by Abigail Roux
Zane did so without a remark or question, and it didn’t take long for a nurse to arrive.
“He wakes up mean,” Ty told her with a smile and a wink at his husband. “I’ve dropped my bed thingy.”
“Easy enough fix,” she said as she walked over to Ty’s bed and retrieved the remote. Then she moved to the monitors at Zane’s bedside.
“Do you have any word on our friends?” Ty asked, too impatient to let her get through the pleasantries.
“There was a man here during visiting hours, he said he was your brother.”
Ty’s stomach flipped, and he and Zane shared a worried glance. What the hell would Deuce be doing here? Was the news that bad that he’d had to sail in from his Caribbean vacation to give it to them?
“Would you like me to see if he’s still here?” the nurse asked.
“Please,” Ty managed.
She left, and Ty and Zane lay in uncomfortable silence. Ty fought not to think about all the scenarios that could come out of this, fought to keep his mind clear and peaceful. There was no use in borrowing trouble, no use in thinking of everything he might have lost until he knew for sure. He rolled his head until he could see Zane again, and they stared into each other’s eyes, taking strength and calm from each other.
Zane tried to smile. “It’ll be okay. We’ll handle whatever happens. Together. I love you, Ty.”
Ty swallowed hard and nodded, closing his eyes. He didn’t open them again until he heard light footsteps in the hallway, one foot dragging as the other hit hard with every other step. Oh God, it really was Deuce. Ty stared at the doorway, his heart in his throat. Did that mean no one else had made it? None of them had made it out of that maze of corridors alive?
The man who peaked around the doorframe, though, wasn’t the brother he’d been expecting.
“Johns?” Ty whispered.
Owen gave him a gentle smile and closed the door behind him as he limped into the room. He had some sort of walking boot on his foot, but otherwise he looked pretty good. A little less fully pressed than usual, but at least he was upright. “I told them I was family,” he explained. “It was the only way they’d let me in to see anyone past visiting hours.”
Ty could barely catch his breath. He stared at the man, his head swirling, questions flying through too fast for him to grab one.
“Who’s left?” Zane asked Owen.
Owen glanced between the two of them. “We lost a few.”
“Who?” Ty asked desperately.
“Your FBI man. The tall guy with the dog name.”
“Lassiter?” Zane asked, voice breaking.
Owen nodded. He swallowed hard before continuing. “The CIA guy, Preston. We all know what happened to him. His friend, Cross? He disappeared. No one knows where he went. Liam Bell . . . he said you wanted us to claim he didn’t make it out of the complex.” Owen sighed. Ty could see his lips trembling. “Sending a dying message with that jackass, it’s . . . it’s mean, Six.”
Ty nodded. “I’ll apologize later. Right now I’m just glad it wasn’t a dying message after all.”
Owen cleared his throat.
“Our boys?” Ty asked him shakily. If Owen had more bad news, Ty wasn’t sure he could take it.
Owen straightened his shoulders and raised his head. “Nick . . .” He trailed off and stared at Ty for a few heartbeats, then shook his head as he looked down at his hands. “They got him off the street.”
Ty’s world sank into him with a suffocating weight. He fought the tears that choked him, thinking of the way they’d just left Nick in the middle of the road. Those tears would come no matter what he did. At least someone had gotten to him, pulled him out of that mess so he didn’t die there, alone.
He opened his eyes to find the world around him watery, and he fought to focus on Owen again, who was still standing with his head bowed.
When he looked up, Ty was stunned to see him smirking. “They say that stupid motherfucker should wake up any day now.”
Ty stared at him, not even blinking. “What?”
“Someone got him in an ambulance. He’s in bad shape, but he’s alive.”
“Holy shit,” Ty breathed, turning to Zane as a smile began to spread across his face. He couldn’t even be pissed at Owen for the way he’d delivered the news. “The others?”
“Doc and Digger came out a little scuffed, a little worse than me. But they’re both being released right now. I was on my way to see them when the nurse told me you were awake.”
Zane cleared his throat, speaking gently. “What about my other two? Clancy and Perrimore?”
“They’re okay.” Owen winced. “That redhead is not happy with you, though. She says you shot her.”
Zane smiled and relaxed, breathing easier. “I hope she makes me pay,” he said with a chuckle.
“By the way. You shot me too, dickface,” Owen grunted. Zane just laughed. Owen glanced between the two of them, still looking too smug for Ty’s liking. “When you can walk, I’ll take you to the others.”
“Let’s go right now,” Ty croaked. He started pawing at his sheets, trying to get himself free as relief filtered through him.
“Six,” Owen tried.
“I’m not your Six anymore, bud,” Ty said, tears in his voice. He waved a hand as he tried to get out of bed. “I’m just your brother. Now, help me out of this bed.”
Owen gingerly got Ty to his feet, trying to keep all the wires and lines from tangling. He fixed them on a rolling stand and hustled to catch up as Ty shuffled across the room and bent over Zane, smiling gently.
“There’s nowhere to kiss you,” Ty murmured.
Zane gave him a warm smile, his brown eyes dancing with light even though Ty could see pain in them. “It’ll keep. Go on. Tell him I said we have a new season of The Walking Dead to watch.”
Ty gave him a kiss on the very tip of his nose, and then, after a moment to consider, he pressed his lips to Zane’s with the utmost care. After making sure he’d had his fill of the way Zane’s breaths felt against his lips, he took the arm Owen offered, and they made their way out of the room and down the hall.
Ty was almost at the end of his strength when they finally reached Nick’s room. The lights were dimmed, only the one above the bed on. Machines beeped accusingly. Ty and Owen found Digger sitting in a chair in the corner, his chin resting on the handle of a cane. Kelly was in a chair by the bed, both hands clutching Nick’s.
They both turned when they heard Ty and Owen.
“Hey, Six,” Digger whispered.
Ty shook his head.
“He says he’s not our Six anymore,” Owen provided, a smile playing at his lips.
Digger scoffed and stood, limping over to pull Ty into a careful hug. They hung on for a few seconds, Digger’s fingers clutching at Ty’s hospital gown. Then they turned to the bed again.
Nick was still, his eyes closed, his breathing shallow.
Kelly gave them a weak smile. “They say he hasn’t woken at all.”
Ty wasn’t sure what to say or do. He moved closer, shivering as the cool air found its way past his blue socks with the paws on the bottom, up his hospital gown. It was hard to breathe, and he wasn’t sure if that was because of his injuries, the drugs, or just seeing Nick in a hospital bed, fighting for his life.
Kelly pulled Nick’s hand to his chest, clutching it as he laid his head on the mattress beside him. Ty sat in a chair on the other side of the bed, sliding his own abused fingers into Nick’s just to make sure Nick knew not to fucking let go. Digger and Owen drew closer, setting up around the bed. They had a lot of time. They could wait for him to wake.
Zane stepped into the row house, prepared to enjoy the feeling of coming home after being gone for nearly two months between the hospital stay and the ensuing investigation in Florida. He had expected it to feel deserted and a little weird. What he hadn’t expected was the utter devastation they found.
The banister was ruined, with pieces of the spindles all o
ver the floor as if someone had chopped them up to use as kindling. A big upholstered chair was upended with boot prints all over it, and the coffee table in the living room was in shards. Zane wasn’t sure how the iron base had been taken apart like it was. A kitchen stool was teetering off the edge of the steps, its legs stuck in the treads and the few remaining banister spindles like it had been hurled toward the staircase. Photos were off the walls, glass everywhere, shreds of material and droplets of blood all over.
“What the . . .”
Ty winced. “Did I forget to tell you about this?”
“Jesus.” Zane moved deeper into the house. They were going to have to replace half the furniture and the entire staircase. He and Ty stood in the kitchen for a long time, just taking it all in. Their life was in shambles. All they had left was each other and a few friends who’d proven they would literally walk through fire with them.
And it was enough.
Ty set their bags down and turned to Zane. Neither of them said a word as they stared at each other. Then Ty stepped forward and wrapped his good arm around Zane’s neck. They stood in the wreckage and held on to each other for long minutes.
Eventually Ty drifted upstairs, and it wasn’t long before he was cleaning. Zane sighed as he listened to Ty sweeping up glass. He could probably manage the climb up there with his leg, but he didn’t fancy trying it just to watch Ty pluck shards of glass off the hardwood. Instead, he headed for the couch, the only piece of furniture in the living room that had remained untouched in the brawl. He stretched out, wondering where the hell they’d go from here, aside from maybe a hotel with no stairs, as he drifted off to sleep.
A knock came at the door some time later, and Zane managed to heft himself off the couch and hobble over to answer it. He checked the peephole, but no one was there. Fortunately, he didn’t have much to worry about now. While they’d been recovering at the hospital in Florida, not only had Ty and Zane been cleared of any wrongdoing, but the NIA had also been summarily stripped of every military and covert resource the government had loaned it. The organization was on its way to being just as weak and toothless as it had once been. Even Liam Bell had been cleared and was out of their hair, wherever the bastard was. Zane still didn’t know whether to believe him when he claimed he hadn’t tried to kill Ty in New Orleans. Had it been Anna who’d switched that bullet in an attempt to rob Liam of any possible allies when he got burned? Zane didn’t know, but Liam had been there for Ty when he was needed, so Zane was willing to call it a draw.
The Vega cartel had retreated back to its roots. It would take years for them to recover from what had happened in Miami, and by the time they did, Ty and Zane would be but a legend among the ranks.
And the CIA, well . . . they had a few hundred million reasons to keep up their end of the bargain.
Really, Zane thought the greatest threat to their lives right now was Michelle Clancy, who was still pissed that Zane had shot her and ruined her perfect track record of not bleeding on the job.
When he swung the door open, there was a manila envelope on the welcome mat at his feet.
Zane glanced up and down the street, scowling. It was a struggle to bend and fetch it—he didn’t bounce back from injuries like he used to—and he gave the empty street one last hard stare, but he saw nothing out of the ordinary. He took his new folding knife from his back pocket and sliced through the envelope, peeking into it like he expected trouble to swirl up out of it in a mist.
“What the hell are you doing?” Ty asked from the stairway. He had a gun in his hand.
Zane winced and shut the door, limping toward the dining table. He supposed they’d both go a while on edge after what they’d been through. “Someone left this on the stoop,” he said, waving the envelope. “I was checking it for . . . danger.”
Ty huffed a tired laugh and came down the steps, standing by Zane’s side as he spilled the contents onto the table.
Two innocuous badges slid out, along with two clear silicone earpieces and two standard-issue CIA mobile phones. There was also a stack of crisp bills that drew a whistle from Ty as he examined it.
“Probably from the money Burns stole,” Zane grunted. “You can smell the blood on it.”
“Sorry, all I see is a sixty-inch flat screen and new furniture,” Ty huffed as he opened one of the badges.
“What are we supposed to do with this?” Zane asked. “They don’t actually expect us to work in the field, do they? Aren’t we a little past our expiration date for the CIA?”
“My understanding was that we’re supposed to be field support when called upon. Sort of . . . part-time, I guess.” Ty showed the badge to Zane with one eyebrow raised pointedly. “Welcome to the Company, Mr. Bond,” he said with a smirk, and handed Zane his badge.
Zane pursed his lips, considering it. “Not too bad, right?” He held the badge up to his face to mimic the photo the CIA had pulled off the FBI servers in order to create the ID.
Ty looked him up and down appreciatively, then picked up the last item in the welcome packet. It was a silver key with a tag attached to it. Ty’s brow furrowed as he plucked the tag between two long fingers and read it. “These are . . . the coordinates of the bookstore.”
Zane only needed a glance to know they were the same numbers as the ones on the ring he still wore on his right hand. “What’s that mean?”
Ty turned the tag over, and on the other side was what looked like a logo. A phoenix made of fire sat atop the words. “Brick & Mortar Books?” Ty read, obviously confused. “How . . .?”
Zane shrugged.
Ty shrugged back at him and stuffed the key into his pocket. “You feel up to a walk to go find out?”
Zane turned wordlessly, and they both struggled into their jackets, locking up the row house before they headed off on the several block walk toward Fell’s Point and the remains of their building.
When they reached the end of Ann Street, though, the brick building on the corner wasn’t a ruin like Zane’d expected it to be. Men were crawling over scaffolding, doing masonry work. Saws buzzed as they cut lengths of two-by-fours and measured for new windows and doors. Salvaged molding and antique parts had been collected and stacked inside.
Ty and Zane both gaped, confounded by it all.
“I get it,” Zane said with a slow grin. Ty still looked a little confused. “A brick and mortar bookstore. It’s our cover. We sell books from the front, and we deal with baby CIA agents from the back.”
Ty eyed him, still frowning when he turned his attention back to the partially rebuilt building. “Are you telling me you get to run a fucking bookstore and kill things for a living? How is that fair? Where’s my carrot? I don’t want to organize books all day!”
Zane chuckled and slid his arm around Ty’s shoulders, steering him away to head back home. “Your carrot is also getting to kill things for a living, baby.”
“Do you have any idea how hard it is to organize books by subject when they should be alphabetical?” Ty shouted. “This is going to drive me crazy!”
“Too late,” Zane said under his breath.
“What was that?”
“Nothing.” Zane slid his hand down Ty’s arm and worked his fingers in between Ty’s, fighting a smile.
They walked on in silence, hand in hand, the warmth inside Zane growing until he thought it just might burn him up.
“Can I get a cat?” Ty asked after exactly one block.
“What?”
“A cat. I want a cat. You get a bookstore, I should get a cat.”
Zane suffered through a brief moment of terror as he recalled his many encounters with Smith and Wesson. Then he remembered the smile on Ty’s face whenever one of those monstrous, fuzzy, evil felines had bumped its head against Ty’s, and Zane instantly caved.
“Okay. You can get a cat.”
Ty yanked him to a stop, wrapping his good arm around Zane’s neck to kiss him. Zane pressed his forehead to Ty’s, his fingers sliding along Ty’s shoulde
r to fix the twisted strap of his sling. He stole another kiss as Ty grinned.
“I love you,” Zane whispered.
Ty kissed him again. “I love you.” He waited a beat, eyes narrowing, sparkling dangerously. “Two cats?”
“Don’t push me, Grady.”
I’m not sure what to say about this book and this series and this piece of my soul. I’ve spent almost every day of the last eight years with Ty and Zane, and saying good-bye to them as this series comes to a close is bittersweet. My world will be an emptier place without them.
Ty and Zane started their lives as a message between myself and my former cowriter. A message asking, “What should we do now?”
“How about murder?” was my reply, and that was that.
We wrote Cut & Run, and we finished it with enough content to fill two books, and in the end Ty and Zane walked off into the sunset, happy and in love. It didn’t feel right. After a day to let the ending settle, it was painfully obvious that this was not the proper end of the story. There was more to tell, and the rewrite began. A story arc formed—a tortuous, cruel story that would force Ty and Zane to work for their happy ending.
It’s no secret that I was responsible for Ty. He hopped onto the page fully formed with his entire background and circle of family and friends sitting there, waiting. He was easy. When Zane became mine after the fourth book, I suffered through a few months of doubts. Zane wasn’t mine. I didn’t know him. How could I do this series justice on my own? How could I do these characters justice?
It didn’t take long to get to know Zane, though, and what I began to see among the shadows was a flickering spark. I called him a phoenix hoping to lure him out, and it worked. He’s mine now, just as precious to me as any other.
And I suppose that sums up Ty and Zane. They’re precious to me. And I hope, along the way, they’ve become precious to you as well.
Thank you all for letting Ty and Zane, and me, into your lives.
Explore more of the Cut & Run universe with the Sidewinder series at: www.riptidepublishing.com/titles/series/sidewinder
