***
Daryl clutched the address in his hand. He pulled off the road as soon as he was out of the other man’s line of sight. He examined the writing with shaking hands.
He knew that Rick wasn’t your average law-abiding citizen. He knew, without a doubt, that he would have found some stash of drugs in the car if he had been allowed to search it. He couldn’t understand why he would be ordered to let the man go, but he had learned to stop asking questions. The thought of facing the police chief again wasn’t a pleasant one, and as certain as he was that Rick was up to no good, he couldn’t shake the desire to meet with him that night. It could be a trap. It was more than likely to be a trap, and he had no idea what sort of ties Rick may have with even less savory characters.
Still, there had been an undeniable fear in Rick’s eyes, a kind of desperation that made Daryl want to help him. He had no idea what he would be saving Rick from, but he resolved that Rick definitely needed some kind of saving.
He folded up the sheet of paper that had Rick’s address on it, stuffing it into his pocket and continuing on what he considered a pointless patrol. The police chief seemed particularly specific about who he was to bring in and who was allowed to run free.
Daryl didn’t want to think poorly of the chief. He certainly didn’t want to think poorly of the station as a whole, but he was rethinking whether he was cut out for this job. It seemed his strong moral compass had no place in this town. He supposed he couldn’t feel particularly high and mighty, considering the fact that he was planning to go to a known criminal’s home that evening. Still, something told him there was more to this story than Chief Franklin let on. There had to be something he was holding back about the police ties with this Jim Hawthorne guy. He couldn’t even be sure that Rick had any information about the informant, or the gang they were supposedly tied with. He was going out on a limb, and he knew it was dangerous. He almost wished he could allow himself to become complacent, like everyone else in this damn city.
Except Rick…
He narrowed his eyes, eyes flicking to the clock on his radio. It was growing close to the end of his shift, thankfully. He didn’t know how much longer he could circle the city with no real purpose. The two times he’d found actual trouble, he’d been ordered to leave it alone.
Some police officer he was turning out to be.
He drove in the direction of the police station, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel in impatience. He pulled the cruiser into the lot, then stepped out and went inside the department. He was quiet as he clocked out, not wanting to raise any suspicions. The chief was locked up in his office, as he always seemed to be, and there were very few officers lingering around the station. He didn’t acknowledge the others as he left.
He had a lead to follow, and he was determined to find out what was going on, whether the chief liked it or not. He drew the slip of paper out of his pocket, considering it for a long moment and trying to place the apartment complex. He hadn’t been in town long, but he had passed the rundown place several times on his patrol. He was sure he wouldn’t have much trouble finding it.
He walked the sidewalks with a sense of melancholy, hands stuffed in his pockets. Truth was, he had almost expected this job to be easy. He hadn’t expected the bumps in the road. He hadn’t expected the only friendly face in the entire city to be that of a criminal. He held his loyalties to the men in uniform, but he had to remind himself that Rick likely wasn’t as friendly as he made himself out to be.
He spotted Rick’s car in the parking lot, so he stepped up to the apartment complex. It didn’t take long to find Rick’s apartment, and he hesitated at the door for a long moment before rapping his knuckles against it. He lowered his hand to his gun, though he knew it would provide little protection if this was an actual trap. He could always transform into his dragon, if worse came to worst. He hadn’t transformed since he was a kid, hating the sensations, but it was always a backup plan.
Daryl was drawn from his thoughts as the door was pulled open, and a bruised and battered Rick offered him a big smile.
“You came,” Rick said, obviously relieved. He stepped back, gesturing for Daryl to step inside.
Daryl obliged, stepping into the shoddy apartment and examining the meager furnishings. There was fresh blood staining the single couch in the living area, and he realized with a start that it was Rick’s blood. He looked more closely at the other man in the dim light of the apartment.
“What the hell happened to you?” he demanded, guiding Rick back to the couch.
Rick exhaled a wheezing laugh, brushing his hair away from his face. “I never planned to get tied up in all of this, Daryl. Just so you know. I mean, I’ve done my share of petty crime. But since I’ve been tied up with Big Jim Hawthorne, I’ve had to do things I never would have considered otherwise.”
Rick sank into the couch cushions. Daryl hesitated before dropping onto the couch beside him.
“Who exactly is Jim Hawthorne?” Daryl asked.
Rick laughed bitterly. “Who is Jim Hawthorne? I guess I can’t expect you to know, especially considering…” Rick trailed off, and Daryl waited for him to continue. “Jim Hawthorne is the biggest crime lord in the city. Anything bad that happens around here can usually be tied back to him.”
Daryl struggled to keep his composure. Had Chief Franklin lied to him, or was Rick Lamaar the liar?
“Surely you’re mistaken. He can’t be the one actually running things,” Daryl said.
Rick considered him with a wry quirk of his lips. “He’s got an in with the police chief. Probably pays him off. I don’t know the details, all I know is that Jim and all of his affiliates are allowed to do as they please, no matter who gets hurt.”
Daryl pointed to the bruises on Rick’s throat. “Like that?” He reached out to ghost his fingertips against the marred skin.
Rick shivered, and nodded.
“I guess I should be surprised,” Daryl said. “But I had a feeling something was up, when I was told to let so many crimes take place without intervention. So, judging by the fact that you told me all of this, I get the feeling you want to put a stop to it?”
“For selfish reasons,” Rick said. “I want out. It doesn’t help that if this continues, this city could be destroyed,” Rick muttered, wringing his hands nervously. Daryl drew his lip between his teeth, nodding resolutely.
“All right, then. Somehow, some way, we’re going to put a stop to all of this. Whether the rest of the department agrees with it or not,” Daryl said with a grim smile. He took the same paper that Rick had scrawled his address on, flipping it over and jotting down a telephone number. “Dunno if you have a phone, but if you happen to get one, I want you to be able to contact me.”
Rick’s eyes widened slightly, and he accepted the paper with a smile. “I actually have a phone, but it hasn’t been in service for a while. I can get it turned back on, though. The number should be the same once it’s activated, so…” Rick trailed off, holding his hand out for Daryl’s phone.
Taking the hint, Daryl handed Rick his phone. Rick swiftly programmed his number into the contacts. He moved to hand the phone back to Daryl, and Daryl couldn’t help but notice how Rick’s hand lingered upon his own. He looked Rick in the eye, more than vaguely aware of the hints of lust in Rick’s eyes. In another world, perhaps he would have latched onto that attraction. In this world, however…
“I’m going to head home,” he said. “Work on getting that phone reactivated, and call me when you do. I’ll try to put together some sort of plan, but I can’t make any promises. I just want to thank you for telling me the truth, Rick.”
Rick drew his hand away from Daryl, and folded it with the other one in his lap. “It’s no problem. I just hope we can figure this out.”
Daryl considered him for a long moment. In another world…
“Me too. I’ll be in touch,” he said with an air of finality, rising from the couch and walking out the door. Though he
wasn’t entirely sure where to start, he knew there was very little he could accomplish that night. He made his way home with the weight of the world bearing heavily upon his shoulders.
***
Rick was swift to get his phone activated early the next day. The first text he received, much to his disappointment, was from Mickey. He could only wonder how they had gotten his number, how they had known he had just activated his phone. He tried not to overthink it, however, and read over the text with a vague sense of unease.
Apparently, he was to meet with Jim Hawthorne in his office to discuss his next drop-off. He could only hope he would be able to maintain his composure. Fear licked at his insides at the thought of another drop-off, but he tried to tell himself that getting roughed up was just a one-time fluke. But it was difficult to believe in this validity of that thought, considering the whole situation had been a series of events that nearly got him killed.
He rested his head against the steering wheel of his car and listened to the hustle and bustle of the city around him. He could scarcely believe that his world view had effectively been shattered in the matter of a day, but his emotions had always been a fickle thing. Of course, anyone would feel a measure of doubt in his situation.
He lifted his head from the steering wheel, then shifted the car into drive and made his way to the outskirts of the city. Big Jim’s home was a rather extravagant one, especially considering its surroundings. Rick could imagine his skull getting crushed by one of the numerous marble statues that decorated the place. It only seemed a matter of time at this point, but his meeting with Daryl the day previous had managed to instill the slightest of hope within him. If anyone could clean up this town, it was the tenacious new officer that still unknowingly gripped his heart.
He hesitated a moment, pulling off to the side of the road before pulling his cell phone back out of his pocket. He scrolled to the single name programmed in the contacts; he hadn’t felt Mickey deserved his own contact slot. He brought up the text screen, drawing his lip between his teeth as he typed out a simple greeting text. Realizing that the line was strictly business, he quickly typed out another text explaining that he had been called in. He added that he would check in with Daryl after the meeting, relaying what he had learned. Considering the text with the faintest of smiles, he hit the send button before slipping the phone back in his pocket.
He glanced up from the place he’d pulled over, spotting Big Jim’s mansion in the distance. He hummed nervously to himself as he went down the long gravel driveway. He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel as he went, and felt his phone buzz in his pocket. As much as he wanted to check for a reply, he knew he had more important things to tend to for the time being. He pulled into a spot at the front of the mansion, stepping out only to spot Mickey lingering near the front deck with a cigarette hanging from his mouth.
“Hey,” Rick called out, intent upon continuing, but the words died in his throat when he spotted the baseball bat propped up against the deck at Mickey’s side. Maybe he could just get back in the car and drive away.
Before he could further consider that thought, gunshots echoed through the air. He jerked away from the car, watching as bullets ricocheted off of the metal, shattered the windshield, and effectively flattened the tires.
“What the hell are you doing?” he cried out, trying to scramble away. He was fast, but unfortunately, bullets were much faster. One lodged in the back of his leg, sending him tumbling to the ground with an agonized scream. Mickey approached him, the baseball bat gripped in his hand. Another man he’d never seen before moved to trail after Mickey as he tucked his gun back into its holster.
“Go on, tell the boss I’ll take care of this,” Mickey called out. The other man hesitated, and Rick looked from Mickey to the stranger with fear in his gaze. The other man simply nodded, and Mickey grinned like a shark as he crossed the final distance to Rick’s immobilized body.
“Hurts, don’t it? Imagine how hurt the boss was, when we told him you’d been hanging around with some pretty boy cop,” Mickey said.
Rick’s heart thumped erratically in his chest. “How did you…?” he trailed off, watching as the crime lord’s right hand man swung the bat experimentally.
“Please, kid. We got eyes all across this city,” Mickey muttered. He hesitated for a long moment, abruptly shifting his stance and slamming the baseball bat down against Rick’s knees.
Pain gripped him, fiery hot, and Rick cried out. He needed to escape, but it was impossible to scramble away without the use of his legs.
“Strike one was trying to rob the boss,” Mickey announced, allowing Rick to put a bit of distance between them. He smirked, lunging forward and bringing the bat down against Rick’s ribs. “Strike two was nearly getting busted by the cops,” Mickey continued as Rick fell limp to the ground. The pain in his ribs was nearly unbearable, and he could feel that they had likely broken in several places. Knowing that he wouldn’t escape this situation alive, he resigned himself to his inevitable death. Forget his golden brick road, forget the future he’d envisioned with a husband someday.
Mickey continued, “Strike three was betraying the boss. Would you look at that? Seems like you struck out.” Mickey slammed the bat against the front of Rick’s face.
Rick felt his nose break on impact, teeth shattering from the blow as well. Blood spilled from his lips and his breathing become so shallow he could scarcely tell if he was drawing breath or not. Had his skull been crushed? His brains scrambled? It seemed the most likely case. He kept his eyes shut, and could hear Mickey drop to his knees beside him.
“You take care of it, Mick?” a voice called out.
Cool air hit Rick’s chest as his shirt was torn open. It was all he could do not to scream as he felt a knife pierce his skin, slicing some pattern that was unknown to him.
“Of course. We’ll drop off the body, then report back to the boss,” Mickey called back.
With a start, Rick realized that Mickey thought he was already dead. Not a far cry from reality, but Rick wasn’t eager to tell him otherwise. He kept his breathing shallow, and he kept quiet even though his body screamed in pain as he was scooped up off the ground.
His mind felt foggy, and he knew it was no small wonder that he had managed to retain consciousness. The sensation of falling overcame him for the slightest of moments, before he slapped against something slightly scratchy.
“Aw, hell, Mickey. You’re getting my ride all bloodied up,” a voice said.
Mickey simply snickered, and Rick heard the sound of a trunk slamming. When he was certain it was safe, he managed to blink one of his eyes open, only to be greeted by darkness. He was in the trunk of someone’s car, and if his suspicions were correct, they’d likely be lobbing him off the side of a bridge. He had survived this far, but he knew he wouldn’t survive that impact.
A tear streamed down his cheek, both from the pain and the reality of his situation. He fished his phone out of his pocket, reading the text that had been sent. He smiled as he thought of the handsome police officer, and he wanted that text to be the last thing he saw.
He shoved his phone back in his pocket as the car came to a stop, and he squeezed his eyes shut. He felt himself being lifted once more, and his attackers murmured to themselves as they carried him.
“Too bad we won’t be able to see pretty boy’s face,” Mickey chuckled before unceremoniously dropping Rick.
Rick was unable to brace himself for impact, finding himself hitting the ground much quicker than he expected. Once again, extreme pain engulfed him. It was no drop off of a bridge however. He heard the familiar sound of someone knocking on a door, and listened as the two men darted away.
“Coming,” a voice called out from the other side of the door.
Rick blinked his eyes open carefully. The brightness of the sun nearly blinded him. He was in front of some house, a rather nice one all things considered. The voice he’d heard sounded vaguely familiar, but his brain was so scramb
led that he couldn’t quite place it.
He stared at the door he had been placed in front of, his heart clenching in anticipation. Then, the door opened, and there stood Mr. Wonderful. Daryl looked around for a moment before his eyes fell upon Rick’s battered body. He gasped before crouching at Rick’s side to feel for a pulse.
“Trying to get a feel while you still got a chance,” Rick managed weakly, smiling at the other man. Daryl’s eyes widened in shock, and he quickly gathered Rick into his arms before carrying the him inside.
“I’ll call an ambulance,” he said quickly, settling the bloodied man on the couch and drawing his phone out of his pocket.
“W-wait,” Rick managed, struggling to sit up. “What if they’re in on this whole thing, too?” He fell back against the couch with a groan of pain.
“Well what do you want me to do, Rick?” Daryl cried, an odd desperation in his tone.
“C-come on. You’re a cop. You gotta know some kind of first aid,” Rick said, meeting Daryl’s gaze. Daryl’s eyes were the softest he had ever seen them, and his heart gave a painful pang at the sight. “Come on. Please,” Rick said, reaching out for the phone in Daryl’s hand.
Daryl hesitated a moment before handing it over reluctantly. “I’ll grab my first aid kit. You’ve got a lot more damage than I know how to handle but…you could be right. Don’t worry, Rick. I’ll take care of you.” Daryl brushed Rick’s hair away from his face before slipping away. Once he was out of sight and he was certain he was safe, Rick allowed himself to fall blessedly unconscious.
***
Daryl cursed to himself as he sorted through the boxes stacked in his bedroom. He hadn’t had much time to unpack between moving here and starting his first shift at the police department. For all he knew, Rick could be bleeding out on his couch. For all he knew, he was helpless to save the other man. He could recognize broken bones from the visible dents in Rick’s ribcage, which had already been far too distinct. He’d have to pull some of the broken teeth, but that was only if he could sort out the rapidly bleeding cuts on the front of Rick’s stomach.
The Dragon’s Flight: Gay Paranormal Romance Page 21