It was Jericho who finally spoke, stepping forward to place his hands on Dante’s shoulders. Suri’s fingers tangled with Jericho’s, the three of them presenting a picture of unification. “About a block from here there’s an old factory. It’s been in the same hands for over a hundred years, but there hasn’t been any manufacturing going on there since the fifties, as far as we know. The owner is a member of some Indian tribe based down in Rhode Island.” Mattie inhaled sharply, and Jericho seemed to take it for skepticism. “As far as I know, the intel is good.”
“No, it’s got to be right,” Lars said quickly. “Owen is Narragansett. It would make sense.”
Mattie’s heart thumped against her ribs. “We should hurry.”
“Do you have a plan?” Dante asked, his expression giving nothing away.
Lars shrugged as he began to move toward the exit. “Get in, get Owen, get out, and don’t get killed.”
Jericho snorted. “Care to expand on that any?”
“No. I’m making this up as I go along.” Lars tugged Mattie toward the door, and though she’d been eager a moment ago, Dante’s and Jericho’s words had given her pause.
She looked from one man to the other. “Will you help us?”
“You can’t let them do this alone.” Suri’s tight expression didn’t quite agree with her calm rationalization. Mattie didn’t blame her one bit. Had someone suggested she send Lars and Owen on a dangerous errand for strangers, she’d have balked.
Dante met Jericho’s gaze over Suri’s head before looking at Lars. “We’ll meet you at the alley entrance to the building in thirty minutes. It’s down Adams, technically in Milton. If I were you, I’d call Malachi and have the two of them meet us there too. This isn’t going to be a walk in the park.”
Chapter Twenty-One
The sound of the crowd was deafening in the close space. Their voices ricocheted off the old bricks and rattled Owen’s bones. He didn’t focus on the faces or expressions of the people screaming for his blood. Instead, he let his gaze rest on the crappy construction of the cage crouched in the center of the cavernous room. It looked as if a toddler using a set of plastic tools had built it after drawing up plans with his crayons.
Owen was more apprehensive about trusting the platform inside to holding the combined weight of the fighters than the prowess of any potential opponents. He fidgeted on the rickety steps leading up to his corner of the haphazard structure, nonplussed by their squeakiness.
The minion named Phil picked up the tatty microphone, and his voice crackled over the speakers. “After three years away from the circuit, Bloodmoon is back!”
Owen didn’t flatter himself that the yells and catcalls were really for him. Between the liquor and the adrenaline, the crowd would’ve been equally welcoming to a forty-year-old guy with a paunch and a bald spot. Besides, he didn’t need their adoration. His ego was safe with Lars and Mattie. Every last person in the building could’ve booed Owen back to his holding cell, and he wouldn’t have cared. His lovers’ regard was the only thing that mattered.
His brother’s other cohort, Tony, approached. “Time to earn your keep.”
Tony grabbed Owen’s T-shirt and ripped it off. Owen wasn’t particularly fond of the shirt, but it had provided a certain amount of distance between Owen and his circumstances. With that distance gone, Tony was the first to take advantage.
Tony splayed his palms on Owen’s chest. “I think I’m disappointed it’s your girlfriend and not you I’ll be fucking tomorrow night.”
Owen clamped his jaw shut, refusing to rise to the bait. The subtle jingle of his cuffs was the only hint that he was affected by Tony’s words.
“Maybe I’ll just close my eyes and imagine it’s your tight ass I’m plowing into.” Tony’s fingers dipped dangerously low to Owen’s waistband.
Owen’s skin crawled at the contact. He’d never experienced such a visceral reaction to that sort of taunt before. It was new and terrifying to find himself vulnerable in situations such as this. On the other hand it was exhilarating to know he was committed body and soul to his lovers in a way that utterly changed the way he viewed the world.
“In you go.” Tony opened the cage and shoved Owen inside.
Owen inhaled deeply to find his center. “When I get out of here, Tony, you’d do well to run as far and as fast as you can. There will be no cage between us when I see you next time.”
Tony’s face paled several shades, his dark complexion going chalky as he processed Owen’s threat.
Phil got back on the microphone. “That’s right, folks, this is the main event! I’ll say it again, the main event. I hoped you placed your bets, because they close now!”
Owen rolled his neck, knowing what was coming. He could see a shadowy mass waiting to enter the door in the opposite corner of the cage. It wouldn’t be long now.
He formed an image in his mind of Mattie with her dark hair and blue-gray eyes, and Lars with his tousled hair and overt masculinity. Owen thought of the way they’d been that morning, the three of them in the bed together. Nothing but arms, legs tangled together, spiced by smiles and blended with the humor that always sustained them. Or the night before, when Mattie had come apart with Lars’s hot cock lodged in her tight ass and Owen’s seated deep in her pussy. He thought of how it felt to know beyond doubt that these two people walked in his soul.
Phil gave a gleeful shout when the other door opened. “It’s the Terminator!”
Owen couldn’t help it. He snorted at hearing the ridiculous moniker. What kind of idiot called himself by that kind of name?
A gargantuan man squeezed through the doorway. Owen gawped at the sheer size of him. He was well over six and a half feet tall and probably had more than a hundred and fifty pounds on Owen. He wore nothing but a dingy white wifebeater, black cargos, and giant-size biker boots. His face was all jowls and broad nose, and his hair had been shaved close to his scalp.
Owen sighed and reached up to secure his long hair into a single ponytail. If he were lucky, his ham-fisted opponent wouldn’t rip it out with one yank. The guy had gorilla arms and legs like tree trunks. Worse, there was a generous amount of intelligence gleaming in his beady black eyes. With a guy this size, Owen tended to hope he was as dumb as he was big. This time it didn’t seem like that was true at all.
A bell rang somewhere, the sound like gunfire in the echoing space. The Terminator lumbered forward with purpose. Owen balanced on the balls of his feet, knowing it was all over if the Terminator got his arms around his much leaner frame.
The knife strapped to Owen’s calf burned. It would have been so simple to wrap his hand around the hilt and end this before it even began. Still, there was a certain lack of sportsmanship in such a move, and Owen’s opponent hadn’t attempted to cheat…yet.
Owen waited until the Terminator was almost upon him before leaping out of the way. The man swiped with one huge fist. Owen ducked the blow and followed up with two left punches to the man’s ribs. It was like hitting a brick wall. Bringing this bastard down was going to take some doing.
The Terminator swung around much faster than a man his size should’ve been able to. One huge hand connected with Owen’s shoulder, causing instant numbness coupled with a stumble that nearly had Owen on the ground.
He steadied on his feet and gauged the distance from the ground to the chain link draped over the top of the cage. His brain was working at a furious pace, soaked in adrenaline and anger that had been simmering since he’d heard what Hyde had planned for Mattie.
Owen’s opponent changed direction and charged. Swapping tactics, Owen ran right at him. He could see the surprise register on the man’s broad face just before Owen leaped in the air and used the Terminator for a step. Owen latched on to the fence overhead and wrapped his legs around his opponent’s meaty neck.
The crowd surged against the exterior of the cage, screaming for blood. Owen could have ended it right there. It was within his abilities to break the man’s neck and
be done. He didn’t want to take that step. It wasn’t in him. Maybe once, but not now, not anymore.
The Terminator wrapped his iron fingers around Owen’s calves and dug in. The bruises were going to be colossal, but Owen tried like hell to keep squeezing. He used his abs to lift his body toward the ceiling of the cage. The idea was to increase the pressure, but the cage itself started to give way. The Terminator’s grip on Owen intensified. He lurched, throwing his body weight against Owen’s hold.
Owen braced for impact as his hands were ripped from the links, and he was thrown to the floor. He managed to tuck and roll at the last minute, his already numb right shoulder taking most of the force. There was no time to lose. His instincts blared a warning as the big man advanced, but Owen couldn’t move fast enough. Still on his back, he threw himself sideways to avoid an anvil-like knee aimed at his midsection. His luck didn’t last, though, and the Terminator flopped down onto Owen like a spider trapping a fly.
Owen’s joints creaked in protest when the big man grabbed his wrists and wrenched them over his head before pinning him to the floor. The blood rushing in Owen’s ears nearly drowned out the sounds of the crowd that had turned on him and was now calling for his annihilation. The Terminator held Owen’s wrists in one meaty paw and drew a knife. He held the blade to Owen’s throat.
Time seemed to slow, but it wasn’t Owen’s life that flashed before his eyes. In that moment he had only one regret: he’d never told Mattie and Lars that he loved them. It wasn’t acceptable. Mattie had all but admitted her feelings, and while he hadn’t shut her down, he’d been too much of a coward to say what was in his heart. And Lars… There were so many things they had never said. Owen didn’t want to die like that.
I don’t want to die.
Resolve sent renewed vigor through his body. Owen gathered his legs and planted the soles of his boots square on the floor. Bucking upward, he jerked his hips until he felt the Terminator’s hold falter.
Owen ripped his hands free and used them to push his opponent’s head back. It shifted the man’s considerable bulk to the perfect angle. Owen freed his left leg and brought it up, locking it around the Terminator’s neck and managing a textbook reversal that rolled the bigger man onto his back and placed Owen on top.
Without thought, Owen reached into his boot and unsheathed his blade. He pressed the razor-sharp edge to the big man’s throat. Blood welled to the surface. The crowd went wild, urging him to finish it. Owen’s hand was steady. He pressed harder, gazing into the beady black eyes and seeing fear replace the earlier bravado.
This isn’t me.
He thought of Mattie’s almost childlike innocence. He never would’ve wanted her to look at him as if he were some kind of monster, a killer who ended life for no purpose other than the whim of a crowd.
Abruptly Owen adjusted his hold. He flipped the knife in his hand, changing his grip before bashing the would-be Terminator in the temple and knocking him out. Leaping to his feet, Owen faced down the wrath of the crowd with defiant eyes.
MATTIE STIFLED A gasp from her place on the catwalk nearly thirty feet in the air above the action. Beside her, Lars grabbed her hand and held on tight. She clung to him, burying her face against his warm chest to shut out the sight below. Their Owen was shut in a cage like an animal on display for a sick crowd of sadistic assholes begging for his death because he’d shown mercy. Her heart was full to bursting with everything she felt for her man—for both of her men.
Lars stroked her hair and pressed an affectionate kiss to her cheek. “I’ll get him out of there, Mattie. I promise.”
“Be careful,” she whispered. “If anything happened to either of you”—she thought of all the things that still needed to be said—“I can’t go back to living life without the two of you in it. Not now.”
He cupped her face in both hands and gazed into her eyes. “I love you, Mattie. I always have. If anything happens… Well, I just wanted you to know without a doubt.”
Tears stung her eyes. So much pain and doubt for those three little words, and it was worth every moment to experience the sheer elation she felt right now. If Jason and his idiot plans screwed that up for them, so help her— Well, hell had no fury like a woman scorned.
Demon approached dressed all in black. With his dark hair half hiding his face, he looked like the grim reaper minus the scythe. “Malachi and the others are in position. All we need is a distraction.”
“Distraction?” Mattie wondered what they could possibly do to focus the mob’s attention away from the main event.
Lars’s expression was just a tad too smug. “I’ve got this.”
“Then we’re ready when you are.” Demon ghosted away without making a single sound on the metal walkway.
Lars was still wearing his suit. Mattie didn’t understand how it could possibly be comfortable to wear while fighting the bad guys, but he didn’t seem to notice. He began moving quickly toward a narrow set of steps leading to the ground floor.
“Where are you going?” she called as loudly as she dared.
He threw a cocky grin over his shoulder. “To make some arrests.”
“Wait, what?” She ran after him, but was already halfway down the steps.
He blew her a kiss. “We’ll come out the same way we came in. Be ready.”
LARS HOPED NOT one iota of his internal panic showed on his face, because it felt as if his entire world hung in the balance. He didn’t want Mattie to know how serious things really were. The crowd was on their feet, waving their fists in the air and demanding blood. Owen’s blood. There was no time for second thoughts.
Lars scanned the room and picked a likely spot to position himself. When all eyes turned to look at him, they would have to focus away from Owen’s exit. The scent of the nearby Neponset was heavy in the air. Lars dragged in a deep breath and gathered every ounce of the badass persona Selena always accused him of wearing like armor.
“If I could have your attention, please?” Lars pitched his voice to carry over the wild ruckus in the room. “This is a law enforcement matter.” He took out his badge and waved it around, gaining him the attention he needed. From his peripheral vision, he saw his team leap into action. “This is an illegal gathering here in the city of Boston. Illegal! Vacate the premises immediately, or you’ll be rounded up and carted off to face charges.”
A few snarling patrons turned on him like wild dogs. Lars braced for impact as half a dozen closed in around him. He dodged the first attacker. Spinning around, he swept the guy’s legs out from under him. He crashed to the ground, managing to trip up several of his buddies. Another man grabbed Lars by the shoulder, but before he could react, Dante appeared on his right and Jericho on his left. Jericho neatly chopped Lars’s assailant in the throat and sent him wheeling away.
The three men stood back-to-back as they wrestled with what felt like a horde of angry and mostly drunk people whose blood sport had been interrupted. Most were too impaired or unskilled to present much problem. Lars pushed and shoved, using the crowd’s flailing bodies against one another as he worked his way toward their exit.
Lars realized he, Dante, and Jericho were down to herding the masses toward the exits. Doors slammed as people chose self-preservation over the thrill of the fight. Soon there was nothing more than a few angry shouts. For the most part nobody cared to stick around and see if this was a real or fake bust. Chairs hit the ground with clangs after being pushed over by patrons beating a quick path to the door.
“Didn’t you hear me?” Lars goaded with his voice, wanting them to hurry up. “I said this is a bust!”
From the corner of his eye, Lars had watched Owen’s immediate reaction. The normally stoic man had grabbed hold of the chain-link barrier in his haste to see why Lars had appeared in front of the mob. Now Owen was busy trying to kick his way free of the cage. Malachi appeared with Demon at his back to help Owen break out.
Lars noticed two of the guys who’d been with Jason that night at Triptych. T
hey were making a beeline for Owen and the cage. Without a thought for his own safety, Lars launched into a full sprint to head them off.
Spotting an opening, Lars grabbed the bulky Irish man around the neck. Leveraging the man’s momentum, Lars dug in his heels and spun the guy around. Letting go, he was satisfied to see the redhead smash into his compatriot with a satisfying crunch. Both men went down in a tangle of arms and legs. Unfortunately there were no broken bones or more serious injuries.
The redhead bounced to his feet and snarled. “I don’t like cops. Especially not when they cost me a mint in bets.”
Lars didn’t waste his breath responding. With the second guy already getting up, there was no time to stand around and exchange insults.
The redhead and his dark-skinned buddy lunged at the same moment. Lars ducked right, managing to miss one set of fists, though the other caught him a glancing uppercut across the right side of his jaw. Lars felt his neck snap back. He fought the blackness curling the edges of his vision.
A pair of arms clamped around his midsection as the dark man grabbed hold and squeezed. Now that they had him immobilized, they obviously intended to pummel him. The redhead drew back his arm for a massive punch, but Lars lifted his legs and planted his feet in the man’s stomach instead.
Gasping for air, the redhead crumpled to the ground. His buddy was off balance from the surprise addition of Lars’s full weight. Lars took the opportunity to throw his head back and smash the guy in the face. He let go with an ear-piercing wail, and Lars staggered to stay upright.
He gazed wildly around the room. It was steeped in the pure chaos of a full retreat, with no sign of Owen’s brother, Jason. The cage was empty of everything but the unconscious body of Owen’s opponent. Lars caught a glimpse of Dante and Jericho as they beat a quick path back up the narrow staircase to their top-floor exit. Lars opted to follow suit, hoping Malachi and Demon had gotten Owen out as planned.
Boston Avant-Garde 6: Chiaroscuro Page 20