Heroes & Ghosts

by SA Payne

  "Who is he?" Vince asked, glancing to where Rye was struggling to move on the floor. "Did you make friends, Jude? What did Papa teach us?" Vince accented each word by pulling Ichi just far enough from the wall to crack him back against it. "Friends are vulnerability!"

  The grip on his throat was just tight enough to hurt and block some of his air without killing him.

  Ichi wasn't sure if Vince meant to kill him or not. His attack had a sense of bitter anger, a ting of jealous want, more than any real desire for violence. Which didn't mean Vince wasn't going to

  take his head off.

  Ichi saw that Rye was still struggling to move. Blood soaked the dark fabric around the slashes

  and pooled under his left arm, his injured leg was splayed out at an odd angle but it was his eyes

  that told Ichi that Rye really was down. They were almost black, the pupils were so wide and unfocused and they didn't appear to be seeing anything going on around them.

  Which meant if he didn't want to be killed like a lamb to slaughter, Ichi had to do something.

  There was no way he could pry Vince's hand from this throat, that wasn't going to happen, and

  he knew he couldn't hurt Vince enough to let him go. One of Ichi's hands fumbled and tangled

  into the satchel, but he encouraged that and shoved his hand inside the bag. His fingers found

  the collar and than easily found the sharp prong on the latch. It wasn't a knife but it was metal

  and pointy and beggars couldn't be choosers.

  The collar came out of the bag, leash and all, and Ichi brought the prong down onto the back of

  Vince's hand with all the force he could muster. The blonde screeched more in shock than pain

  but his hand came away from Ichi's neck, dropping the dark haired man to slump down the wall.

  The collar hung from the impaled prong, leash dangling below and Vince's eyes went wide.

  "What the fuck?" Vince stared in disbelief as blood welled from the back of his hand from the ornate metal of the collar. He pulled back his foot and kicked at the fallen man, hard. "It's not nice to piss me off!" He kicked again, and again.

  The prong on his hand was yanked, because the collar it was attached to was still attached to the

  leash which was quickly pulled to the side. Vince growled a little but knew to let his hand follow

  the pull, it just took a half second for him to understand why his hand was being pulled. When he

  glanced from the fallen Ichi to see why, his eyes locked on Rye and from there, to the blade now

  in Rye's hands.

  That was all the warning Vince was given before the blade plunged into his side. The blonde

  gasped and stumbled backwards, eyes going wide with surprise at the hilt that had appeared in

  his side. He'd been angry, distracted that any of them had found a friend and maybe a real life

  outside of Lerman. He'd viewed Rye's collapse as a sign that Papa Conti was right, friends and

  connections made them weak and had to be avoided. Vince had spent his life fighting, he knew

  defeat when he saw it, knew when a person was hurt too badly to go on and Rye had been there.

  Only now the red head was standing again, blood flowing and gingerly putting weight on his

  knee. One hand, slick with red, still gripped the hilt of the dagger as their eyes met. The

  confusion in Vince disappeared, behind the pain in the grey eyes, behind the dazed uncertainty,

  he saw protective love. He shook his head. "How?"

  That was all Vince was able to ask. A wood chair leg smashed down across the back of his skull

  and the man fell, unconscious, to the ground. Leaving Ichi standing behind him, the chair leg in

  one hand and the other wrapped around his ribs. He half smiled and dropped the heavy wood

  stick.

  "You look awful." Ichi forced out.

  Rye only nodded. "You promised to stay out of the fighting."

  Ichi shrugged. "I lied." He glanced down to the unconscious blonde. "What now? Kill him?"

  "That would be the most logical choice." It was the choice Rye would have made before. He knelt

  down and ran a hand across Vince's side before he pulled the blade from his body. "The wounds

  not fatal, he'll be out long enough. Do you want me to kill him?"

  "Yes, he hurt you but no, not really." He took the bloodied collar and leash from Rye and tucked it back into the satchel. "There's no way we can walk back out of here, you can barely stand and we both look like we've been in a knife fight."

  Rye nodded and accepted Ichi's help to stand. "Let's finish this and then worry about that."

  Finish it, Ichi had almost forgotten about Conti, waiting on the other side of the sealed door. All he wanted was to get Rye safely away but that couldn't be done, not yet. He was angry at himself

  for allowing this, for not thinking about bringing even a basic med kit even if it had looked

  suspicious, for a thousand things but all Ichi did was slid under Rye's arm and help support him.

  Together they half hobbled to the far end, blood dripping down Rye's left arm to fall in fat drops

  to the carpet below in a trail that led from where Vince lay.

  Chapter Thirty Seven:

  There was no way Rye could punch the code in with his left hand, the entire arm was throbbing

  badly, sending sharp spikes of pain from the tips of his fingers up to this shoulder. He hissed a

  little as he made the hand curl around the hilt, freeing up his more functional right hand.

  "It's good that it hurts, right? I mean if the nerves were severed it wouldn't hurt as badly. Guess

  maybe it doesn't matter though, given what Will and Amanda said about your immune system."

  Ichi knew he was babbling but he was scared.

  Rye typed in Vince's pass code again and paused before pushing the final button. "I'll be okay, Ichi, promise." Rye waited until Ichi nodded before he hit the last button.

  The door clicked and unlocked, sliding easily aside to let them into a small side room. Rye

  remembered it well, the secure waiting area was posh, decadent even, with gold trim on rich red

  wood and soft, plush furnishings. It was were Conti met with guests that he didn't want in his

  private office or one of the other more formal meeting rooms. He found an odd, perverse,

  pleasure in letting blood drip on the costly room.

  "You're sure he'll be in?"

  "He's a creature of habit and he never leaves the center of his web during work hours." Rye knew better than anyone Conti's habits, he had years to study the man. "Stay behind me."

  Ichi just nodded and let Rye go first into the next room. Whatever he'd been expecting from the

  external shows of wealth, the plain, efficient office wasn't it. The walls were cream, tan and soft greens, soothing colors. The floor was bare wood, sanded and polished in matching warm tones

  with a geometric rug tossed in front of the desk with colors that matched the office perfectly.

  There was no overt signs of power, no obvious signs of fortune. Neither was there the menace

  that Ichi had expected. From this office a million murders had been ordered, a countless lives

  ruined or raised, entire political systems stopped or started and it reflected nothing of that. On a smaller scale, this place, this office, was where Rye had endured so much that it almost seemed

  a mockery to have nothing stand as testament to that.

  If the office was a let down in it's simplicity, Conti was even more so. An aged man, he sat

  behind his desk wearing goggles similar to the ones programmers used. Office goggles that

  allowed fast and quick interface to information, the man's hands were covered in the input gloves

  and they twitched as he keyed in whatever new scheme he was hatching. Heavy set, he may

&nbs
p; have been a powerful man once but now he was wrapped in his own weight and of little physical

  threat, even his shoulders appeared slumped and worn down by age and time.

  He could have been someone's aged grandfather, someone once vital in youth but now bidding

  time until retirement could lead him to card games and travel. There was the look of someone

  who chronically overworked, his hair was just slightly in need of a trim, his clothes just a touch

  out of style for a man in his position. There was a sense the chair he sat in was nearly molded to

  his body and his skin was a touch too pale for anyone that lived planet side.

  Conti was as ordinary as his office, perhaps a touch more outdated and weaker, but just like the

  office there was no stain on the man that marked him. It didn't seem right that someone as evil

  as Conti must be to look so ordinary. Ichi found himself wondering if they had the right man,

  wondering if maybe this was a ringer or stand in. It didn't seem right that Conti should be a fat,

  old, man that could walk past everyone on the street and go unnoticed.

  "You're early, your orders were to arrive a half hour from now." Conti spoke without even stopping his work.

  The voice, Rye had braced himself to see this man but not to hear his voice. It made him

  tremble and want to run. Ichi slid a hand onto his arm and it was there that Rye found his

  strength. "It's not Vince, Papa." He forced from a throat that felt too tight.

  The hands froze a second before Conti reached up and pulled the goggles off. He dropped them

  onto the desk, eyes going wide a moment before narrowing. "Jude." It was the first time Rye had heard the man speak his name. It had always been a number or an insult.

  "Surprised to see me?"

  Conti carefully pulled the sensitive input gloves off and dropped them to his desk. When the

  second one hit the surface his hand dipped just below the edge. Rye didn't wait, he threw the

  knife and it lodged into Conti's flesh, deep where the arm joined the body on the chest. It was

  perfectly aimed, Conti's arm lost control and the small gun slid across the desk to drop to the

  floor below. The blade was deep enough to make the man cry out but damaged nothing vital.

  Rye was across the room before Conti could react. The adrenaline in his system dulling down the

  hideous pain in his knee and the throbbing in his arm. He scooped up the gun and half leaned on

  the desk for support. The same desk, the man had never bothered to get a new one, Conti had

  raped him on, raped countless of his siblings on. Ichi was standing now, almost on the spot

  where Mica had died. The rug was new but Rye remembered every crack, every crevice in that floor that he'd scrubbed the blood from.

  "Fucking, ungrateful, idiotic, moronic, worthless twat!" Conti cursed but was cut off when Rye yanked the blade from his shoulder. "Have you forgotten what you are?" He hissed.

  Rye leaned there and stared down at the only family he'd known, a man he'd once obeyed

  blindly.

  "You were gutter street trash and I made you glorious! I made you! The most powerful in the

  universe have cowered at your feet because I made you! How dare you raise a hand to me! You

  exist because of my whim!"

  That voice, it made Rye want to vomit. It was easy to say it was the pain and shock, the blood

  loss, but it was Conti's voice that made him tremble. It made him wonder just what he was doing,

  what foolishness had infected him. Mica's plans were silly dreams, there was no place in the

  world for men like them. They were killers, it was all they were good at and it was their father that offered them everything. Like dogs owned by a kennel, it wasn't their place to think, just attack

  and let it up to the master to think.

  "Now, 283, place down your weapons and back away. That's an order, boy!"

  That voice, it made his head spin. Like a vein being opened, Rye felt his will bleeding away. It

  would be so much easier to give up and die, to find an escape. He understood completely why

  Ichi had knelt and let his throat be slit, Rye was ready for that surrender too.

  Only, it wasn't Ichi he remembered laying in his own blood. That was Mica. Rye drew a slow

  breath and steadied his head. He'd killed Mica, it was Mica that had viewed death as the only

  escape. Ichi was here, yes, but not here looking for death. Ichi was here looking for a future, a

  promise of more, a life, with him. Ichi, the quiet, reserved, blindingly intelligent man that he'd

  fallen so madly in love with, stood behind him. There was no delusions there, Ichi knew him,

  knew what he had been and was, and loved him anyway. That, and only that, gave Rye another

  purpose.

  "Fuck you." Rye whispered.

  Conti actually blinked in startled shock. "What did you just say, 283?"

  "I said, fuck you, Papa." He wanted to hit the man, to pound his face to a bloody mash but his own body was too sore, too battered to manage it. Instead, he reached out and dug a thumb into

  the bleeding knife wound in Conti's shoulder. It made the man grit his teeth around a scream but

  Rye used the touch to push Conti's chair back, moving him away from any other hidden weapons

  or emergency call buttons that might be there.

  "You don't own me!" Rye heard himself shouting as he hovered over the man. "I'm not your property!"

  Conti started to chuckle, dark and low and with sharp edges of mocking humor. "Is that what this is about? Revenge? Getting even? How quaint."

  Rye hauled back and hit Conti, with enough force to break the man's nose even if the impact

  caused him to see stars as well. "Even! For us to get close to even I'd have to kill everything you

  love, let you be gang raped and then break every bone in your body and we'd still barely be in

  the same zone as even!" It didn't matter if it hurt now, Rye was hitting Conti, hard. He hit Conti with enough force to open up gashes on his face and knock the man from his chair. When Conti

  fell, Rye moved to stand over him, unable to kick him like he wanted to, he flicked the small gun

  on and aimed it steadily at the older man's head.

  "You're not going to kill me." Conti spoke with confidence. "You don't have the balls for that."

  Rye turned the gun up a notch, it whined as it charged.

  "With me dead? What will you do? Where will you go? Hmm? Put on a suit? Work in an office?

  You'll always be someone's thug, someone's sad little boy who bloodies his hands. Without me?

  You're just a second rate loser drawing blood to get off! If you kill me, you might as well kill

  yourself right after because without me, you're less than nothing!"

  Rye frowned. There was truth in what Conti said. "I'll take that chance."

  Conti struggled to sit up straighter, his right arm useless, one eye swelling shut, looking sadly like an old man that had been violently mugged for his pension check. He nodded his head and the

  angry frown turned to a half smile. "Proud of you." He whispered.

  Rye's hand tightened on the gun and fired. Conti's head dissolved into broken chunks and vapor.

  As the small gun whined to itself, recharging for another shot, Rye stumbled a few feet away

  before he collapsed and his stomach turned over. He lay where he'd fallen and retched, exhausted and broken.

  Until a hand soothed across his hair and stroked across his shoulders. "Shhh." Ichi tried to sooth, his own nerves frayed and snapped. "Shhh, it's over now, it's over." He petted the blood sweat damp hair some more. "We're okay, come on now, come on Rye, let's get out of here? Hmm?

  How do get out of here?" How long could Conti be out of touc
h before someone came to check

  on him? The man must have had a slew of secretaries at the least that were used to their boss

  updating reports and files.

  Rye ran a hand over his mouth and was trained well enough to know he couldn't fall apart until

  Ichi was safe. "Back to the lift, down, out the service entrance if we're lucky." They looked bad, anyone that saw them now would notify security and that would be as far as they got. "Take the knife." The gun was a better choice for Ichi but since he wasn't sure if the other man could use it without shooting himself, the knife was better than nothing.

  Chapter Thirty Five:

  Rye ran a hand over his mouth and was trained well enough to know he couldn't fall apart until

  Ichi was safe. "Back to the lift, down, out the service entrance if we're lucky." They looked bad, anyone that saw them now would notify security and that would be as far as they got. "Take the knife." The gun was a better choice for Ichi but since he wasn't sure if the other man could use it without shooting himself, the knife was better than nothing. Rye tried not to shake his head when

  Ichi retrieved the knife and tucked it away into the satchel, totally missing the point of the man

  carrying it.

  It took three tries to get Rye off the floor and back on his feet. Ichi staggered under the weight

  and gasped in short, hidden pain. "Where're you hurt?"

  Ichi shook his head. "I'm fine."

  "Where're you hurt?" Rye demanded again.

  "Just, banged up, from being kicked." He wasn't going to say that he thought a rib might be

  broken because he knew Rye would rather drag himself along the floor rather than accept help

  that might be hurting him. "I'm okay, let's go home."

  There was no doubt Ichi was lying by Rye could respect the dark haired man's reasons. He

  spared one last glance around the office he knew so well, one final glance to where Conti lay

  behind the desk before he nodded.

  "Yeah, let's go home." Which was so much easier to say. He really had no idea how they'd get back out. It all depended on how much time they had until Conti was discovered, how far they

  could go unnoticed, how many people would risk stopping them. He wasn't up to much more

  fighting, that was the bottom line, and Ichi, well, Ichi wasn't a fighter.