by Carly Fall
remembered the second he knew who it was. He felt her piercing, green stare, as if she had been standing next to him, and he wondered what she would think if she knew that he envisioned her when he came. Maybe he should go seek her out. He knew her room was around here somewhere. But if he found her, what would he say? Did you enjoy the show? Would you care to participate? Why do I feel like you’re the only one who can see through the bullshit charade I have going on? How do you do that?
Nah, he didn’t need to know the answer to that. He needed to get back on track to killing himself.
He contemplated his next move.
According to his plan, he had done everything on his short bucket list. Stayed in a nice hotel? Yes. Good dinner? Check. Sex? Check. Time to eat the gun.
He got out of bed and pulled on his boxers, finding it somewhat amusing that he
cared if he died with his junk hanging out. Hell, he was about to blow his brains all over the wall—he guessed the least of his worries should be if his cock was exposed. He went to his Louis Vuitton duffel bag and pulled out the papers and gun he had brought with him.
He looked over his final letter as he ran his hand through his black hair.
Dear Noah,
I have looked after Abby for many years, but now I know she’s safe
with you. Take care of her and love her the best you can.
I’m counting on you not to fuck it up.
I don’t have much to live for now. I’ve never been able to get over
the pain of losing Iris. I hurt, Noah. Every day. I can’t stand it anymore,
and I’m sorry for leaving it up to you to make Abby understand what I’m
going through. Imagine losing her, and then describe your feelings to her.
Hopefully you will understand the pain, and you can make her understand
it as well.
I know I should be there for Abby and for you, Cohen, Jovan,
Rayner, and Talin. Please tell the boys that I care deeply about them, even
if they are a bunch of assholes.
I just can’t deal anymore. I can’t keep up the charade that I’m
solid, because I’m not. I’m ruined. I have a fissure in my soul that I have
held together as long as possible, and I can’t do it anymore. Not trying to
be a whiner, just telling it like it is. You know I’d rather stab someone than listen to them whine.
So take care of Abby, and stay strong, my friend. If there is another
side, I’ll see you there, my brother.
Hudson
Okay, well, he could see this flying about as well as an elephant with butterfly
wings, but it was what it was, and people would have to deal. You couldn’t put a shine on horseshit.
He put the letter in the envelope, tucking the flap into the envelope instead of
sealing it, and slid it in the side pocket of his bag. He called the concierge and told him he needed a mail pick-up in next half hour, and then he decided he would take a shower.
Might as well die clean.
The hot jets relaxed him as they hit his skin. He slowly shampooed his hair and
felt the bubbles run down his body. He wondered what his family would think if they could be here and know of his decision. Would his father understand if he told him how he felt? Hudson was sure he would, because any SR44 male who truly loved his mate would definitely get it. What about his brother? If Stretch could be here right now, would he be mated? Would he understand? Hudson didn’t know. He felt guilt wash through him as he thought of his mother. A female could never fully understand how an SR44 male felt about her. She couldn’t fully comprehend that once an SR44 male fell in love, the female was also his biggest Achilles. An SR44 male strived to do nothing but make his mate happy, and to love her and cherish her. He could imagine his mother’s tears at his decision to end his life, and a bit of guilt sliced through him.
Hudson had studied relationships between humans, and as far as he was
concerned, human men knew absolutely nothing about loving their mates. He
remembered the first time he had read of a domestic violence case. The shock and awe that went through him was something like a nuclear bomb exploding in his gut. How could a male hit a female? It was something beyond his comprehension. What he did understand was the anger that coursed through him when he thought about it, and the desire to give the guy a taste of his own medicine, and then lodge his balls in his throat.
He turned his attention back to the hot jets that needled his skin, but in a good way. This he would miss. Minor correction: if he could feel anything wherever he was going.
After twenty minutes, he stepped from the shower and dried off, combing his
shoulder-length hair to tangle free and clasped it in the worn leather band. He found a new pair of boxers and made himself a cup of coffee, and then he sat down to check the firing mechanisms on his gun again.
Now that he was mere minutes away from ending his life, he had to admit he was
apprehensive. He hoped for darkness, but what if there was really a Hell? He supposed he should have taken the opportunity to discuss the question in depth with Rayner, his fellow Warrior. The guy had the ability to see people who were trapped in between life and death, and Hudson guessed that he probably had a good idea, or maybe even a solid, cut-and-dry answer to the question. What if some of the religions were correct and he ended up in an eternity of fire and pain?
He laughed out loud at that one. Frankly, it wouldn’t be much different than his
life now. Yes, he was in a living hell.
The arc of life was a funny thing, but not funny in the ha-ha sense for most
people. For him, it was funny in a ha-ha-how-many-times-can-I-bend-you-over-a barrel-and-screw-you way.
His trajectory had been pretty miserable, and he often tried to look for the positive in his life instead of focusing on the negative, which was difficult since he had been dealt a hand of crap.
Finding positives was difficult for him.
As he got ready to bite the big one, he had regrets as well, such as wishing he told his parents he “held them in his heart,” as they said in his native tongue. He also wished he had tried to find out why his brother had become so awful. The "what the hell is wrong with you?" talks hadn't worked out to well, and now Stretch was dead and Hudson would never know what troubled him, or if he could have possible helped him.
He thought of the Peacekeeper who had saved him, and how he never said thank
you. If he could see the male today, he would thank him, emphasizing the fact his life changed for the better after the Peacekeeper’s decision to send him to the military.
And Iris. Damn, he tried to hate her for the mess she created within him, but he
couldn't simply because it was his own doing. She was human, and he was an SR44 male who had gone and fallen in love faster than a chicken being chased by Colonel Sanders.
Instead of a life of ups and downs, zigs and zags, his was more of a trajectory
downward into the cesspool that had become his day-to-day life.
As he put his Glock back together, he thought of the woman at the bar, the one
who had watched him having sex last night. Why had she made such an impression on him? He had spoken less than two dozen words to her, yet, he was taken by her beauty, and he even found her gusto at chowing down the steak at the bar attractive. But it was her stare that made his spine shiver. It was a stare that conveyed the fact that she knew what he was going through. The pain and the fight. It had unnerved him deeply.
He shook his head, getting back to Glock. He was finishing just as there was a
knock on the door. He checked his watch. A half-hour on the dot. He went to the closet to get the hotel robe. His breathing was shallow, but he was determined. He inhaled deeply, closed his eyes, and knew that in just a short period of time his life would end, as would the pain that lanced through his soul.
He took stock of his body. He had worked out yesterday. He had engaged in sex.
But bolting through him like a rocket in the night was the pain, his own special demon. It never ended; it never was fully subdued.
He took one more breath before opening the door. He had asked the concierge to
come to his room, and he would give him his suicide note to Noah for mailing. And that would be it. There wouldn’t be any turning back once the note left his hands.
His resolved set, he opened the door. Black eyes met his own, and a small part of Hudson’s brain knew it wasn’t a guy from the concierge desk, but a Colonist. His surprise was so great, that he didn’t see the Taser gun shoot him in the chest until it was too late.
Chapter 10
Beverly walked down the path from the restaurant to her room. She had just
finished eating breakfast and working out and was going to shower, get packed, and hit the road.
She wished she felt a little excitement about her upcoming trip, but she really
didn’t. The thought of figuring out the rest of her life seemed a little daunting, and then there was that little voice in the back of her head that kept telling her that one pill wouldn’t hurt. Taking a deep breath, she worked to silence it, thankful that there were no pain pills to be found, and she had no idea how to track down a drug dealer who
specialized in Percocet.
As she turned the corner, she was nearly knocked over by a woman with flaming
red hair dressed in jean shorts and a black tank top. Both began to apologize to each other, but then Beverly noticed the sheer panic in the woman’s face.
“Is there something I can help you with?” Beverly asked. “Are you in trouble?”
Tears glistened in the woman’s dark brown eyes. “I need a doctor. My…my friend
is hurt.”
Beverly’s world slowed and faded around her as she stared into the woman’s
panicked eyes. The noises of life at the resort disappeared. She couldn’t hear the little finches in the trees, the buzz of the bees as they pollinated the desert flowers, or the tractor mower that was eating grass. All she could see was the scared, pleading eyes of the redheaded woman before her.
She had a feeling she was on precipice of something huge. Something life
changing.
Before she knew it, she said, “I’m a doctor.”
As she heard the words leave her lips, her reality snapped back into place. The
sounds rushed into her ears. She couldn’t believe she had just told such an epic lie. She wasn’t a doctor! She was an ex-doctor and a barely rehabbed junkie! Just as she was about to correct herself, the woman grabbed her hand and broke out into a run. “C’mon!”
she said.
Beverly was shocked when they stopped at the door to the room where she had
watched that man have sex last night. Visions of him had kept her up almost all night, and they danced in front of her again.
The redhead knocked lightly on the door.
A huge man with blond hair and dark eyes answered, his big body blocking
whatever was inside. He wore a red silk t-shirt, loose jeans and combat boots. He looked at the redhead, then at Beverly.
“She said she’s a doctor,” the redhead said quietly, her words threaded with stress.
Beverly met the man’s dark eyes as he scrutinized her. He nodded once and
looked down at the redhead. “I want you to come inside, Faith. I don’t want you waiting out there, but listen to me: You cannot, I repeat, you cannot panic. Understand?”
The redhead nodded slowly, and the blond man stepped back, revealing the man
she had seen last night tied to a chair, unconscious and a bloody mess.
The redhead gasped and put her hands over her mouth as if she were trying to
stifle a scream. For a second, Beverly felt like doing the same, but then she went into what she called “doctor mode.” She felt confident, steady, and ready to take on what was in the room, like seeing a sight like this was something that happened to her every day.
Stepping in, she went to the man in the chair, and studied the wounds. Most were
superficial, as if they were inflicted to cause pain. Some were deeper and required stitches. The thing that concerned her was the amount of blood he had lost.
“We should call 911,” Beverly said, meeting the dark eyes of the big blond.
He shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest. “Can’t do it. This needs to stay on the down-low. Where’s your room? I’ll get your doctor bag.”
“I don’t have a doctor bag,” she said, turning back to the man in the chair. It
looked like he had taken a couple of hits to the face as well.
“Are you fucking kidding me?”
She felt a little angry that he would speak to her that way. “No, I’m not fucking kidding you,” she said through clenched teeth. “I’m here…on vacation. I don’t have one.”
The man pulled a phone out of his pocket, apparently unfazed by her anger. His eyes never left her. Ignoring him, she turned back to the man in the chair and then headed to the bathroom and wetted down a towel. She could at least clean the guy up.
As she dabbed at the man’s face, she listened to the big blond on the phone.
“Yeah, I found him. Thank God for the GPS in his phone. He’s wrecked…just wrecked.”
Silence as he listened to the other end. “He needs medical attention, Noah. And this was done by a Colonist. Black ash is everywhere.”
What's a Colonist? she wondered as she discreetly checked the room for the black ash the man was talking about, but didn’t see anything.
“Cohen’s not there? The United Kingdom? Aw, shit, Noah. I forgot about that.”
More silence as he started pacing. “I found a doctor. Female. She doesn’t have a needle and thread though, and that’s what he needs.” He stopped pacing and looked at the redhead. “We need to get out of here, stat, Noah. And I don’t think Hudson has time to wait for Cohen.” His eyes moved to Beverly. “I’ll do what I need to do, man. See you soon.”
He snapped the phone shut, his eyes never leaving Beverly. “What’s your name?”
“Beverly.”
He nodded once. “I’m Rayner, and that’s Faith,” he said, motioning over to the
redhead. “Here’s the skinny, Beverly. We need to get out of here. The guy who did this to him is bad news, and I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if he came back. If he does, it’s going to get uglier than it already is.”
She didn’t say anything, just watched him intently.
“So here’s the deal. You need to come with us. You can do it the easy way, which
means you quietly walk out of here with us, or you do it the hard way, which mean I carry you. You pick. Either way, you won’t be hurt in any way, shape, or form. We just need you to fix him up back at our…house.”
Beverly realized she was about to be kidnapped and thought about her situation.
She had no purpose, she had nowhere to be, no one to answer to, and no one who cared if she were dead or alive. She had burned too many bridges and was literally afloat on her own.
She eyed both him and the redhead. What was her name? Faith. Faith looked
terrified, but calm, her eyes pleading with Beverly to say yes. The man, Rayner, looked at her with determination to get the job done. She realized that right at this second, she did have a purpose. She could help this man, who was badly beaten and cut up, but she didn’t like the fact that she was being told what to do.
“You can’t make me stitch him up, Rayner,” she said, meeting his eyes.
Rayner was about to say something, but then Faith put her hand on his arm,
silencing him. “Please, Beverly,” she begged. “Please come with us and help him. We promise you that you won’t be hurt. I promise.”
Beverly studied Faith. Her plea was so honest and earnest. Beverly knew she
would go with them and help this big, beautiful man, who needed her to stitch him up and care for him.
She turned again to the man in the chair. “What’s his name?” she asked quietly.
“Hudson.”
She nodded slowly. “You haven’t given me much of a choice, Rayner.”
“I know, and I’m sorry about that, but he needs help, and you’re it. We can’t stay here much longer.”
“Why can’t he go to the hospital?” she asked, dabbing at Hudson’s lip. “And you
should at least call the police to report the crime.”
“It’s complicated,” Rayner said, “but trust me, its best for him to just come home and leave the police out of it.”
Beverly had no idea what these two people, who seemed terribly normal, could be
involved in that they couldn’t take their friend to the hospital. Drugs? Was this some type of gang violence?
She certainly didn’t want any part of that, and her gut was telling her that either drugs or gangs weren’t the answer. Working in the hospital had given her an up-close view of the perpetrators and victims of drugs and gangs, and these people simply didn’t fit the mold.
And Hudson needed her.
And she needed him.
She needed to care for someone, to have a purpose, to go back to being a doctor,
even if it was for just a little while, and Rayner had offered her that part of her life back by presenting her with Hudson.
She met Rayner’s dark gaze. He looked worried, but his jaw was set in resolve to
get the job done. “Okay,” she said, “on one condition.”
Rayner narrowed his eyes at her. “And what would that be, doc?”
Beverly studied him and Faith. “You both promise me that I’m not stepping into
anything illegal by going with you and taking care of him.”
Rayner let out a long sigh of relief. “Okay,” he said with a small smile. He put one hand over his heart and bowed his head to her. “Beverly, I give my word to you that there is nothing illegal going on here. I swear on the blood running in my veins that you will not be harmed, and that once Hudson is stitched up, you will be free to go and return to your life. This is my solemn oath to you.”