Four Mercenaries - The Complete Collection

by K. A. Merikan

  “I was angry that you went without telling me. But I’m proud of you. Most people couldn’t do what you did.”

  Clover rested his cheek on Tank’s pec. “But I wasn’t fast enough. They took Boar. They beat Drake to such a horrible state. I keep replaying it in my head, and I can’t stop. That maybe I could have done something differently. Gone back in there with the guard’s gun, or knew a way to crack the guy’s phone password. But I didn’t. I thought I knew it all, and it turns out I’m useless, and I dragged Boar down with me.”

  Tank exhaled. “Boar’s an adult. He made that decision. You can’t blame yourself for asking him to help.”

  Clover sobbed, and as heart-breaking as the sound was, it brought Tank relief that he could at least be there for Clover now. That he could be the rock his boy needed. And once Drake woke up, Tank would be a rock for him too. And then for Pyro, once the fucker sobered up.

  Clover’s shoulders shook as he cried, clutching at Tank’s clothes. “I don’t know what I was thinking trying to join your crew. When Apollo’s men threatened me, I completely lost my shit. I can’t handle anything, and it doesn’t matter if I can climb a tree or hit a target.”

  Tank swallowed, but gently rubbed his hands up and down Clover’s sides, which were in far better condition than his back. “Nobody reached mastery of anything in a short time. I’ve seen you learn so much this past year, Clover. What you lack is experience, but that’ll come with time, if you even want to keep doing this. What happened to you was too much too soon.”

  Clover sniffed, his head bobbing in agreement. “I don’t even know what I want anymore. I know I want to find Boar.”

  Tank stroked Clover’s hair. “We will. We will do everything we can. Together. If… If I weren’t so stern in telling you what to do, maybe I would have listened. Maybe we would have all gone to that meeting with Apollo, and none of this would have happened.”

  Clover pulled back to meet Tank’s eyes, his expression fierce despite the glistening streaks running down his cheeks. “No, it’s not your fault either. I guess we’ve all made the shittiest mistakes. I just wish I’d have learnt this in a different way. I… I still love you. You know that, right?”

  Tank’s eyes started stinging as soon as he heard that, and he squeezed Clover even harder as the wind intensified, pushing them together for warmth. “I love you too, Clover. I admit I was angry at first, and now I’m worried for Boar, but this doesn’t change how I feel about you. We will get on with life and do what’s needed,” he said, wishing he could convince himself as well as Clover.

  But Clover frowned and looked over his shoulder. “Do you smell smoke?”

  Chapter 18 – Clover

  Clover stared toward the house. “Is he… drunk grilling?”

  Tank’s chest sank when he exhaled. “No. No, he’s not,” he said before untangling himself from their embrace and bolting down the long driveway. Clover followed his lead without thinking, his heart thumping much faster than his legs could run, but each time his feet touched the asphalt, the impact trailed up his shins and eventually reached his head, fueling worse nightmares.

  He was weakened, and with each move, the freshly stitched wounds screamed at him to stop, but he couldn’t. If Pyro acted on his threats, they needed to reach the house as fast as possible.

  Clover heard Tank yelling before he even turned the corner and faced the inferno of the living room visible through the glass doors. One of the tall windows had been reduced to a pile of glass, so the heat from inside blew into Clover’s face even at a distance. Now he could feel it. A thick smell of gasoline. And as if to confirm Clover’s suspicions, Pyro tossed an open canister inside, creating a fireball that made even him take a step back, just in time for a clash.

  Tank reached him like human-sized bullet, his fist descending on Pyro’s head with so much momentum he fell over like a kicked twig.

  “I’m gonna fucking kill you!” Tank yelled, dragging Pyro into the grass, but Pyro still managed to throw a bottle of vodka at the burning house, igniting yet more flames. His face was a mask of contrast, with the bright flames creating whitish fields against shadow.

  “I warned you!” Pyro yelled, trying to punch Tank back, but he was in no state to fight. His feet pathetically slipped on the grass, but Tank hit him over and over, enraged like a bull fighting for his life in the arena.

  But all Clover could think of was that Drake was inside. Sedated. Vulnerable.

  He ran in through the door, shocked by the level of heat in the hallway. The tiles weren’t on fire yet, but the living room was like a furnace about to consume everything in sight. Breathless, Clover ran the other way, hoping to reach the staircase through the kitchen. This place had also been an object of Pyro’s wrath. Cupboards had been emptied of tableware and food, with broken plates, glasses, and scattered cereal turned into an obstacle course, but he managed to pass in his thick-soled sneakers, thinking only of the man sleeping upstairs. If Clover couldn’t reach him on time, Drake would never wake up. He would never again offer one of his rare smiles to Clover.

  He used to find the floating stairs so elegant and minimalistic, but now they looked like a trap, like a platform game where he had to jump from stone to stone over hot lava. Even that wouldn’t deter him. His mind was frantic with ideas of what he could do if this path became inaccessible on the way back. Leaving through the window could be an option, since there was a small slither of roof below Drake’s room. From there, if worse came to worst, Drake would fall only one story, and into grass.

  Clover’s heart couldn’t have galloped any faster, chased by the flames and urged on by the need to protect Drake at all cost. What happened in Apollo’s torture chamber had left their relationship cracked, but Drake would have never hurt him if he wasn’t protecting him from something much worse. Drake loved him, and Clover would not desert him.

  The smell of char and gasoline intensified with each passing moment, but nothing was burning in the second floor yet, so he ran straight through the open door of Drake’s room. It was a shock to see him sleeping in his favorite gray sheets, hair spread over the pillow, and despite the angry bruises and cuts, Clover found himself hesitating whether he should disturb Drake’s peace. But there was no time to waste.

  He pulled back the comforter and forced Drake’s limp body into a sitting position.

  “Come on, come on, it’s gonna be okay,” he muttered despite knowing Drake wouldn’t hear him. Maybe he was just psyching himself for what seemed like an impossible task, but didn’t people lift cars in desperate times? He could handle a a hundred and seventy-five-pound man.

  He grabbed Drake under the arms and dragged him, walking backwards toward the door and calculating which route to take. The sounds of items crashing to the floor and the fire devouring everything in its wake made all the hairs on his body bristle. Every cell in his body screamed for him to drop Drake and leave through the bedroom window, but he would never do that. He would never abandon Drake, just like they wouldn’t abandon Boar, regardless of what Pyro believed in his drunken state.

  He needed to stay calm if he was to get through the hell roaring downstairs. The smoke was getting thick in the air, and he coughed when the contaminated air stuck to his throat. If only Drake wasn’t so big, so heavy in comparison to Clover, they’d be outside already, but he trudged on despite the pain in his back and stomach muscles, dragging the limp weight along the open corridor.

  “Help! Tank!” he yelled, because even if Tank couldn’t come, it wasn’t like Clover had anything to lose by yelling at this point.

  Step after painful step, Clover carried Drake, barely able to breathe in the thickening smoke. His one advantage was that he knew the house by heart. If the fire hadn’t spread to the back door, he’d be able to go through there and drag Drake to safety in the grass. But as he started pulling him down the stairs, a closer look at the inferno below stifled the hope burning in Clover’s heart. The air trembled, and the choking fumes made Clover hol
d his breath as he helplessly tried to assess his situation.

  When he leaned beyond the bannister, it became clear the flames were already licking the bottom steps. A hole opened where his heart was, but there was still a chance to go back to plan B.

  But before he could have attempted to drag Drake back to the room, a cloud of white dust blew from behind the concrete wall below, stifling the fire and chasing the flames farther away from the stairs.

  Clover had never felt so light before.

  “Tank!”

  Tank held the fire extinguisher as if it were the sword of a knight in shining armor. Clover could have cried with the relief of seeing him even if the ordeal wasn’t over yet, and the house was still on fire.

  “Come down, I’ll take him!” Tank yelled, battling the flames with the white clouds coming out of the extinguisher.

  Clover hesitated, unable to bring himself to let go of Drake, but Tank must have understood it wasn’t going to happen. He let go of the empty extinguisher and sprinted up the stairs, rolling Drake over his shoulder as if he trained to be a fireman. His face shone in the orange light when he glanced at Clover. “Now. Now. Now. Go!”

  Clover took half a second to look back, to memorize Drake’s face, but then sprinted to the nearest exit, coughing and desperate for air. Even his eyes hurt from the heat, but when he rolled onto the grass outside, all his attention was on the open door that showed him fumes.

  Clover barely managed a few breaths when Tank emerged from the smoky cloud with Drake slung over his shoulder, but no matter how much Clover wanted to hug him, his limbs were too heavy to move.

  Tank didn’t stop running before he reached the very edge of the driveway, and it was only when Clover followed him on his hands and knees that he noticed Pyro in the dark. He sat with his back to the lamp post, knees pulled to his chest and his face buried in between as if he wanted to curl into a perfect ball. Violent sobs shook Pyro’s entire form, as if he couldn’t stop.

  Tank ignored him, falling to his knees just a couple of steps away from the arsonist. Despite the tension in his face, he laid Drake on the asphalt with such gentleness Clover wanted to hug him even before Tank leaned down, listening to Drake’s breathing.

  “I didn’t know he was there,” Pyro choked out, but didn’t up, as if he was unwilling to see the consequences of his actions.

  Clover just sat there, watching the destruction of their safe harbor, of the place he’d grown to call home.

  “How could you?” he whined, shaking his head.

  Tank took in the blaze consuming the home he’d worked so hard for. His jaw muscles worked slowly, as if he were considering his options, but in the end he pulled out his phone, dragging his feet as he walked off.

  Clover swallowed, left on his own with Drake still unconscious and Pyro howling while their life burned down.

  Boar was lost, and now the one place where Clover had felt safe was too.

  He wiped tears off his face, sniffing when he noticed that the only reason why Pyro wasn’t running amok was because Tank had cuffed him to the lamp post. Despite all the mayhem he’d caused, Pyro was the image of suffering. Wailing, trembling all over, he was a raw wound sprinkled with salt over and over again.

  Clover couldn’t find it in him to hate Pyro when all they had now was each other. He approached on hands and knees, wary as if Pyro was a rabid racoon. He considered asking him what he needed, or comforting him with a promise of finding Boar, but Pyro was drunk and completely out of it.

  So Clover just hugged him, ready to be pushed away. But that didn’t happen, and he dared put his cheek on Pyro’s shoulder. Clover would have never imagined that he’d even see Pyro crying, let alone that he would be the one having to give Pyro support. Yet here they were.

  After all the horrors Clover had survived, he needed to be the rock and take at least some of the burden off Tank’s shoulders. No matter how unimaginable it had been before, he held Pyro in a hug and let him cry his heart out as the world around them burned.

  Their Obsession – the end

  Their Property

  (Four Mercenaries #3)

  --- Bruised not broken. Loved. Always. ---

  Clover’s life was perfect a year ago. He’d found four men to love, each essential to making him whole. Each one of them tough in their own way, part of a crew of mercenaries living on the wrong side of the law.

  Tank was his loving Daddy, Pyro the wild one always pulling him into mischief, Boar taught him how to cook, and Drake showed him how to use knives in a wholly different fashion.

  All Clover wanted was to finally be an equal in the group. So he trained, he pushed, and risked, but when real danger stared him in the face, he broke like a twig.

  Now, with one of his lovers taken, Clover can’t find a way back to his former self. Each of the relationships they’d so meticulously built is fractured, and might never be the same.

  If their group is to ever be whole again, Clover needs to find the courage he’s lost, but that means facing the monster who scarred him, and truths none of his men want to confront.

  *

  THEIR PROPERTY is a dark gay harem contemporary romance, book 3 in the “Four Mercenaries” trilogy. The story contains scenes of explicit violence, offensive language, morally ambiguous characters and lots of scorching hot, emotional, explicit scenes.

  POSSIBLE SPOILERS:

  Themes: polyamory, mercenaries, bounty hunters, albinism, commitment issues, dark past, male bonding, human trafficking, size difference, danger, alpha male, found family, size difference, distrust, shared, victim and protector, revenge, organized crime, angst, trauma, rescue

  Length: ~75,000 words

  Chapter 1 - Clover

  Clover pushed through sweaty bodies, men yelling around a cage he couldn’t see. He wouldn’t be noticed. Not with his dishwater blond hair, gray hoodie, or his unimpressive size. Most importantly though, not when the crowd was as bloodthirsty as a pack of starving dogs in a post-apocalyptic wasteland.

  Pyro’s grunt was like the roar of a speeding vehicle, but despite the clang of metal that followed, Clover wasn’t worried. That hadn’t been a sound of pain or dismay. Pyro was in his element, even if Clover couldn’t see him yet, since his view was blocked by raised hands. He could barely discern the dull thuds of fists hitting flesh, but as he moved toward the podium, blue hair flashed behind the thick steel mesh for a moment, reassuring him that his instincts had been correct.

  The spectators weren’t a solid mass, so he inched closer to the cage bit by bit, keeping his head low to protect his sensitive eyes from the sharp glow of lamps overhead.

  He hated this place, but he couldn’t leave Pyro on his own.

  Pyro’s next punch threw his opponent at the mesh, and Clover yelped when blood sprayed from the man’s broken lip. The crowd were like sharks, and went wild at the display of violence.

  “Ugh… stay down,” Clover whispered to Pyro’s opponent, but it was something he only did out of frustration, because the man whose eye was so swollen Clover couldn’t see it, wouldn’t have heard him anyway.

  For endless seconds the entire room held its breath, as if it wasn’t a collection of individuals but a hive. The man did not get up.

  In the bright light, Pyro’s hair was a frizzy crown. He stood over his opponent, his bloodstained chest rising and falling, eyes hard, ready to catch any movement coming his way. But it didn’t until the organizer, arbiter, or whoever that was, entered the cage and grabbed Pyro’s arm, raising it in triumph.

  The crowd erupted in shouting, some of it so aggressive Clover feared for the safety of the loser. Almost everyone gathered had placed bets on one of the fighters, and if some of those people felt vengeful, things might turn ugly.

  Clover was here for one reason, and he dashed through an opening between bodies in an attempt to reach the platform. He got pushed back several times by people wanting to pat Pyro’s sweaty shoulder or high five him, but he was getting closer.

&n
bsp; “Pyro!” he yelled, reaching out in frustration. The last thing Clover needed was Pyro disappearing for drinks with strangers.

  But in the flood of noise, which had just been joined by loud rock music, Pyro remained deaf to his shouting.

  His face shiny with sweat and blood, he was still in the post-fight rush Clover had seen too many times to count. His movements were stiff, as if his knees had partially locked, but he went with the flow of people who, after a sequence of victorious fights, adored him for the cash he made them.

  After four months of futile searching for Boar, Pyro had to unleash his aggression somewhere, and the fights were his poison of choice. Far from legal, ending up in people’s deaths, concussions and bites, they were something Clover hated on principle, but what really worried him was the risk Pyro put himself through for no other reason than to release violence on a world that had betrayed him.

  So all Clover could do was be there for him and pick up the pieces if necessary.

  Someone handed Pyro a small bottle of vodka, which he took several gulps from as if it were Dr. Pepper, and then sprayed the rest onto the crowd, drinking up their adoration.

  Clover was certain his attempt to attract attention had been futile, but then Pyro’s dark eyes settled on him, and he dropped the bottle, leaning over the railing to reach him. The moment other spectators realized what was going on, someone pushed Clover forward, straight to Pyro’s waiting arms.

  He gasped into the kiss that seared his lips with alcohol and the metallic taste of blood, but at least he was close. There was no point in trying to stop Pyro from these fights. God knew, Clover had tried. He begged, he pleaded, but none of that had worked, so if Pyro was to take part in them anyway, Clover preferred to at least know where Pyro was. The last thing he wanted after losing Boar was to find Pyro dead in a dark alley. And it had come very close to that a month ago, when Clover had been so fidgety about Pyro’s absence in the morning that Tank had driven with him, only to spot a familiar car in a ditch.