Four Mercenaries - The Complete Collection

by K. A. Merikan

  Boar and him had been hurt many times. Boar had once gotten his leg broken with a baseball bat. Pyro had been in a fight that had left him with monthly visits to the dentist for a year. But they’d never parted. They always stuck together. Yet for some reason, this time, Boar had decided to not trust Pyro, and had gone with Drake and Clover without Pyro as backup.

  Pyro had been very clear about not wanting to join the wild goose chase that trying to accost Apollo had been. He should have made it clearer that if Boar wanted to go, he’d even walk through fire for him. Maybe then, Boar wouldn’t have made the choice he had.

  But Boar also knew Pyro better than Pyro knew himself, because if Pyro was to be honest with himself, he knew that if Boar had come to him with this crazy idea in the middle of the night, after an already exhausting day, Pyro wouldn’t have said yes. He’d have gone to argue with Drake and alerted Tank.

  So Boar, being Boar, had chosen the path of least conflict and had hoped for the best.

  Pyro hugged the brass knuckles, clenching his teeth hard to not cry. They’d been a gift from him when Boar was still nineteen and good enough at brawling, but unwilling to hurt people with his strength. Pyro had been the one to convince him that he needed to think of himself first. That he shouldn’t risk his own health when someone else was willing to hurt him.

  The first time Boar had used the knuckle dusters was in Pyro’s defence anyway. Pyro had been drunk and spewing bullshit in a biker bar where they’d celebrated Boar’s birthday. The announcement that he and Boar were a couple had been the last straw to unleash mayhem. Bottles, fists, and boots started to fly, and just as Pyro was about to get his head kicked in, Boar went berserk. Even at twenty, without much training, thanks to his size, he was a force to be reckoned with. A grizzly bear with brass knuckles for claws.

  They’d gotten arrested but at least managed to leave town and never had to face the toothless bikers again.

  Pyro had been the one to decide Boar had great fighter potential. That he could intimidate people with his size alone, and he’d been the one to draw Boar deeper into crime. Not that Boar opposed him, but maybe left to his own devices, Boar would have met a kindly pastor, got a regular job, a boyfriend in marketing, and a life where he didn’t sell violence while taking care of his ex-junkie partner with anger management issues.

  Pyro sobbed, clenching his eyes. He didn’t deserve Boar. He never had.

  He got up on shaky legs and pocketed the weapon. When he rubbed the snot off his nose, he spotted the word B-O-A-R tattooed on his knuckles and, on impulse, smashed his fist into the wall time and time again. He didn’t even deserve to wear Boar’s nickname, so he hit the bricks until they rubbed his skin raw, but even with blood spilling and skin ripping, the punches couldn’t destroy the ink.

  His hand ached by the time tension drained out of Pyro’s body, and he hugged his hand to his chest, staring at the faint spray of red droplets on the wall. “I will find you,” he vowed and headed for the exit.

  Chapter 17 – Tank

  It was a relief to see Drake asleep.

  The beating had left him with broken ribs, nose, and a mild concussion, but he’d been too erratic with worry for Boar and Clover to rest. Tank was glad the doctor had agreed to give him a sedative. Uninterrupted sleep would be the cure Drake needed, and it wasn’t like they could do anything before Tank’s contacts unearthed information about Boar’s potential whereabouts or who the mysterious buyer was.

  Helping Clover and Drake heal was the best Tank could do at that point, so he took them home, all the way back to Oregon, and no matter how bad he felt about saying goodbye to his grandmother with a call, he couldn’t deal with her seeing them after what had happened.

  Clover had numerous wounds on his back from caning, and they’d needed stitching, but getting any information out of him about the details of what happened was like pulling teeth. He kept dismissing it and saying there were more important things to focus on. That Drake needed attention. That he wasn’t much hurt in comparison.

  Yet he recoiled at every sound he didn’t expect, had barely slept in the last twenty-four hours, and sat at Drake’s side without a word, even though Drake was in no shape to speak. Maybe after the horrors they’d been through together, he needed a material sign that Drake was still alive.

  Unearthing what happened would be a slow and painful excavation, but it needed to be attempted if Tank was to know how to deal with Clover.

  “He’ll be fine. You’ll see,” he said and tried to squeeze Clover’s shoulder from behind, but the boy flinched, glancing at him as if he expected a punch coming his way.

  It was like a knife in the gut, but Tank swallowed and kept his face neutral despite the rejection. It hardly mattered when he was overcome with worry for the boy who’d always been so cheerful and fearless, no matter how much he got his ass kicked in training.

  Clover swallowed. “Will he though?”

  Tank pulled a chair closer and sat at a distance Clover should find safe. His gaze drifted to Drake’s swollen face, and he realized he wasn’t even angry anymore. What Drake had done was reckless and stupid, but Drake had never been a normal guy. The weight he’d carried with him since they’d met occasionally came into play, and he’d struggle with it forever. Tank couldn’t possibly understand what it meant to live with a secret like Drake’s, but he did realize that Drake needed his support in this, not anger. He already knew what he’d done had been a horrid mistake and he’d need to live with that for the rest of his life.

  “Sure. He’s invincible,” Tank said, squeezing Drake’s hand.

  Clover slouched even more. “I didn’t know, Tank. I didn’t know what we were up against. Kind of. But not really.”

  Tank chewed on the inside of his cheek. “It’s not your fault. But you should have told me.”

  “Exactly. It is my fault. You don’t need to cushion it for me. I did this. Agreed with Drake, went against your opinion, and talked Boar into going with us.” He sniffed, looking even frailer than when they first met.

  Tank let go of Drake’s limp yet warm hand and squeezed his own fist, torn between letting Clover take on this burden and carrying some of it. “Each of us has some of the blame. I shouldn’t have dismissed Drake the way I did. I should have listened to him instead of being so final about it.”

  Maybe if he’d been willing to talk this through with Drake in the first place, they wouldn’t be in this position. Maybe his heart wouldn’t have to break every time he saw Clover, the boy he’d promised to protect.

  Clover went silent once more, but he reached for Tank’s hand and entwined their fingers. If only the option existed, Tank would have broken his own ribs and hidden Clover inside his chest, but there was no room for that sentiment. The mess they were in had partly been created because he’d been too protective of Clover.

  His phone beeped, making his blood pressure rise. It was an alarm informing that a vehicle had entered the property. Clover knew that too, and his face went so pale Tank feared he was about to faint.

  “Let’s see who it is.” Tank pulled his favorite gun out of the holster.

  Clover grabbed his own, but wouldn’t leave Tank’s side and trembled like a leaf in the wind, as if nothing remained of the overconfident force of nature he’d always been.

  Tank nodded, but he wasn’t certain if this change was for the better. The cost had been too great.

  “Good. Stay behind. We need to protect Drake if it’s someone who shouldn’t be here,” Tank said, his feet skirting down the stairs as he took in the dark shadows of the woods surrounding their house. It was perfectly dark outside with the exception of the crescent moon reflecting in the lake.

  He was used to danger, but confronting it in his own house was something he’d always tried to avoid at all cost.

  With Clover staying behind, Tank walked across the first floor, facing the driveway, which started to light up as a vehicle approached the house.

  “If push comes to shove, go
to the panic room,” he whispered, overcome with the need to hold Clover in his arms, but there was no place for such sentimentality right now.

  The vehicle parked, and the automatic light by the garage came on, revealing Drake’s van and Pyro behind the wheel. Tank lowered his gun in frustration, already heading for the door.

  “Should I come too?” Clover asked in a tiny voice.

  “It’s safe,” Tank said and opened the door, bursting outside as the ridiculous hope that Pyro had somehow, against all odds, found Boar, whispered at the back of his mind. But when Pyro all but fell out of the driver’s seat, tripping over his own feet, Tank’s shoulders slouched.

  “I told you to alert us when you were coming!” Tank shook his head when he realized Pyro smelled like a whole basement filled with moonshine. “Very smart. Drunk driving. That will surely help find him.”

  Pyro’s nose flared, and he swung his fist at Tank, but he was far too slow and fell over instead. How had he even managed to get here without crashing would remain a mystery.

  “I take it he wasn’t there?”

  Pyro gave a roar that reminded Tank of a wounded beast willing to fight its killer until the very end. His back arched, only to dip, and he briefly hid his face in his hands before dragging himself back up with the same uneven movements that had made him end up on the asphalt in the first place.

  It was a pathetic sight, and Tank struggled against his sense of judgment. “I’m talking to you.”

  Clover stepped closer and reached for Pyro’s arm. “Let’s go inside.”

  Pyro slapped the bandaged hand away. “Fuck you. What have you been doing for the past day? Sitting your asses here and resting?”

  Tank put his hands on his hips. “Well, we weren’t getting drunk. The guys needed medical attention. I also did loads of other shit, but I won’t waste my breath on you when you won’t remember it anyway.”

  Pyro shook his head but managed to get back on his feet, a mess of tangled blue hair and flushed skin. “You don’t fucking care about him. It’s all about Clover and Drake for you!”

  Tank silently counted to three and pulled Clover under his arm. “You’re not making any sense. I have asked around, and we should get some leads by tomorrow. If you want to be ready for action when it actually matters, go and sleep it off.”

  “I’m not spending another minute in this house!” Pyro yelled, making Tank even more conscious of keeping Clover out of the drunk idiot’s reach.

  “You can sleep in the garden for all I care. Just don’t leave the property. Look what happened last time we separated.” For all his growing anger, Tank hated to even think of what could happen to the idiot if he went out searching for Boar in his sorry state.

  For the briefest moment, he considered locking Pyro up, but he knew there was no point in it when he got like this. When Pyro was drunk, rational solutions went out of the window, and he could no longer see the connection between his state and his ability to deal with shit. Boar usually stopped him several drinks before that happened, but without Boar to control Pyro, the guy would spiral downward fast.

  Tank stepped out of the way when Pyro entered the house, going straight to the living room where they kept all the alcohol. It wasn’t even a question whether that was where he was headed.

  “You’re not my boss,” Pyro shouted at a pitch so high it made Tank cringe.

  “Jesus Christ,” he whispered, pulling Clover with him.

  “Maybe let’s just leave him to it?” Clover whispered, but he didn’t know just what a danger to himself and everyone around Pyro could pose when off the leash.

  “I’ll handle it, baby, wait here.” Tank followed Pyro toward the alcohol cabinet. “Leave it.”

  Pyro turned to face him with a bottle of vodka in hand, his face red, eyes glossy as if he were on the verge of crying. It was a miracle he was still capable of standing straight. “Fuck you. You just left me there! It’s all about fucking Clover. And what about Jamie, huh?”

  It was rare to hear Boar’s real name, and Tank choked up, lowering his gaze to the floor. “You will not help him like this, Matt.”

  “And you won’t help him sitting on your ass in your house in fucking Oregon. He could be anywhere by now!” Pyro struggled to climb on top of a tall cabinet next to the TV, but finally pulled himself up and sat on it with the bottle in his hand. “You’ve got an hour. If you don’t move your ass out of this house in an hour, I’ll burn the whole fuckin’ place down, and make you move!”

  Tank looked away to hide his rolling eyes. There was no point in aggravating things further. He’d have to wait until Pyro drank himself to sleep and cover him with a blanket, hoping the morning wouldn’t hit him like a bludgeon to the head.

  “Go to sleep. We need to be in good shape tomorrow,” Tank said before turning on his heel and heading for the door, where he’d left Clover. Maybe a short walk could help them clear their heads before sleep. And maybe the wild nature would release some of the tension lingering in Clover’s muscles since yesterday.

  “Tick-tock, Tank!” Pyro yelled from the living room.

  Tank ignored him and focused on Clover’s puffy red eyes. The boy was far too young to be dealing with this bullshit—or was he? Tank had joined the army at eighteen. Just because Clover wasn’t an overgrown jarhead, didn’t mean he was a flower. Hadn’t he spent the past year trying to prove that to Tank?

  Hadn’t he killed Jerry?

  “Is it okay to leave him like that?” Clover whispered.

  Tank waved it off. “He’s just pissed off, regretful, and doesn’t know how to talk about it. Idiot. It’s not the first time this has happened. Give him half an hour, and he’ll be passed out on the sofa.”

  He couldn’t even be angry with the bastard, because when he imagined losing Clover the way Pyro had lost Boar… he didn’t know what he’d have done, so he was willing to risk stains on the floor and give Pyro space.

  He led the boy out into the fresh air, only now noticing that Clover was still clutching a gun.

  “I wish letting him hit me actually helped,” Clover muttered, hanging his head in resignation.

  Tank stopped and took the weapon out of the trembling fingers. Clover’s face appeared stoic enough, but his body told a different story.

  “I’m not letting anyone hit you. You’ve been through enough already.”

  Clover took a deep breath. “M-may I?”

  It took Tank a second to understand Clover’s body language and he spread his arms, at loss that Clover would even ask him if they could hug. He went about it gently and kept walking down the driveway, because it was too dark to wander around anywhere else. Clover’s hair tickled his arm, and when the boy rested his head against him in a universal sign of trust, Tank’s chest rose with relief. He kissed the top of his Clover’s head, pulling him closer, in need of confirming that he was really still here.

  The walk to the border of the property took them five, maybe ten minutes, and while they remained silent throughout, the fresh air relieved the unpleasant tension in Tank’s body. The pale shade of Clover’s skin and hair made him impossible to miss despite the sparsity of the light, and Tank relished that when he faced him by the gate.

  “I’m glad you’re safe,” Tank said, wanting to communicate all the fear and worry he’d gone through in the past twenty four hours. He wasn’t good with expressing emotions, but maybe Clover needed to hear this from his lips, not just understand it based on Tank’s actions.

  Clover didn’t hesitate and tightened his arms around Tank. “I’m so sorry for what I did. I’ll make it up to you somehow, but please be there for me? I never thought— I didn’t— that this could happen. And you could see it all even before it happened. I was so stubborn.”

  Tank exhaled and rested his chin on top of Clover’s head, itching to take away all of his pain. This was on him too. If he hadn’t been so bull-headed and had discussed things rather than present his personal opinion as the final decision, then maybe Clover wo
uld have trusted him with the truth. Another lesson learned. Too fucking bad it was at such a cost.

  The breeze played with his hair, carrying the scent of the water and trees. It was so very peaceful out here he found it difficult to think of the abduction as something more than a bad dream. But it had been real, and Tank needed to face that.

  “I don’t judge you. We all make mistakes,” Tank said, regardless of how much he’d wanted to shake Clover when he first found out about the nighttime stunt that ended in such a disaster. Apollo was still out there. Clover and Drake had gotten hurt. Boar lost.

  Lost. Not gone. They would find him.

  “I just… I didn’t imagine such evil was even possible,” Clover choked out, and Tank ran his fingertips over the boy’s back in an attempt to soothe his pain.

  He wanted to get his hands on the bastards who’d hurt Clover, but his own inability to provide the boy with relief was more pressing. It was as if Clover and Drake were intent on holding on to the trauma without sharing their burden even with those who loved them.

  He wanted to help so desperately he didn’t even know how to put it into words. “It kills me that I can’t do anything to make going through this easier on you,” Tank whispered, tightening his embrace around Clover as his throat tightened. He wanted to be a rock, but it was so fucking hard when the boy he loved had been dragged through the meat grinder and refused to talk about it.

  "You are helping. When it was happening, just the thought of a hug like this one helped me keep it together. I’ve never known safety before you,” Clover said, even though his lips trembled so persistently the vibrations transferred into his voice.

  Tank closed his eyes, breathing in the fresh breeze and the scent of Clover’s shampoo. It was a relief to hear that he could help Clover even without being present, but the fact that he hadn’t been there was as aggravating as a salted wound.

  This boy, who on the surface seemed so small and weak, had managed to endure a horrible caning and then still have enough strength left to crawl his way to safety. Through vents, past a guard that needed to die for it, running naked through suburbs. That kind of shit took guts, and even if it left scars on Clover, the wounds would close eventually.