by Lynne, Donya
The nurse chose that moment to come in with the scrubs. She stopped abruptly when she saw Micah standing in his underwear. Without missing a beat, Micah turned, grabbed the green scrubs from her hands, and pulled on the pants, dismissing the nurse with a look. She scuttled out, and Micah turned back toward him as he cinched the drawstring around his waist.
"How do I look?" he said, and then pulled the shirt over his head.
"Like a saint."
Micah grinned and wiped his face. "Don't blow smoke up my ass."
Malek gazed with longing at his friend. Within hours or even minutes—who really knew how much longer he had?—he would never see Micah again. They would never again fight alongside one another, draw blood together, or catch each other's backs. The end was here.
The emotional silence in the room weighed on them both, but true to form, Micah was the one to break it. "Go." He nodded toward the bed. "Be with her. I'll keep the others out for a while."
"Others?" Were the other members of the team waiting to see him?
"Yes. The whole team. They want to see you." He cleared his throat. "Pay their respects."
Of course. And he owed it to them to allow them in. After all they'd been through with one another, he couldn't depart without saying his own good-byes to them, too. "Okay, yeah. That'll be good. But, yeah, just give me a while first. I need…time." Time. Something he didn't have much more of.
Micah nodded, and then turned and left him with his beloved.
He carefully climbed into the bed with her and pulled her against him. "Piccolina? I'm here. I won't leave you." He brushed her damp hair off her chilled forehead. She was no longer feverish. Not a good sign. Her body was giving up the fight.
She moaned weakly and turned into him, but she was so feeble he had to help her even with that. "Malek?" Her breathy voice was almost inaudible.
"Sshh, piccolina. I've got you now. I'll take care of you." He bit back tears, determined to stay strong for her, to live in the moment until the very end. "I'll never leave you again."
Never. And he meant it. Because as soon as she passed, he would follow her. To join her even in death and live for eternity with her in the afterlife.
CHAPTER 28
Brak took a nervous breath and pulled open the door to the AKM facility where Trace worked, and where he would find Trace's closest friend, Micah. He had seen as much during his brief encounter with him in that dungeon cell. Which still didn't make sense. Why was Trace being held prisoner?
"Can I help you?" the girl behind the desk said.
He looked down at Cynthia, and she nodded for him to go ahead.
Why was this so hard now that he was here? He should have been jumping for joy, eager to finally be free and about to be reunited with Trace and his father. But so much time had passed. The world was a strange, foreign place. And he didn't know what to expect once he was face-to-face with his brother. What if Trace had learned to live without him? What if he didn't need him? What if he wouldn't be happy to see him? What if…?
Shit, but this was silly. Why wouldn't Trace be happy to see him? Brak was being irrational, letting his insecurity get the better of him.
"Sir?" The girl behind the desk cocked her head and gave him a quizzical look, as if she recognized him from someplace.
Resolved to just get it out there, Brak took a deep breath and said, "I'm here to see my brother."
The girl's confused expression deepened. "Who's your brother?"
"Traceon Benyon."
She shot back and stood in a blink. "Oh my God." She covered her mouth with one hand. "That's why…you're his…I didn't…he never…"
"I know he's being held in a cell," Brak said, taking an eager step forward. "Is he here? Where is he? Why is he being held prisoner? Did he do something wrong? Is he in trouble?" Now that he'd pulled the seal off the dam, he couldn't stop his questions from flying.
The girl stammered unintelligibly and pressed a button on her phone.
"Yes?" A male's voice came through the speaker.
"Micah, I need you up front, please," she said.
"What is it? We've got an emergency back here."
This was Micah. Trace's friend. Brak leaned over and looked down at the phone. "Is that Micah Black?"
"Yes—" The girl began to speak, only to snap her mouth closed as Micah replied.
"Who the hell wants to know?" The voice on the phone held an edge of aggression.
"You're Trace's friend?" Brak craned toward the phone as if Micah would sprout from it.
Silence.
"Micah? Micah! Are you the Micah who's friends with Traceon Benyon?" Brak was nearly frantic.
"What the fuck? I'm on my way up."
There was a click followed by silence, and the girl behind the desk finally cracked a small smile, her eyes wide with wonder. She took a tentative step forward. "Are you…? You're his twin?" She stared up and down at his hair.
Brak frowned in dismay. "Yes. He's my twin. Why?"
Her smile widened and she blinked rapidly several times. "You're just so…different. But the same. I just…I can't believe he has a brother."
Cynthia shifted uncomfortably beside him as the door flew open and a dark-haired male wearing surgical scrubs burst through.
"Who the hell…?" Micah stopped dead and his dark navy eyes narrowed under thick, black eyebrows that creased into a frown as he looked Brak up and down.
"You're Trace's friend." Brak recognized him from the images he had seen inside Trace's mind.
"And you're…oh my God. How is this possible?" Micah jacked his hands up on his hips and looked away. He appeared frustrated. "Well goddamn. I can't believe this. But it makes sense."
What was Micah going on about? "Is he okay? He's in prison. Why?"
Micah turned back and held up his hands. "He's fine. He's okay."
"Where—?"
Micah cut him off. "I know you've got questions. I can hear them flying at me from your thoughts. But we've got an emergency in back, and I need you to give me some time. Come with me and I'll set you up in my office, and as soon as I can, I'll tell you everything. As long as you do the same for me." He fixed him with a hard stare. "I have a lot of questions of my own about your brother."
Cynthia took his hand, and he glanced down. She smiled up at him with a nod, as if to encourage him that they were doing the right thing.
He looked back at Micah. "Of course."
Micah ushered them through the doors into a long hallway and led them to an office. "You can stay in here for now, and as soon as I can, I'll be back."
"Thank you," Cynthia said, tugging him toward the couch against one wall.
Brak hated waiting, but what choice did he have? "Thank you."
Micah stalled at the door. "I'll get back as soon as I can. I'm so sorry about this."
With a shake of his head, Brak held up one hand. "It's okay. I understand." They had shown up unannounced. Maybe he should have had Cynthia call first.
Micah turned and hurried away, leaving them alone.
"Are you okay?" She stroked his forearm with her fingertips.
He lifted his nose and sniffed the air. Something was wrong. "I'm fine." He pulled away and poked his head out the door, inhaled again.
"Brak?"
He frowned and tilted his head. "Oh no."
"What? What is it?" Cynthia stepped behind him.
Brak pulled back into the room and closed the door. He looked down at her, his expression grave. "Someone's about to die here."
* * *
Malek knew Gina only had minutes left. She was fading rapidly, but he had hoped to have longer with her. This was too soon.
He trailed his fingertips down the side of her ash-colored face and across the seam of her bluish lips. "You're so beautiful," he whispered. A lone tear trailed from his eye, but he didn't bother to wipe it away. "The moment I laid eyes on you, I thought you were the most beautiful female I'd ever seen. You were so perfect, so full of fire." He grinne
d and brushed his thumb across her eyebrow. "I'd never met anyone like you. An assassin, and a beautiful one at that." He bent down and kissed her eyelid. "I will always love you, Gina. Always and forever."
A soft knock came at the door, and a moment later Micah peered inside. Malek could see the crowd of bodies behind him. Even Lakota was there, but he didn't care. Not anymore. A strange sense of peace had fallen over him, as if every ounce of energy was preserved to will Gina to cling to life as long as she could before the inevitable end.
"Can we come in?" Micah said.
Malek waved his hand and nodded. "Yes. It's time. It won't be much longer now." How he could be so calm, with his mate on the brink of taking her last breath, was nothing short of a miracle, but he had walked through hellfire and skirted the edge of psychosis to find his way to Gina. Maybe he had already paid his dues and this last gasp of lucidity was God's way of giving him a reprieve.
Micah held the door open, and everyone on his team filed in, including Io, who had shirked the final day or two of his calling to be here, and Arion, who technically was no longer a member of the team. Lakota stood to the side, more or less an honorary team member, as did Gina's friend, Trevor, who choked back a sob.
"I'll get them back for this," Trevor said as he stepped up to Gina's side of the bed. "For both of you." He reached across and clasped Malek's hand. "I promise. I will make them pay. I will hunt those bastards down and avenge you both."
Malek didn't tell him not to. He knew it wouldn't do any good. "Thank you." He shook Trevor's hand solemnly. "And thank you for bringing her to me. She told me it was you who convinced her to give me a chance."
Trevor cleared his throat and bowed his head, jaw clenched. "I'm sorry things didn't turn out—"
Malek held up his hand. "Don't be sorry. I had two beautiful days with her because of you. I was dead before you brought her back, and at least I was able to live for forty-eight hours with her in my arms. I wouldn't trade that for anything. Every second was worth it to have this time with her." He caressed Gina's chilled face.
Sev and Ari took Trevor's place as he stepped back, head bowed. An unspoken promise passed among the three of them. Ari wouldn't say it out loud, but Malek read in his eyes that he would come out of retirement to join Trevor in avenging him. The firm resolve in his intense, tawny gaze said as much, and Sev seemed more than down with that plan.
Malek bowed his head to them, they clasped hands, and without a word, they stepped back.
Io came next and placed his fist over his heart. "For you and your mate, I'll see that you're avenged. I swear it."
Even Tristan had been allowed off house arrest to come and pay his last respects. Tears sparkled in his blue eyes as he bumped fists with Malek. "I can't believe it's going to end like this," he said.
Other than Micah, Tristan was the one he had known the longest. The three of them had been there at the beginning. They were the first to join the king's new guard when he created All the King's Men. Now the trio would become a duo as Malek stepped into the afterlife with Gina.
"Everything has to end," Malek said, ready to die.
"Not like this." Tristan shook his head and moved aside.
Lakota hung back, even as Micah gave him a nudge.
"Kota, come here. You're part of this team now, too." Malek met Lakota's gaze and nodded.
With hesitant, difficult steps, Lakota approached the side of the bed, bowed his head, and then broke down as he fell to his knees. "God, I'm so sorry," he said as he grabbed Gina's hand. "I'm so sorry. I forgive you. I forgive you for what you did to me…to Severin." He struggled to speak as his shoulders slumped. "You have to know that. Both of you." Lakota looked up and met Malek's gaze.
Lakota's reaction was unexpected, and Malek sensed there was more to Lakota than he first imagined. Whatever had happened in his past, it'd had a profound effect on him. Or maybe learning about Gina's past had awakened painful memories of his own history. From what Malek had heard, Lakota had been a bastard in another life, and now he sought forgiveness for his sins, which included his actions toward Gina.
The others coughed, cleared their throats, looked away, or wiped their hands down their faces, all of them shattered by Lakota's outpouring, as well as by the somber mood in the room.
Malek glanced at Micah. "Trace?"
Micah shook his head. "I tried, but I couldn't secure his release."
Damn.
"Well, you make sure to tell him—" Malek cut off as Gina tensed and shuddered, and his heart stopped.
"Gina?" He sat up and pulled her against him. She didn't move, didn't make a sound. "Gina? Piccolina?" He placed his fingers on her neck, at the place where her pulse should be. Nothing. He felt nothing.
No. Not yet. It's not time. It's too soon. He still had things to say to her. He needed to tell her that he loved her one more time. Her lifeless body draped in his arms. No breath, no heartbeat, nothing. He pressed his lips against her pulse point. If life still clung to her—even a little—he would surely feel it through his lips.
Nothing. She was gone.
He inhaled, held his breath, and tears broke in his eyes. And then the air ripped with agony as he roared to the heavens. "NOOOO!"
Gina was gone. His life was over.
He turned pained, urgent eyes toward Micah. His heart was already breaking apart, fracturing, splintering his insides, and spreading like black poison from his chest.
"Micah!" He needed to go. To meet his end. Now. Now! Before it was too late and he lost his sense of reality and sanity. Before he turned mutant from the intense anguish.
Micah rushed forward and took his hand. "I'm here. Let's go, brother. I've got you."
Malek turned toward Gina one last time. "I'll be with you soon. Wait for me, piccolina." He bent, kissed her cold lips, lingered for a heartbeat, and then allowed Micah to drag him away.
Pain broke through his limbs, and his chest erupted with sharp stabs as if blunt pickaxes pounded him from the inside out. The room swam as Micah dragged him away and rushed him down the hall toward the weapons center.
"Hurry," he said. "I'm…oh God…I'm losing it."
From somewhere that sounded far away, he heard Micah curse through ragged sobs. "I'll get them back. I swear to God I'll kill those motherfuckers with my own hands. Put my own fucking blade to their throats. See how they like that. Motherfuckers."
Malek grinned as his mind split in two.
Welcome back, he said to The Voice as its presence reignited.
Some welcome.
It'll be over soon.
Thank God for that.
CHAPTER 29
Brak couldn't sit still and paced in Micah's office. Someone needed him, and he didn't require the shattered cry of a male obviously in the throes of loss to tell him that.
"I have to go." He threw the door open and started down the hall in the direction where death hung like fog.
"Brak! What are you doing?" Cynthia hurried to catch up as he sniffed the air and turned down another hall.
He was a bloodhound on a mission to seek death's imprint and obliterate it. "Someone needs me. Now. Before it's too late." He could help. He had been born to help. This was what his power was meant to be used for. This was his true purpose.
He pushed through a set of double doors into what had to be a medical unit.
"Wait! You can't go back there!" The nurse tried to stop him, but he pushed past her. His only goal was to find the person who needed him now.
"I can help," he said flatly over his shoulder as he forged onward. He sniffed, looked in each room, and sought the Grim Reaper as it reached to claim another soul.
This one. He stopped in front of a brown door and gently pushed it open.
In his periphery, he saw several males in a state of mourning, but his focus was on the female lying lifeless in the bed.
One of the males stepped toward him. "Who are you?" His hair was short and dark, and Brak sensed he was a close friend of the deceased.
From behind, Cynthia followed and urged the clean-cut male back. "He means no harm."
Murmurs fell on his ears, but Brak was already in the zone. The energy his mother had gifted him spun into a vortex. It coursed through and around him, preparing to work in the way Mother had intended.
Taking his place beside the bed, he closed his eyes and fell into a trance. He saw the female's body in his mind's eye as a network of energy and light. Only hers was fading as her spirit departed for the other world. But there was enough of her essence left to work with, and he could save her.
Slowing his breath, he hovered his hands over her body and fed life back into her as he glided them up to her head and back down, past her chest, over both arms, her torso, her hips, and down both legs to her feet.
Her womb was barren, and she had suffered a broken knee recently, which had partially healed. Both were easy fixes, but her primary infliction was that she had been poisoned. So much poison was inside her. Almost too much for him to cleanse. Almost. But whoever had done this to her had failed. He would make sure of that. This female would not die today. Not on his watch.
After repairing the damage to her womb and knee in the blink of an eye, he suspended his right hand over her torso while he pushed the ethereal essence of his left hand into her chest and around her heart. As he drew the poison out through her belly button, he rhythmically pumped her heart, manually stimulating her circulation. Within seconds, he held the poison in his fist, focused his concentration, and turned it into harmless vapor. He would be ill when he finished, but it didn't matter. All that mattered was bringing this female back to life.
With the poison destroyed, he sent his right hand into her throat. With one touch of his index finger on her trachea, air surged into her body and lungs as if he was performing CPR. Which, in his own way, he was.
He pumped her heart and continued to force air in and out of her lungs, until—
The female's entire body jerked as she sucked in a blast of air, and then coughed violently as she gasped ragged draws of breath in and out of her lungs without assistance.