte etwas zu essen bekommen?” a little old man asked, breaking the spell. They both froze and turned back to the line of refugees, all of whom were tired and waiting and watching their back-and-forth. Freddie wilted. He didn’t mean to get caught up like that, but this was the first chance they had to talk.
Joel ladled stew onto the man’s tray. “I am so sorry . . . bitte.”
Frederick blushed in embarrassment and he added a roll from his station to the man’s tray. “Look, I know things are complicated right now.”
“You did warn me,” Joel agreed. “Repeatedly.”
Freddie snorted. “I had no idea they’d get this complicated, but I like you, Joey. A lot. And I want to spend more time with you. We’ll find a way. Okay?” Somehow.
Joel nodded, then finally said, “I’ll take it under advisement.”
Freddie took that as a win, at least until he found out what else was going on. Something is bothering him. I can see it in his face.
They passed the next hour in silence, feeding the people who came in. No one recognized him; his face was scruffy from not having shaved and his hair was not the perfect sculpture it appeared to be in photos. No, you self-involved twit, Frederick scolded himself. It wasn’t that they didn’t recognize him; they had more pressing concerns, like eating.
He bumped deliberately into Joel’s arm. “Geek.”
“Meathead.” Joel bumped him back.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Happiness Is a Warm Gun
They stood at opposite ends of the kitchen, cleaning up from the evening meal. All but silent through dinner service, they only occasionally spoke, a random “pardon me” or “excuse me” as they needed.
Freddie didn’t know what to more to say about last night. Joel’s feelings were hurt, and his resentment was perfectly justifiable. Frederick knew Denis, he knew what an ass he was. Plus, Denis knew about the king’s admonition. That was probably the reason why he acted out, but in truth, his bitchiness was an inherent trait.
Why didn’t I anticipate that scene? The entire situation was so complicated: his family, becoming crown prince, his father’s command not to see Joel. The two of them barely met when it all changed, when his life fell apart.
Well, that’s not quite true, is it? Coming home was not when his life fell apart. Freddie’s life fell apart over a year ago when Alois and Noah both died within months of each other. He feared he might never get over what happened. The times he shared with Joel here, and in London, were the rare moments he didn’t feel unbalanced, disconnected, or numb. I don’t want to lose this or lose him.
He couldn’t shake the feeling something else was going on. We definitely need to talk. Freddie leaned against a counter, wiping his hands with a cloth and watching his tall friend. Joel helped Aunt Meike clean. Wiping down the back counter, he made quick work of it with his long arms.
He’s so handsome. That was true, after a fashion, but he found the appraisal bundled up with everything he knew about him—and what he wanted to know. What he saw at the airport when they helped Maeve, and the obvious love and devotion he shared with his sisters.
Aunt Meike went back into the front, and Freddie thought briefly about grabbing the gawky, gorgeous guy and having his way with him right now on that metal counter he was cleaning. That’s for me. As he thought it, he knew it was true. I love him.
It took him aback. I do. Frederick had never felt this way about anyone before. He dated around when he was younger, both men and women, but this was so very different. Before, it was parachute in and leave ASAP. With this guy, he wanted to stay. This man took his breath away the way no one else did.
His attention was pulled to the kitchen door. Something was going on in the dining hall. There were shouts and banging, a big commotion. An occasional hazard in shelters, as people came in with all kinds of issues and sometimes took them out on the staff and each other.
He was about to start for the door when the distinct pop, pop, pop of gunfire made him jerk. Screams and shouts followed immediately. Fear flooded through him and his body trembled. He felt warm suddenly and thought he smelled petrol, like back at the camp. Like back at Al-Husab. A queasiness bubbled in his stomach. I might throw up.
“Freddie,” Joel hissed. His voice snapped Freddie back to reality. Joel looked at him expectantly, his eyes wide. The tall man was terrified.
Get it together, Freddie ordered and went into attack mode.
Dropping down, he motioned Joel to do likewise. Freddie held up a finger to his lips. His eyes darted around the room, scanning, taking everything in. Nothing back here. The shots came from the dining hall. He heard shouts and crying and moaning. People are dying. He pulled out his phone and sent a quick text to Luc.
Frederick: Gunfire at Meike’s shelter. Send security ASAP. Am on premises.
Freddie pulled out the sidearm he kept in an ankle holster.
“Why do you have a gun?” Joel hissed.
“Special Forces. I’m always prepared.” Freddie gave him a wink. Joel’s eyes were huge. Frederick pulled a bottle of cooking sherry off a countertop. After grabbing a dry rag, he soaked it in the alcohol and stuffed it into the neck of the bottle. Okay, that’s something. Maybe a distraction. In a crouch, he ran to the door leading into the serving area, bottle in hand.
Pop, pop, pop, and more screams. Pop, pop, pop.
Freddie peered around the doorway and looked into the dining room. At this hour, most of the clients had left; only a few stragglers remained. Joel crouched on the other side of the doorframe from him. He’d grabbed a large knife from a drawer and held it in his hand. Frederick tried to shoo him away, but he shook his head.
Twenty meters away, at the entrance to the dining hall, stood two gunmen. They wore skull-faced headwraps pulled up over their lower faces. They were scanning the room, probably deciding on their next move. These did not look like professionals, probably young men radicalized on the Internet.
“You stay here,” Frederick whispered.
Joel shook his head, refusing to leave. Dammit, Spider Boy, why do you have to be like this? No time to argue! Taking a deep breath, Frederick shared a nod with his lover, then scurried into the room. Joel followed. They were caref
ul to stay behind the serving counter. The smartest move was to run out the back door and stay safe, but Aunt Meike was in here with Timm and Yannik. Frederick could not leave them to their own devices.
Looking around the side of the table, he surveyed the room again. Several bodies lay on the ground, and people huddled together, hiding behind tables and counters. There was a lot of blood. One of the bodies was Yannik, but his chest rose and fell. He was alive. Thank God. But he wouldn’t be for long if Frederick didn’t do something. They could not afford to wait for help; too many people would die.
Someone tried to creep for the door. He was quickly shot.
“Duck dich,” a voice hissed at them over the moans of the wounded. It was his Aunt Meike. She was safe at the moment, hiding behind an upturned dining table. She probably did that herself. A wounded refugee lay beside her. She never could leave someone in need.
Freddie put his hands on the metal serving table and tried moving it. He found it was heavy as hell, but it was on wheels. Das ist gut. It’d make a good battering ram.
Joel shivered next to him. He wanted to tell him to leave, but with the gunmen now walking around, he couldn’t risk it. They would spot them if they ran back into the kitchen now.
Looking over the edge of the table, he watched a masked gunman walk over to a wounded man and shoot him. Fuck. The second man did the same. They were slowly going through the room, picking people off. Freddie’s stomach twisted. We have to act. Our time will come, too, unless we do something. This was it.
What do we do? Joel mouthed.
Freddie handed him the bottle of sherry. “You said you played baseball. I assume you can throw?”
“A Molotov cocktail?” Joel whispered, eyes lighting up. “Fuck yes.”
“You’re definitely American,” Freddie muttered.
“That is the most stereotypical—” Joel started.
“Argue later, bad guys first,” Freddie cut him off. “Can you hit him, or at least the wall behind him?” Freddie pointed in the direction of one of the gunmen.
Joel chanced a quick peek. “Yes.”
“When I give the word, throw that bottle, then shove this table at him. Can you do it?” Freddie searched Joel’s eyes. There was fear there, but also mettle.
“Yep, got it.”
Freddie double-checked the safety on the gun, then gestured in the direction of the other gunman. “I’m going to shoot the left-hand one, give you cover, and then take them both out, okay?” He could see the worry in his lover’s eyes. He’d do anything to protect him. They had to get out of this. They would.
Joel looked deep into Frederick’s eyes and put a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, we got this.” Joel’s face set in fierce determination. “You and me.”
Freddie bobbed his head and gave him a wink. God, I love him. “That’s my Spider Boy.”
Joel gave him a heavy eye roll. “You’re insane.”
Freddie almost giggled as he turned on the gas to the steamer table. Joel took the bottle of sherry and lit the makeshift wick from the burner. Freddie mouthed a one, two, and three and Joel threw the bottle over the table. They watched it arc high in the air, then hit the man square in the chest. It broke on impact, and flames exploded over him. He screamed.
Freddie rolled out from behind the serving counter as the confused second gunman looked to his partner. Freddie shot him in the chest several times, and he fell against the wall. Even though a bulletproof vest, the impact hurt and could knock someone out.
He chanced a quick glance at the other gunman. He was screaming and burning and flailing around. Frederick took aim at him just as the serving table hit him hard at crotch height. He went down in a flaming heap. Joel leaped up, carrying the knife icepick style in his hand, ready to stab. Where did he learn that? In a swift move, Joel kicked the burning man’s gun away.
“Freddie!” Joel pointed behind him.
Frederick dropped to a knee and shot the other gunman again. He’d gotten up and was taking aim. Freddie’s bullet hit him square in the forehead, and the man went down for good. The prince cursed his carelessness. I should have made sure he was down and out. But he was too worried about Joel. The taller man was not a seasoned veteran like Noah. Freddie had to make sure Joel was okay, and it almost cost them.
Joel grabbed a pitcher of water off a table and rushed over to the burning man. He poured it over him, dousing the fire. He looked at Freddie. His eyes were wild and he was shaking.
Freddie said softly, “Good job.”
Joel nodded repeatedly, manically. He held a finger up to his mouth and motioned with his head to the front door. They still didn’t know if anyone was outside.
Talking big gulps of air, they crouched there for a moment. He looked around, taking stock of the room, gathering himself before they went out. When his eyes raised to meet Joel’s, Freddie saw excitement, fear, and stubborn tenacity in them. His heart echoed it. He repeated Joel’s words: “You and me.”
His man nodded and gave him a mad smile. It was all adrenaline; the crash later would be hard. We have to get out of here. I have to get you to safety.
He heard his aunt mutter from her hiding spot, “Mein Gott.”
“The door.” Freddie dashed to one of the downed men and picked up the man’s gun for himself. Joel did likewise, picking up the second assailant’s Uzi. While Freddie crouched and slid his handgun back in his ankle holster, he watched wide-eyed as Joel extended the stock on the gun and checked the safety. After ejecting the magazine, he picked up the spare from the body beside him. Joel shoved it into the gun and gave it a nice hard slap to make sure it was seated properly.
“What?” Joel clocked him. “Both my father and stepfather were military. I have handled a gun before. I know things.”
“Yes, you do,” Freddie agreed. They carefully approached the entryway from either side. They stood at the door, guns at the ready, and turned into the foyer. The front door was open and they heard a noise outside. Joel nodded to him, and after the trooper mouthed a one, two, three, they spun around the doorframe, Freddie first.
“Stehen bleiben!” a voice on a bullhorn shouted. And the two of them froze as bright lights flooded the area.
“Prince Frederick,” Luc shrieked.
“Alles klar,” Freddie commanded. He and Joel raised their hands as Luc argued with the figures behind the lights. Several security guards clad in bulletproof vests ran past them and into the shelter. Two more took their guns. Luc rushed up, as did a police sergeant. The latter walked them to a police car while Luc fussed over him. There were photographers showing up. How did they get here so quickly?
Freddie pointed at Joel and barked an order at a police officer. “Get him out of here. Take him to his hotel.”
“Hey, leggo!” Joel pulled his arms free as one of the men grabbed him. “I don’t want to leave you.” He looked panicked, and Freddie didn’t blame him.
“Joey, please.” Freddie kept his voice flat and calm. Holding Joel’s shoulders, he looked up into the taller man’s deep-brown eyes. “This is for your own safety.”
“Last I saw, I was saved,” Joel groused. “I was the one who threw the Molotov cocktail at that guy.”
Luc looked up at the lanky American, as did the police sergeant. They were both impressed.
“Yes, you did.” Freddie kneaded Joel’s shoulders. “You did a great job. We make a great team, but right now, I need you to get out of here before more press shows up.” Both Luc and the sergeant looked at the prince, then back at Joel and then shared a glance.
“Yeah? Well, I . . .” Joel’s bravado faltered, and his shoulders sagged. “I have nothing more to say at this time. But I reserve the right to voice my displeasure at a later juncture.”
“I’m sure you do.” Freddie spared an exasperated look at the police sergeant and said, “Americans.” The sergeant grinned.
Luc cleared his throat. “Can we do this later, please?”
Joel grumbled but let them separate him fr
om Freddie. He ducked as they folded his long-legged frame into the back seat of the police sedan.
As an ambulance arrived, Frederick checked to make sure Aunt Meike was okay, then gave a statement to the sergeant. Convincing him to keep Joel’s name out of the police record was not difficult. “Do we really want all of Western media descending on us?” The man agreed that he did not.
Frederick was able to get him to let castle PR handle questions about his own involvement as well. At first glance, it seemed like it was not an attack on Frederick but rather on a refugee center helping immigrants. If it got out that the crown prince came here, it might complicate matters even more.
His adrenaline fading, he felt tired and sore. Frederick had to get up to the castle and handle that side of things. He was certain it was all in an uproar.
❖
“Thank God, you’re all right,” the king said from behind his desk after Frederick explained the situation with Luc. His mother cooed and fussed over him. “But what were you even doing there?”
“Frederick volunteers there, Father. Alois first took him.” Karl entered, wheeled in by his aide. He had clearly had a long day if he was willing to suffer being in a wheelchair. Seeing him like that was a punch to the gut every time.
“Well, that’s over.” The king smacked a palm on the arm of his chair.
“Father,” Freddie glowered, his anger rising. “You pulled me out of the military. You asked me to return to a life I rejected and take on new responsibilities. You’ve even demanded I publicly avoid someone I care about. I’ve done all of this because of my duty to you, my country, and the Crown. Now this too? No, this is too much.”
“Yes, dear, what can it hurt?” his mother asked his father with her hand on his shoulder.
“A fascist splinter group drove in from another country to kill refugees that shelter was helping,” the king said. “He could have been killed.”
Frederick walked to his father’s desk and leaned forward on it, confronting him. “But I wasn’t, sire. Joey and I took them out.”
“Oh, yes, you were with the American in the shelter with a gun. It sounds like a game of Clue.” His father chortled. “Why was he even there? I told you not to see him.”