Why didn’t he try and stop Ben?
Was he that hurt?
No, Ben didn’t believe for one minute, short of severing every limb on Marcel’s body, there was no way to stop him.
There could only be one reason why Marcel remained where he was.
“You want me to kill you.”
“I told you, Ben Corbin. When it was time for me to die, I would gift you with my life. But it is a gift you must take.”
“You’re insane.”
“Do it or do not.”
“Because if I don’t, you’ll kill Jacob?”
“Yes. It is my right.”
“Fuck you!” Ben stepped closer and raised the gun. “It isn’t your right. It will never be your right.”
“His life was my gift. A gift I can take away. It’s why I am here—to take what I am owed.”
Ben moved close enough he would never miss. Definitely close enough for Marcel to kill him. But the man stood there. Head tilted, watching and bleeding all over the goddamned concrete.
Yes, Ben could end this only because Marcel never lied, kept his promises, and followed his fucking Rules.
Ben jammed the muzzle of his gun under Marcel’s chin, tightened his finger on the trigger. Still nothing. No fear. No remorse. No anger.
Just him.
Just Marcel.
He could have stopped them from leaving. He could have killed Jacob right there in his house.
But he hadn’t.
Ben’s hand trembled.
Jacob left because he knew, no matter the obstacle, no matter the legion of soldiers, Marcel would come after him.
And Jacob’s choice to disobey had allowed Ben and Jacob to do what Marcel wouldn’t.
Save Sam.
Why?
For the same reason he’d saved Jacob all those years ago?
It couldn’t be because he cared.
He couldn’t care.
Standing there, Ben was convinced Marcel couldn’t feel anything. He only killed. Like some sort of machine, he took what he was owed as easily as he breathed.
A man who brought Ben and Jacob together.
When he could have killed Ben in the very beginning, he’d let him live.
A man who stood waiting, giving Ben the chance to stop him.
Like so many things, it made absolutely no sense, yet fit together perfectly simply because it was Marcel, an old, scarred man, with no soul.
Tears streamed down Ben’s cheeks, and it had nothing to do with the tendrils of smoke skirting around them.
“You told me… You told me when you kill a man, it changes you.”
He met Ben’s gaze. “Yes.”
“That you can never go back to who you were.”
“Yes.”
“I don’t want to change.” Ben inhaled.
“Then do not.”
But how could Ben do that if he had to shoot Marcel to stop him?
Ben searched Marcel’s face, and his expression gave nothing, just like it did that night when he took the gun from Ben’s hand. Again, when he made his offer to protect Ben.
For a price, of course.
“How much is a life worth?” Ben wasn’t sure why he asked.
“There is nothing more valuable.”
“Can you pay for a life with a life?”
A light flickered in Marcel’s good eye. “Yes.”
The spark of hope in Ben’s chest terrified him. But he had to be right. “Then I’ll pay for Jacob’s—”
“Ben!” Jacob started forward, then Marcel shifted his gaze to him, and he froze. “Ben, please…”
“A life for a life, Marcel. I want to pay for Jacob’s life. Do we have a deal or not?”
“Whose life are you to trade, Ben Corbin?”
“Yours.” Ben stepped back.
Marcel tipped his head, casting his gaze to each of them before returning to Ben’s.
“I accept.” The corner of Marcel’s mouth twitched in what could have been a smile. But before Ben could be sure, a tide of black smoke rolled between them, driving Ben back with a wall of heat.
Sirens wailed.
Voices rose up.
A breeze skirted across the ground, parting the smoke behind them, revealing the exit.
Jacob pulled Ben by his arm. He went but refused to look away from the spot where Marcel had stood. Even when the fire flowed across the ground, when the heat blistered the paint on the I beams, Ben kept the gun raised, waiting, fearing, that any moment, Marcel would come for them.
Cool air sucked the sweat from Ben’s skin, fire blinded him to the night.
And he still waited.
11
The letter came two days after the fire. After that night, when Jacob had been so sure he would die.
Not because Yvette would kill him, but because Marcel would cut his throat.
Yet he had lived.
Despite the letter saying Marcel was gone, it was another three days before he could bring himself to walk through the doors of Marcel’s house and meet with the person assigned with settling his estate.
Because he was gone.
Forever gone.
The sadness welling in Jacob didn’t ache nearly as much as the terror he’d felt when Ben had offered Marcel a life for a life.
It had only been outweighed by the relief when that life turned out not to be Ben’s and Marcel accepted.
Yet Ben still hadn’t slept.
Jacob didn’t fear Marcel waiting in the shadows, because that was not the kind of man he was.
Marcel had agreed to Ben’s terms, and he would keep his word.
Jacob hoped doing this, walking into the house Marcel had lived in, would help lay Ben’s fears to rest.
“You okay?” Ben used the key that had come in the envelope to unlock the door.
“Yeah.”
“You wouldn’t lie to me, would you?” He smiled when he said it, but there were shadows in his eyes. Not distrust. Not anger. But guilt.
Jacob didn’t regret not telling Ben why he knew Marcel would come after them. He simply regretted the tears Ben shed at the idea the act could have cost Jacob his life.
Yet again, there he stood, heart beating, breath short, small tremors racing down his spine.
Emotion so heavy, so riddled with spikes, he sometimes wondered if they would break free and tear him apart.
Sometimes they came close. Especially when wrapped in Ben’s arms, their bodies soaked in sweat, their mouths sealed, their tongues at war.
It seemed like after that night they’d stared death in the eyes and left him standing in the rising flames of a burning building, they couldn’t touch enough.
They couldn’t live enough.
Ben squeezed Jacob’s hand, and he stepped closer, resting his chin on Ben’s shoulder for a moment, inhaling his scent and bathing in the heat of his body.
Fuel for the storm of thoughts and feelings threatening to drown Jacob.
But succumbing to the whirlwind wasn’t what frightened Jacob. It was how right it felt.
As if he’d been waiting his entire life for the experience.
Ben kissed him on the temple. “We don’t have to do this today.”
“Yes, we do.” Tomorrow the moving truck would be there, and everything would be gone.
Jacob needed to go there to see where Marcel wasn’t anymore. So did Ben, no matter how much he denied it.
There’d been only a date for when Marcel’s house would be sold, but Jacob had a feeling the people who sent it would know when he and Ben showed up.
It’s why when they stepped inside, the woman standing in the center of the room didn’t surprise him.
Ben tensed.
“Thank you for coming.” Her accent was almost identical to Marcel’s, but the underlay gave it a lilt as if the foundation for what built it was different.
“Who are you?” Ben said.
“Madeline Pelletier.” She did not offer her hand.
If she had, Ja
cob wasn’t sure he would have had the courage to take it.
“Please.” She motioned to the couch. “Sit. This will not take long.”
Jacob started to take off his shoes, but Ben tugged his hand, and he followed him over to the couch.
The woman held out a small envelope.
Jacob willed himself to take it but couldn’t.
Ben did. “What is this?”
“Everything.”
“Everything?”
“Marcel left you everything.”
Jacob’s throat tightened.
“He’s dead.” Ben made it a statement.
Madeline tilted her head, a gesture so familiar Jacob’s heart stuttered.
“His mark will remain. His House is your House.”
“Why?” Jacob wasn’t sure why he asked. Nothing about Marcel had ever made sense to him.
She smiled a little, but her gaze remained blank. “If there is anything here you would like to take with you, you can. After the house is sold, the funds will be added to your accounts.”
As in bank accounts.
Jacob had never had use for one before because he’d never had money.
“Is he dead or not?” A tremor shook Ben’s voice.
Madeline nodded at the envelope Ben held. “There are phone numbers in the back should you need any assistance with accessing the funds or if you have other concerns.”
Ben opened the envelope and removed a simple booklet, with numbers, addresses. None of them in the US.
A six-digit sum had been written at the bottom. The currency was marked in pounds.
“Jesus Christ.” Ben sucked in a breath. “Where did he get this?”
“House’s pay for their indiscretions. Then their accounts are divided among those who belong.”
“You’re saying this is blood money. People died, and you took it from their families.” Ben sounded as disgusted as Jacob felt.
“You may call it that if you choose—”
“I don’t want it.” Jacob didn’t care if he could wind up on the street.
Madeline curled the corner of her mouth in an almost smile. “But it is not. Each House holds coffers for the families or individuals who belong. It is money they cannot touch. Money that goes to their spouses, their children, any surviving relative. We only keep the interest those accounts gained.”
“That’s a lot of fucking interest,” Ben said.
“We only take what we need. The unused amounts left behind by a Sicarii are then split again into remaining accounts. Unless they requested the money to be left to someone else. So no, it is not blood money. It is payment for ensuring that money goes to the right person and is not squandered by those who would leave them penniless.”
“How can there be so much?” Jacob said.
“We have been around for a very long time.” The woman turned. “Keep it or do not.”
Ben closed the book and looked at Jacob. The question didn’t have to be said. Jacob nodded, and Ben put the booklet back in the envelope.
Now they could both go to college, or they could travel the world. Possibilities that barely registered inside Jacob, not like the idea of just staying with Ben.
For now, it was all Jacob needed.
Tomorrow the idea of seeing things he never had might excite him, but not today.
Madeline had her hand on the doorknob when Jacob spoke. “Where is he buried…or entombed, or whatever?” Did they even care for their dead? If not, would they let Jacob take care of Marcel’s remains?
“Take what you like from the house, leave the rest. The details will be handled.” She opened the door. “Oh, and tell the boy to take the letters.”
Before Jacob could ask Madeline what she meant, she left, her footsteps silent, her movements fluid. A living phantom who once gone, Jacob questioned even existed.
He might have believed she hadn’t if it wasn’t for the envelope in Ben’s hand.
He glanced around. “Is there—"
“No.” Jacob didn’t bother to ask Ben if there was anything he wanted. Yet he couldn’t leave. Not yet.
He ran a hand over the cushion of the couch. It seemed like the house should lack life without Marcel there. But it would have had to have it to do that.
Simple furniture. Bland colors. Minimal decorations. House plants on shelves in front of windows, earthy covered rugs on the floor, a bookcase with a few books, and a single photo of…
“It’s gone.” Jacob stood.
“What?”
“Alexander’s photo.” He started to walk over. A knock on the door stopped him.
Sam stood on the threshold. “Hi.”
Jacob hadn’t seen him since he left in the back of the ambulance, an oxygen mask over his face, begging them not to call his mother. Jacob understood why when Sam’s entire family descended on him at the hospital.
Ben got up. “Hey.” He fumbled with the envelope before cramming it into his pocket. “How are you doing?”
Sam shrugged a little. Someone spoke just beyond the door. Sam stepped into the foyer, and a taller dark-skinned boy joined him. “This is Roshan.” A blush filled Sam’s face, almost erasing his freckles. “I wanted you to meet him. He’s sorta…we’re going out. He’s my boyfriend.”
Roshan. It took Jacob a moment to remember.
Sam’s date at the dance Yvette had taken him from. He’d come to the hospital too.
Roshan held out his hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”
Ben shook it, and so did Jacob.
“I wanted to tell you thank you.” Sam shuffled his feet. “I didn’t get to at the hospital. Or after… I waited for Mr. Serghi. Mom said no one heard a call for an ambulance for him. And the firemen, and the investigators… He’s not coming back, is he?”
Ben straightened his shoulders. The words he wanted to say played through his eyes, along with the struggle to hold back.
“No.” Jacob took Ben’s hand. “He’s not.”
Sam swallowed a few times. “I saw a woman leave; did she know anything? Did she say why? Did she say… Did he die?”
Jacob was sure she knew a lot. “She didn’t tell us anything other than the house is going to be sold.”
“Oh.” Sam brushed a knuckle under his right eye. His features pinched. He pressed his lips together.
“But no, he’s not dead.” Jacob hoped it wasn’t a lie. It couldn’t be a lie. Not just for Sam but for himself. Even for Ben, although he’d never admit that either. “I promise.”
“How do you know?”
The blank spot on the shelf seemed abnormally large for the small picture that had occupied it. “A gut feeling.”
Sam nodded.
“How’s your mom handling things?” Ben said.
“She’s standing on the porch waiting for me to come back.”
“She wasn’t going to let him go,” Roshan said. “But I told her I’d go with him.”
“I’m practically on house arrest for something that’s not my fault.” Sam exhaled a breath of frustration that said so much more than words.
Jacob laughed a little. “She loves you. They all do.” A feeling that warmed Jacob and cut him. He’d never had that before.
Ben caught his gaze.
No, Jacob had never had it before, but he still had a whole life to live. There were other chances, the biggest standing beside him.
Failure was possible, but he wasn’t afraid.
And it wasn’t Marcel who’d taken that fear.
“And you’re okay?” Sam said.
“Yeah.” Ben nodded. “We’re good. Both of us. At least I think we are.”
“Yeah, we’re good,” Jacob said. Some of the tension left Ben’s frame, traveling down where they touched.
“Are you going to stay here?” Roshan sounded hopeful.
“I don’t think so.” And part of Jacob did want to stay, while another part—a bigger part—cringed. There were too many memories. Too many moments where he’d been reliant on Marcel, unwillin
g to live and only exist.
“Will you ever come back?” Sam stepped closer to Roshan. “I mean, to visit, you know if you have family or…”
“Do you want us to?”
“Yeah.” Sam smiled. “I mean, I know we don’t know each other, but…”
“You’re important.” Roshan leaned to the side until his upper arm met Sam’s shoulder.
“Yeah, you’re important.”
“You mean like friend important or important-important,” Ben said.
“Is there a difference?” Sam almost looked surprised by his reply.
“Probably not.” Ben chuckled.
“Promise?”
“If your mom says we can keep in contact with you, we will.”
“She trusts you.”
Ben raised his eyebrows and made a pointed look at the door. “She’s standing on your front porch while you go right next door.”
Sam rolled his eyes. “I said she trusts you; it’s everyone else she doesn’t trust.”
“We’ll talk to your mom.” If she said no, Jacob would respect her wishes. But he had a feeling she would welcome them with open arms. His ribs still hurt from the strength of her hugs.
Ben rubbed his side.
Sam took his phone out of his pocket. “Can you…can I have your phone number? To text? I promise not to do it too much. You know, just to check up on you. And to talk. Marcel was the only other person I really knew who had a…boyfriend. There are kids at school, but they’re kids…my mom wants me to talk to a shrink about what happened, but I don’t really want to talk to anyone about that, or this…you know, being gay.”
“We’re kinda scared,” Roshan said.
“A lot scared.” Sam entwined his fingers with Roshan’s. “And since you sort of saved…” He huffed. “I was hoping if I had questions, you wouldn’t mind answering.”
Because there were just some things a teenager couldn’t ask their parents no matter how much they loved them.
Ben took Sam’s phone. “You can text us as much as you want.”
Sam widened his eyes. “You don’t mind?”
“No. We won’t mind.”
“And don’t be afraid to ask questions,” Jacob said. “Any questions.” He’d just have to deal with the more age-sensitive ones as they happened.
And they would happen.
When they did, Sam would need someone to listen.
“Both of our numbers are in there. I have to get a new phone, but I’ll keep the number. And Jacob still has his.” Ben handed Sam’s phone back. “Call us, and we’ll have yours too.”
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