But something was off.
Lawson frowned.
There was only one set of footsteps.
He pushed off his stool as Curtis came into the bar, concern and anger darkening his eyes as he looked around the bar once, as though hoping to see something that would prove him wrong.
“They’re gone.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“Gone?” Matt’s voice rose, along with his panic.
The past weeks at The Asylum had been a respite from the constant worry over how to provide for Garet, the terror that no matter what he did, he wouldn’t be able to save Garet from himself. If his brother had run off again, when he’d seemed so happy, then Matt didn’t know shit.
World spinning out of his control, he headed for the front door.
“Stop.” Lawson’s voice brought him up short.
Swallowing hard, he turned, fists balled. “I have—”
“Sit.” Lawson pointed to the bar stool closest to him.
Matt moved closer to the spot Lawson indicated, but couldn’t sit down. Not when he might need to bolt out the door to find his brother.
Why weren’t they already looking?
Reed, who had been edging perilously close to that paddling from Curtis, had sobered and stood quietly now behind the bar, phone in his hand. “Who should I call?”
“No one. Not yet.” Lawson’s chest rose and fell on his inhale. “Matt, sit. I won’t tell you again.”
Biting back I’m not your fucking dog—a retort that was bound to earn him a month in a flea collar or some other fucked up shit from Curtis—Matt perched on the edge of the stool.
Curtis glanced to the wall clock, then to Reed. “Did they say they had any plans? When was the last time you saw them?”
“I haven’t seen them since they took out the trash at lunch time.”
Curtis closed his eyes. “Did you see them come back in?”
Visibly pale, Reed appeared stricken. “No. I didn’t.”
“And you didn’t think to mention that?”
“Hey!” Matt slammed his fist on the bar, making everyone jump. “Don’t you fucking blame him.”
Reed’s eyes went wide as Curtis’s gaze cut through Matt. Without his saying a word, Matt knew there’d be hell to pay later, but right now he didn’t fucking care. Behind him, Lawson put soothing hands on his shoulders, massaging.
“Where would Garet go?” He addressed the question to Matt, squeezing gently.
“There’s a used vinyl store on North Main Street, but I don’t think he’d go there without permission.” He tried to spring up to pace, but Lawson’s grip tightened, stilling him. “I know they’ve been talking about seeing Ezran’s bike.”
In the mirror, he saw Lawson and Curtis’s eyes meet. Curtis nodded once, leaned over the bar, and grabbed his motorcycle keys from the peg. Reed handed him his helmet from under the bar, and he left without saying more, furious sparks in his brown eyes. As angry as Matt had seen him since that horrible fucked-up morning on the police station steps.
Outside, the sports bike thundered to life, its noise receding fast enough to make Reed glance to the opaque windows, frowning. “I’m sorry. I didn’t even think about them not coming back.”
“It’s not your fault, Reed.” Matt reached across the bar, grabbed Reed’s arm and squeezed.
“Matt’s right, Reed. And this isn’t the time to second guess ourselves.” Swiveling Matt’s stool around, Lawson took the one opposite. “Is there anywhere else at all you can think of that they might have gone?”
Chewing on his bottom lip, Matt gazed toward the door, willing Garet and Ezran to walk through it. They’d rue the day they’d gotten up to whatever it was they’d done, because even Matt was tempted to padlock Garet’s door and feed him his meals on a tray in his room—bread and water only for a month—but at least he’d know Garet was home safe.
“Matt?”
“No.” Meeting Lawson’s eyes, Matt shook his head, fighting a sickening sense of dėjà vu. ”It’s not like he confided in me much before we came here, and he hasn’t visited any of his usual haunts that I know. They were all gang spots, so I doubt he would have gone to them.”
“So what do we do?” Still clutching the phone, Reed looked to Lawson for instruction.
Funny, but Matt had never noticed how deep blue his eyes were until they held a sheen of tears.
“Don’t worry.” Lawson’s jaw hardened, and Matt knew he was telling himself to do the same. “He’s going to be fine.”
The phone rang and they all started. Reed thumbed the ON button and handed the receiver to Lawson.
He answered it with a terse, “Asylum.”
Matt watched his face as whoever was on the other end said something that made Lawson clutch the phone so hard the casing cracked. His eyes hardened, turning black with a rage that made Matt instinctively lean back to a safer distance.
“If I were you, I would start running now.” Voice deathly calm, Lawson exuded cold fury. “Because I will find you, and I will kill you, you sick son of a bitch.”
Matt’s mouth went dry and his heart clenched. Only the word Noah reached his ears, and a sharp laugh he recognized from his nightmares.
Ram.
Lawson thumbed the OFF button, jaw working like he ground glass between his teeth. Raised the phone in his fist, and visibly restrained himself from throwing it at the wall.
“Lawson?” Matt whispered his name. “Where are they? C’mon. Let’s go get them.”
Eyes full of haunted fury, Lawson turned to Matt as if he’d forgotten his name, never mind his presence. “What?”
“Where are they?” Matt repeated the question as calmly as he could considering how violently his insides churned.
“I don’t know.” Lawson sat as if his legs had gone out from under him and closed his eyes. “Jesus. Noah. Why the fuck aren’t you here?”
Matt reached out, hovered his hand over Lawson’s knee, then pulled back. As well as he’d come to know Lawson in the past weeks, he realized there was a great deal he didn’t know, and whether he wanted to be touched when this upset was one of them.
Exchanging a glance with Reed, who looked more lost than Matt felt, Matt gently pried the phone from Lawson’s hand and gave it to Reed. Nudged his chin toward the gym. Understanding lighting his gaze, Reed disappeared to call Curtis.
The bell jangled over the door, bringing Lawson off the stool and Matt’s head whipping around. He expected Curtis, so when Doc stumbled through the door covered in mud and blood, carrying Garet, it took Matt a moment to move.
“Get me towels, boy.” Doc jerked his chin at Matt, who skittered around the bar and dove for the laundry hamper Reed had been carrying downstairs when they’d come home, a pile of fresh bar towels inside.
Setting Garet down in a chair and slumping him against the wall, Doc heaved three tables together, barking orders to Lawson to get the rest of the medical supplies along with the defibrillator.
“Jesus, what?” Matt handed Doc the towels.
“It’s a precaution.” Lawson reassured him on his way by, blood back in his face, purpose in his stride.
Matt covered his mouth and stood next to Doc as the man laid Garet out on the table. He was so pale, just like in Matt’s worst nightmares.
“Please don’t let him die.” Matt whispered the prayer.
Doc shoved a towel at him. “Soak that. Wipe him off so I can see where to start stitching. Fucking x-ray is down for parts again, so I won’t be able to tell if there’s shrapnel.”
Frowning from behind the bar, Matt gave the man a funny look, but did as Doc instructed. Wet the towel and came back to bathe his brother as Doc slit his shirt and jeans open with medical scissors. There was blood fucking everywhere.
“Jesus.” It was all Matt could think to say. Then, “Shouldn’t we call an ambulance?”
“Don’t tell me how to do my fucking job, boy. If you can’t do as you’re told, get out of the fucking tent.” D
oc snarled the command, snapping on a pair of gloves.
Lawson stilled beside Matt, meeting his gaze. “It’ll be all right, Matt. Just do what Doc tells you.”
Matt nodded, realizing Lawson or Reed had probably already made the call that would have emergency services on the way. The problem was, they always took their time getting to this side of the city where gang members were as likely to take pot shots at them as they were to block the vehicle getting through, just for kicks. Tired of scraping their dead asses off the pavement, the ambulance drivers usually didn’t bother to turn on their sirens half the time. Self-defense, Matt knew, but right now he really could have used a fucking miracle.
“Blood type?” Doc barked the demand.
Lawson looked to Matt. “Matt?”
“AB positive.” He only knew it because his mother had made them both get typed when they’d started fighting. Garet hadn’t taken to the ring, but Matt had. He and his brother both had the same blood type.
Grabbing the medical box Lawson had trolleyed in, Doc withdrew a bag and tube. Matt sat, knowing what was coming. Laid his arm out on the table and closed his eyes. Lawson soothed his hair back while Doc inserted the needle none-too-gently. Matt jumped, gritting his teeth. Then watched helplessly as his own blood pumped along the tube to his brother’s body and Doc began examining Garet and sewing up his wounds.
“Breathe.” Lawson stroked Matt’s hair back again.
Matt nodded. Realized he’d closed his eyes.
“I’ve never seen them use a knife like this.” Cleaning, examining, and sewing each wound carefully and quickly, Doc kept up his muttered commentary.
When it was over Matt’s head felt like a helium balloon, but it was a price he was willing to pay if it meant his brother would live.
Garet licked his lips, eyes fluttering open, as if they were weighted. Matt surged forward. “Kid. What the heck? Hey.”
“They’ve got Ez.” Garet’s lids fluttered closed.
They.
Matt looked up at Lawson. “The Ravagers.”
“Reed.” Lawson spun, nearly knocking over the man, who Matt hadn’t realized had been standing behind them, gauze and tape dangling from his hands.
Ashen-faced, Reed met Lawson’s eyes. “Yeah.”
“Let Curtis know where I went.”
“What?” Matt spun to face Lawson, head swimming. “No. Lawson. You’re not going there by yourself.”
“Excuse me?” Lawson turned, eyes going almost as brittle as they’d done when he’d been listening to Ram.
Matt held up a hand. “Look. I get that you want to be in control here, but we need to work as a team. Call the cops, and Curtis and Reed will meet them there with you. You can’t take on the whole fucking gang on your own.”
Lawson leaned in, a cold smile moving over his lips. “Watch. Me.”
“Matt?” Reed, standing behind Lawson, shook his head.
All the while, Doc kept tending Garet’s stab wounds.
“I—” Matt’s attention skipped back to Lawson, who had gone for his car keys behind the bar.
“Lawson!” Trailing behind him, willing his vision not to spot, Matt grabbed Lawson’s wrist.
It all happened so fast, he wasn’t sure if his back impacted the floor or the wall. He opened his eyes, Lawson’s face in his, Lawson’s hand around his throat.
“Granite.” The word fell from Matt’s lips.
Lawson blinked, hold loosening. Stepped back. A beat passed between them, and Lawson shook his head, a mask falling over his gaze. “Don’t follow me.”
Matt scrambled after him, reaching the door before it fully closed. In the parking lot, he started to go around the building, but recalled Lawson had parked out front, turned, and got to the car a second too late. The locks engaged before he could yank open the door.
“Fuck! Lawson!” Heel smashing out the taillight, Matt kicked the Aston Martin as Lawson peeled away.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
You are just like him.
The thought almost had Lawson swerving off the road. His stomach turned as he pictured Matt’s face when he’d slammed him against the wall. Lawson’s own submissive safewording outside of a scene because he’d lashed out at him.
Then he’d had to leave him.
He couldn’t put Matt at risk. He’d lost too much blood. Garet needed him. The only way to get through to Matt was to be firm with him. He’d been in fucking shock.
Vincent always had plenty of excuses too.
What Lawson had done couldn’t be fixed now. Matt was safe with Doc and Reed. The ambulance would come for Garet and he’d survive because Doc was damn good at what he did, even though his own trauma had him seeing Garet as a young soldier he’d dragged from the trenches. They would all be fine.
But Ezran was alone and Lawson was the only one who could get to him in time. He kept picturing Ezran the night Noah had killed a man to protect him. Holding Ezran and covering his eyes as Noah calmly let himself be handcuffed and a sheet was laid over the body.
Covered in blood, his clothes ripped, Ezran had struggled in his grip. Demanded Lawson have Noah released. He wouldn’t acknowledge what had been done to him aside from saying Noah had gotten there in time and he was fine.
How long has it been?
That couldn’t be the focus. The Ravagers had tried to kill Garet. They still had Ezran. Him they wouldn’t kill. He was too valuable.
But they would try to break him. Leave the pieces for Lawson to find.
No matter what, Lawson would bring him home. Put him back together if he had to. He might have failed Noah by letting Ezran get caught, might have destroyed Matt’s trust in him, but...
You’re fucking trash. Do you feel like a man?
...but he couldn’t fail in this.
Lawson slowed the car. Pulled out his phone. The gang hung out in this neighborhood, but there were so many apartments on this street, he couldn’t recall which one he should focus on.
A panicked voice answered on the second ring. “Lawson? I am not with them. The Ravagers… I know I fucked up and you’re done with me, so there’s no other reason for you to call. They’ve done something—”
“Tell me where they are, Jon.” He knew he was close, but that wasn’t good enough. “I need an address.”
“Building 1814. Apartment 305.” The man didn’t hesitate. From the sounds of it, he was on the move. “What happened, Law? Let me help.”
“There’s no time. They have Ezran.”
“Shit. I—”
Lawson hung up and tossed the phone on the passenger seat as he parked the car around the corner from the apartment, out of sight. Thick bushes straining against a chain link fence surrounded the building parking lot, obstructing Lawson’s view, but it would keep him out of sight of the windows. Let him get close enough to get inside without alerting the thugs of his presence until it was too late.
As he reached the end of the gate the dull thud of a stereo blasting drew his attention. It was coming from the one wide-open window on the third floor at the end of the black metal fire escape balcony. The voices laughing and shouting over the music were familiar.
“Come on, pretty boy. Are you gonna cry?”
“Not so tough now, are you?”
Steps silent, he climbed the three flights of metal stairs, keeping close to the wall as he made his way across the long balcony. A thin white curtain billowed outward from the window as the wind picked up, bringing with it the stale stench of unwashed bodies and beer. About a dozen older teens sprawled around the room on various mismatched furniture, while three large men with shaved heads and tattoos covering every inch of bare skin stood in the doorway that led to the darkened kitchen.
From this angle, he couldn’t see Ezran. He couldn’t risk going in until he could place the boy or the closest thug would grab him to use as a shield.
“We killed your little boyfriend, pretty boy.” A tall, lanky teen dressed in a faded black T-shirt and jeans, cheap ball
cap with a dollar symbol backwards on his head, came close to the window and bent down. A sharp slap sounded. “Aren’t you sad?”
“You’re dead.” Ezran spoke quietly, his voice coming less than two feet from Lawson, on the other side of the window. “You’re all going to die for what you did.”
Laughter followed his words. Around the room, the teens were in celebration mode, confident now that they were back on their own turf. Ezran was a decent fighter, but on his own he was too fucking small to take on more than one or two of them. Lawson hoped he hadn’t tried. That he’d used the fact that he looked young for his age to make himself seem helpless.
Which might explain why he was in the living room, so close to the window. There was no way to tell if he was bound, but he hadn’t hit that fucking punk back. At least he didn’t sound like he was in pain. With his training he could react in a split second and he’d always been quick, which he’d have to be for Lawson to get him out of there. Skill and brute force wouldn’t be enough in a crowded room against armed men.
Lawson wasn’t too proud to make a run for it with the kid if it would save his life.
The sound of beer bottles clinking from a case in the center of the room provided the distraction Lawson needed. He jumped over the low windowsill, slamming into the closest teen with a swift uppercut to send him flying. Grabbed Ezran before anyone had a chance to react.
He shoved Ezran behind him as the flash of black from a gun hit his peripherals. “Go!”
Behind him, Ezran scrambled through the open window. The urge to stay and fight stalled Lawson for a split second, but he dived out of the way as the gun went off. Slipping through the window, he reached back and slammed it shut. Ignored the wet heat spilling down his arm, motioning for Ezran to keep going.
By the time they made it down the stairs, other members from The Ravagers had poured out from the apartment to surround them. With more space to move Lawson had a better chance of holding them off, but he had to get Ezran to the car.
Flawed Justice Page 27