by Jayne Rylon
“I just….not tonight.” Besides, what would it mean for us if I did confront those demons? Would our power exchange still work for me or would I crave what I had before?
Everything is so fucked up. I don’t know what I want anymore.
“That’s what I thought. Well, now you know where to find me if you ever want to take me on a real date. One far away from a bed, where we discuss how we make sense together going forward.” Rogan smiles sadly. “I hope you figure things out, Kaden.”
He doesn’t say before it’s too late. I hear it anyway.
Have I blown my chance at something spectacular?
What I really want is to crush him in my arms then fuck him until I stop feeling so damn much. I look up, staring straight into his eyes. He’d have to be blind not to see the fanatic desire burning there. For him.
He shakes his head, echoing my own words: “Not tonight.”
Then Rogan grimaces as if it hurts him as much as it hurts me before he steps inside and gently shuts the door in my face.
I tumble to one side, ditching my bike in his yard before dropping to my knees on his soggy lawn. It takes a minute or two before I can lever myself to my feet again. Then I stand there hunched, with my hands jammed in my jeans pockets, rain plastering my hair to my face for a while. I have no idea where else to go. My vacant loft doesn’t appeal without Rogan waiting for me.
I could grab a drink at the bar I passed on my way here. Only I wouldn’t stop at one or even a half-dozen. Rogan wouldn’t respect a guy who blacks out in the bathroom of a shady hook-up joint.
Suddenly I realize what he thinks is pretty fucking important to me.
What have I done?
I draw the hood of my saturated sweatshirt up then shuffle a few steps down the sidewalk, my boots squelching as I retreat.
Until I hear the door crack open behind me. My pulse races. I’m afraid to breathe.
“Kaden?”
I grunt as I angle my shoulders slightly to glance over my shoulder at him. That’s all I’m capable of, my heart in my throat.
“Do you want me to call you a cab?” Rogan asks, smashing my misguided hopes.
I don’t answer. Just stand blinking away raindrops and who knows what other moisture while I steal one last look at him from beneath the drenched black material shielding me from his concerned scrutiny.
“Hey, at least take my umbrella…”
I face the street again. With my back to him, I raise my hand both to ward him off and wave farewell before wandering away. If he says anything else, I can’t hear it over the booming of thunder. Violent and uninhibited, nature thrashes me as I stagger through the city streets.
It doesn’t bother me at all. I couldn’t possibly end up deader than I already am inside.
So what exactly am I so fucking afraid of?
18
Cortez
“Father, your time is up,” one of my “parishioners” whispers to me in Spanish where we hunker together in the shadowy confessional of my candlelit church.
“We’re not finished here.”
“You are. The war will never be over, though you’ve certainly won this battle by assassinating the cartel leader. It’s not going to take them much longer to realize you were the last man to see him alive. He trusted you. You betrayed him and so many of his plans that it’s becoming impossible to deny. If you don’t leave, you’ll end up shipped back home. Assuming we can find your body.”
I scrub my hands over my hair, trying to counteract some of the pressure in my skull.
“You’ve done more here than the prior three agents we had together. Two new assets have been embedded in the cartel ranks recently. One is likely to be promoted to second-in-command under the new regime. Go home, Father. Leave knowing how many lives you’ve saved and with the thanks of the countless people you’ve protected, even if they never realize it.” He puts his hand on my knee. “You’re done. You’re free. Collect your pension and find the boy you were rambling about when you were ill with that high fever last summer. See if he’s still as in love with you as you are with him.”
Doubtful. I’d made sure Kaden wouldn’t cling to hope that I’d do exactly that. For his own good.
I’ve lost track of the number of times I nearly lost my life in this tangled web of lies and sin. Half of the cartel’s own members don’t last three years. When there’s this much illicit cash involved, there’s an equal amount of backstabbing, greed, and immorality.
It’s a miracle I’m still alive.
“What’s the plan?” It’s not like I can stroll out of here and hop on a plane. That would draw attention. Every inch of this town is watched, including the airport. Father Cortez has no reason to travel, especially internationally. The flight would never make it off the ground.
“I’ll come back for you after dark. We’re going to drive into the mountains so you can perform last rites on my grandmother. While we’re there, a landslide will put an end to the good Father and explain why we can’t return your corpse. A chopper will fly you over the border to Panama, where you’ll catch a military flight back to the states.”
It seems surreal. The thought of a place far away from here and the mess I’ve been embroiled in for years. A simple place, where the toughest decisions I had to make were what movie to watch on Netflix and which guy to pick up at the bar on a Friday night.
Can I be that person again?
I’d like to try. “I’ll be ready.”
Hell, I think I’m ready now.
“Cortez. There’s something else.” It’s not like my handler to make small talk. Extending our conversation is unwise.
“What?”
“The guy you asked me to keep an eye on…”
“Kaden Finch? What’s wrong?” It’s like a wormhole to an alternate galaxy. The time I spent with him seems so distant and bright compared to what my life has become.
“Is he the one?” The informant waves me off. It’s obvious he is and that I’m about to lose what little cool I have left if he doesn’t spit this intel out. “His name came up in the system. Domestic violence incident at his residence about a week ago.”
“Shit!”
“Shh…” We look around the intentionally half-drawn curtain. Locking ourselves in where anyone could approach unnoticed would be a death trap. No one has noticed the good father’s uncharacteristic outburst. Nothing other than a priest counseling one of his lost lambs. I’ve gotten used to wearing this robe. It’s great cover for an agent and it also explains why I never took a lover. Not in three long years.
If I can’t have Kaden, I don’t want anyone.
I knew I loved him before I left. But I hadn’t realized how profoundly that love had changed me. How permanently it was inscribed on my soul.
And now someone had hurt him?
I’ll kill them.
Yeah, my time here has altered me, too. Will I figure out how to be a normal person again? One who doesn’t take justice into his own hands daily?
“He’s okay, right?” Please, please let him be fine. Perfect. Or the anguish I caused him when I walked out was for nothing. I understand how bad it hurt, because I inflicted the same wound on myself when I chopped us in half.
“I think so. The only injury reported was a broken arm. They’re looking for a guy named Ronaldo Pires for questioning. Sounds like this might be good timing for you to return.”
I bolt to my feet. Why would Kaden mess around with that loser? Pure scumbag, that one. Sure, he hid it with a pretty face, smooth talk, and fancy clothes, but I’d seen firsthand how he treated guys he played with. So had Kaden.
He should know better. It doesn’t make any sense.
Unless he’s as fucked up inside as I’ve been since I left him.
Maybe he needs me after all.
“Can we leave now?” My gaze whips to the handle.
He’s staring at the rear of the church. His eyes grow wide.
I see the reflection of flames in his pupil
s before I spin around. A barrage of Molotov cocktails bombard the church’s interior from the rear and side doors. Something else, larger and heavier, bounces onto the floor nearby.
I shout for people to run. It’s too late. They’re pounding on the doors, which must be barricaded from the outside. None of them budge.
I don’t make it more than a step or three before the world erupts with an eardrum-rending boom.
So this is what it feels like to fly. Huh.
My back slams into something, halting my motion with an instant deceleration that jars me more than the initial force. It knocks me half unconscious as I slide down a wall to the floor. I tip onto my hands and knees and crawl despite white-hot pain that shoots through my hip. When I look down, I’m pretty sure I see bone sticking out from somewhere it’s not supposed to be, so I look away and keep moving.
Acrid smoke makes it harder to breathe. I lift my head and spot my handler, skewered on the wrought-iron cross on the opposite side of the room. His neck and head are lolling at such an unnatural angle there’s no sense in trying to reach him to check for a pulse.
His eyes are still wide open, locked in the blank stare of death I’ve seen too many times during my stay in Columbia.
For the first time since I got here, I pray. Not for myself.
I beg for the souls of the blameless people surrounding me and even the ones of the men and women I recognize from shady dealings. They’re as doomed as I am. Nothing I do can save them from meeting the being they’ve spent so much of their life devoutly believing in. I hope the answers they’re about to discover are the ones they’ve always sought.
Then the only thing on my mind is Kaden. I hope he’s safe. Happy. That whatever went down with Ronaldo was a one-off deal.
If I die now, fearing that’s not true or— worse—that he’s in danger…that’s the purest hell I can imagine. If it weren’t for that info, I would gladly lie down and join my handler and the rest of the parishioners screaming as they literally return to dust and ashes.
The world around me is scalding hot. Flames lick the dry boards, igniting them as if they were tissue paper. A mixture of red, orange, and black flickers around me.
Maybe I’m heading straight to the devil’s playground for letting down the one person who needed me the most along with the others here today who will die because of me.
Though it seems impossible, I have to try something, anything, to make this right.
The sacristy! I stuck a Bible in the side door of the little-used area to encourage a cool breeze earlier. A lighter patch in the inky smoke makes me think it’s still ajar.
I bellow to the people around me, directing them toward salvation.
Those who are able stampede toward the exit, tumbling into the fresh air. A few walk across my back to get there. I don’t hate them for bolting, even when they don’t stop to help me in return.
I have one purpose left. A single reason to keep going.
I lever myself toward the sacristy, except I can’t feel half my body. Probably better that way, since it no longer hurts. I’m reduced to worming along the ground, planting my elbows then using my upper body to drag myself forward. My legs dangle behind me.
Flames lick my toes. The door is too far away.
There’s no hope.
Kaden will have to save himself. He’s plenty capable of it. I would have liked to do it for him anyway. If only he could hear me, and know that I never erased him from my soul.
“I’ll always love you. I’m sorry I’m not there.”
Timbers creak ominously before they give way and plummet to the floor around me. Maybe on me, too. Pressure compresses my chest. I can’t draw the scalding air into my lungs anymore. I’m not sure if that’s a blessing or a curse.
I gasp, suffocating. Burning. Melting.
Then I remember nothing else.
19
Kaden
A week later
After a solid week of no showers, barely eating, and a hell of a lot of work, I stare at the painting in front of me. I was right. It’s the best one I’ve ever done. I just didn’t expect it to look like this. I guess sometimes life doesn’t go as planned. This time I believe it can be a twist for the better.
If I haven’t ruined my last shot.
Ah, shit.
I finish packing it so I can deliver it safely. It’s going to be a bitch to ride my bike—which Rogan had hired someone to wash, tune up, and deliver to the gallery the day after my breakdown—with the unwieldy parcel strapped to my back. I’ll make it work.
I can’t wait to see Rogan’s face when he unwraps it.
After wrestling it into place and strapping it to myself, I take off. Every intersection I zip through on my route to his new house amplifies my excitement and electrifies my nerves. This time I don’t take the long way around. I roll right up his sidewalk, then hop off my bike as gracefully as possible given the package I’m wearing like a turtle’s shell.
I jog up the stairs, slip my arms out of the straps I’d fashioned out of duct tape, and set my offering on the ground beside me. I rest the top edge against my hip then take a deep breath. Touching my palm to the door, it seems like I might detect his heart beating through the room and across the space dividing us.
Of course, I don’t.
If this doesn’t work—if he doesn’t see what I see when I look at this portrait—I’m afraid I might end up where I was a couple years ago. Drowning in an even deeper abyss that I won’t surface from.
Please tell me I haven’t fucked this up beyond repair.
I tip my head back and whisper, “Come on, universe. Do me a solid.”
Then I knock somewhat louder than I intended. Oops. Nerves.
It doesn’t take long before I hear him right there on the other side of the door. I’m glad he pauses to check the peephole. Except that it’s just enough hesitation to convince me he’s about to slink away and pretend he’s not there until I give up and shuffle off.
Little does he know, I’m determined.
So I give the peephole a self-conscious wave.
The lock turns. He pokes his head out. His face seems slimmer. Has he been taking care of himself?
“Kaden?” He seems surprised to see me. I mean, why wouldn’t he? He doesn’t have a clue that I’ve been planning this precise moment for a week. Ever since I found my way home, waterlogged and distraught, after he banished me.
My priorities shifted that night.
“Hi.” I clear my throat, which is suddenly parched. “I…uh, have a delivery for you.”
His brows draw together. “Did I leave something at your place? You could have mailed it to me.”
Ouch. “Not exactly.” I gesture to the brown paper rectangle leaning against my thigh. “May I bring it inside for you?”
It feels foreign to phrase a question like that. I used to do it a lot, but I admit I’m rusty. It’s stressing me the fuck out to put myself in a position where I could be rejected. He’s worth the risk. Hell, I spent every night of the past week sleeping fitfully in my studio near the spot where we fucked. I couldn’t bring myself to crawl into my bed without him.
If this didn’t go well, I was going to need a new plan. I’d try as many times as necessary to convince him I’m ready.
I’m finally ready. I think. Mostly.
Rogan stares at me as if my intentions are written on my face, then nods. He opens the door and steps deeper inside.
I follow. “How’s your arm?”
“Much better, thanks.” He smiles then, even if it’s a weak facsimile of his full-on grin. “Your modification is a huge hit. Several of my employees have suggested I get it tattooed on me when this thing comes off. That might not be a bad idea. If you’d approve my use of the design, of course.”
He stares at his wrist. Something flip-flops in my chest when his mouth widens a bit, turning into a legit smirk instead of dimming as he considers the cast.
I guess we’re both quite a bit different
from the last time we saw each other.
At least I did something right by him. “Yeah, that would be cool. I can recommend a couple artists who’ve worked on me, and I’d be happy to go with you to get it done, if you want.”
“I’d like that.”
“Me too.”
“So…” Rogan glances at my offering. “What’s that? I mean, I know what it looks like.”
“Yeah, the shape kind of a gives it away, huh? It’s obviously not a drum set or a chocolate Easter bunny, sorry ’bout that.”
“I would have loved to see you on your bike while giving a giant rabbit a piggyback ride.” He laughs, and this time it’s real. “You’re pretty impressive with that thing.”
“I used to moonlight as a courier before my art took off. You should have seen the shit I had to lug around.” I roll my eyes.
He hums. The icicles that have been dangling off my heart since last week—hell, since Cortez left me—melt the barest bit. “Did you wear a sexy uniform? I bet you’d look hot as hell in tight pants and some kind of official hat. Damn.”
“Sure did. It’s still hanging in my closet.” I’ll wear it for him all day every day if he’ll come home with me. The last thing I want is for him to assume that’s why I’ve come. Flirting and fucking would be amazing, don’t get me wrong. They’re not the only prize I’m after, though. I’ve learned that lesson. “But…I’m not here to seduce you with my fine ass.”
He frowns. “Oooookay. So, why are you here?”
What if he hates it? I mean, I’ll gladly issue him a refund and keep the thing myself. It’s worth a hell of a lot more than twenty grand to me. I’m dying to see if he loves it as much as I do.
I haven’t been this anxious about unveiling one of my pieces since I started doing caricatures on the boardwalk for extra cash the summer between my junior and senior years of high school. When my aspiration to become a self-supported fulltime artist still seemed impossible.
He’s standing there patiently. Waiting. Giving me a chance to explain.