Open Wounds: The Boxed Set

by Michelle Frost

  “I guess I’ll just have to make you talk,” Justin said and started to move the gun from Ollie’s head to Niko’s torso.

  For a split second, time seemed to stop, and he met Ollie’s eyes. Hard determination stared back at him before a brief flash of regret passed over Ollie’s face, and Dagen knew what he was going to do. Ollie lifted his fists from where they’d been clenched around the hand Justin still had buried in his hair and brought them down hard on Justin’s other forearm before he’d taken aim at Niko, causing the gun to discharge into the floor.

  Justin staggered back a step, and Dagen was already moving as he brought the gun back up.

  This is it, Ollie thought. This is how I die.

  The bullet hit the carpet and Justin released him. He saw the pure rage on Justin’s face, could almost feel it, burning like a brand—deep and scarring—and something Ollie would have to carry for life, however little was left of it. The gun came back up and Ollie lunged, throwing his body over Niko’s even as he heard the muffled pop of the gun going off again. He squeezed his eyes shut and waited for the pain, but it didn’t come, and the scuffle around them seemed to grow in intensity before coming to an abrupt stop. The quiet was almost deafening, then hands were reaching for him and clasping his shoulders, pulling him up. Dagen’s beautiful hazel eyes filled his vision, and Ollie could have wept. With relief. With joy.

  Dagen opened his mouth as if to speak, then stopped suddenly, his face turning ashen.

  “Dagen?” Ollie gripped his arms but couldn’t hold him when Dagen swayed on his feet and that’s when Ollie saw it, a dark red stain, spreading quickly so close to the rose tattoo Ollie loved.

  In the next instant, Vidar was at Ollie’s side, helping to lower Dagen to the floor. Ollie didn’t even have the thought to question how Vidar was even there, but his calm presence did much to stem the panic bubbling up in Ollie’s chest. Pressing both hands over the bullet wound high on Dagen’s chest, Vidar turned his eyes to Ollie.

  “The police will be here any minute. Go down and meet them and call 911. Tell them we need an ambulance.” Vidar’s blue eyes moved to Niko. “Get a towel from the kitchen.” Niko seemed frozen for a moment, but then scrambled up to do as Vidar asked.

  “Don’t make me leave him,” Ollie heard himself whisper. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from Vidar’s hands, already painted red, and his muscles straining to keep his brother’s life from draining away.

  “I’m not asking you to leave him. I’m asking you to help me save his life,” Vidar bit out.

  His hands were shaking so badly he nearly dropped his phone when he pulled it from his pocket. He somehow managed to dial. Niko dropped beside them, almost throwing the towels in his haste to get them to Vidar. Vidar grabbed one, quickly replacing his bare hands with it.

  Red crept up the bundle of fabric, and Ollie had to tear his eyes away. With one last look at Dagen’s pale face, he lurched to his feet just as sirens sounded in the distance. He barely saw anything of the room as he turned for the door that led outside. Wrenching it open, cool spring air hit his face, and the operator said in his ear, “Nine one one, what’s your emergency?”

  Everything was a blur of sound and color and pain. He vaguely recalled the ambulance, but his thoughts quickly became a jumble of sensation, all eclipsed by the white-hot ache in his shoulder. There were hands on him, rough and gentle, voices making demands, to stay or wake up, and then finally a blessed darkness he had been happy to fall into.

  “It’s called morphine, little brother.”

  Sound snapped into focus and a moment later, that ache—though not as sharp as before—was back. He opened his eyes, seeking out the owner of the voice. The room was dim, and even in his groggy state, he knew it for what it was. The machines hooked to him on either side emitted low, white noise, and he could hear a beeping down the hall.

  Magnus stood up and reached for a little cup with a straw sticking out and held it to his lips. “Just a sip. Go slow.”

  His mouth felt like a garbage can, and he was grateful for the cool liquid, but even that small movement of his head caused another ripple of pain to shoot down his torso, and he laid his head back against the pillow with a wince.

  “You’re in the hospital. Obviously. The critical care unit. Although now that you’re awake, they’ll probably move you.” Magnus was whispering and Dagen wondered why until he gingerly glanced around the room. His mom was wrapped in a blanket in one of those stiff-backed looking recliners, and over on a tiny two-seater couch, Harbor and Vidar were sprawled out half on top of each other like when they were kids. When his eyes didn’t land on anyone else, panic welled up in him, and he brought his eyes back to Magnus.

  “Ollie?”

  “Easy, easy. He’s fine and here. In the waiting room down the hall with Niko and Kayla and Rory and half the damn gym, I think.”

  Dagen let out a breath. “Thank god.”

  “No, thank you.” Vidar’s face appeared beside Magnus’s. “The bullet you took was meant for Niko, and he’d probably be dead with Ollie right behind him.”

  Dagen couldn’t even think about that. “Can I see him?” He looked between his brothers and Magnus nodded.

  “I’ll go get him and the nurse, ok?”

  Dagen felt Magnus squeeze his hand, then he stepped out of the room. Turning his eyes back to Vidar, Dagen asked, “How bad is it?”

  Vidar sighed and took the chair Magnus had just left. “Fractured your collarbone. Tore a bunch of muscle up. Way too close to your heart for comfort, brother.” Vidar’s normally stoic mask slipped. “Thought you were going to die in the ambulance. You do that to me again and I’m going to kick your ass.”

  The corner of Dagen’s mouth quirked up before another sobering thought occurred to him. “The competition—“

  “You don’t need to be worrying about that. Especially not now.”

  “But Vi, I need—“

  “Enough.” Vidar shook his head. “You don’t need to do anything but to get well. I won’t sugarcoat it, your shoulder may be fucked. It’s going to be slow healing and a lot of physical therapy. And I want you to pay attention when I say this, Dagen.”

  There was a burn building behind Dagen’s eyes, but he met his brother’s blue ones.

  “Competition or no competition, you have a place at the gym. It’s where you belong. Truth is, I couldn’t do it without you. So, put it from your head.” Vidar gripped his hand where it lay by his side.

  Dagen gave a small nod, then winced at the movement, and not a moment later a nurse came in, asking questions and checking his vitals. Dagen endured it all, even as his eyelids grew heavy after one of his machines made a hissing sound and a comforting warmth spread through his veins. A shadow fell across his bed a moment before chocolate eyes were staring into his as Ollie bent over him.

  “Ollie.” It came out barely a whisper, whatever medicine he’d just received making his tongue thick and hard to move.

  “I’m here. Just rest, okay?”

  “Okay.” He started to let himself drift but fought to stay awake a moment longer. “Ollie!”

  Warm hands cupped his face. “Do you need something?”

  “Stay. Please, stay.” Something wet dripped onto his face and he struggled to open his eyes. He was so warm.

  “I’m not going anywhere. Promise.”

  The blackness that had held him earlier suddenly felt like Ollie’s lips on his and he was happy to sink into it.

  Epilogue

  Three Weeks Later

  The club was mostly what Ollie expected it to be. Green and gold accents highlighted a dark bar and nearly every other surface of Viridian, Magnus’s nightclub. There were small, upraised stages scattered around the dance floor, and one larger stage directly above and behind the DJ. Three men in bright green briefs edged in gold danced and gyrated on the main stage to the pulsing thump of the music.

  “You can dance if you want,” Dagen said in Ollie’s ear, close enough that his
beard brushing Ollie’s cheek sent a shiver down his spine. He turned in the booth they’d taken over to find his lover watching him with warm eyes.

  “And just leave you here on your own?” Ollie couldn’t help but glance at Dagen’s shoulder and the bandage he knew was hiding under the dark blue button-down shirt Dagen was wearing. Dagen had only been out of the hospital for a few days, and Ollie wasn’t about to let him out of his sight. With his arm in a sling to help support his shoulder and keep it immobile, Dagen wasn’t up to dancing of any sort. Ollie leaned closer, letting his body rest against Dagen’s uninjured side, and brushed his fingers through the dark red hair of Dagen’s beard. “How’s your pain?”

  Dagen smiled at him. “The baseline vibration is not doing me any favors, but it’s tolerable.”

  “We can go home. I should have told them it was too soon.” Ollie started to shift toward the edge of the booth, and Dagen chuckled and reached for his arm.

  “Baby, I’m fine. Besides, if gets too bad, I’ll just tell Magnus to turn it down. I’ve got some clout around here, you know.”

  Ollie searched his face but didn’t see any of the trademark signs the pain was getting too intense so he decided to try and enjoy himself. After Justin attacked them and Dagen took a bullet for him, things had come into clear focus for Ollie. The fear of losing Dagen after he’d just found him had been a rock in his chest until he’d stepped into Dagen’s hospital room and seen him open his eyes again. Dagen had asked him to stay, and at that moment Ollie knew that he would. He’d stay forever if Dagen would have him.

  He had been sure he was going to die that night in the apartment, with Justin screaming about drugs and Niko sobbing. Justin and the men with him had all been charged with multiple accounts of assault with a deadly weapon, breaking and entering, and a host of other things. One thing remained a mystery though, there was no trace of the drugs Justin had been convinced Niko had taken.

  Justin had admitted to police that the backpack was actually one he used at the shop and he’d hidden the drugs in the lining with a plan to have Niko unknowingly transport them to a buyer while on an errand for Justin. Of course, after Justin had pushed Niko too far and he’d fled across the country with the backpack, Justin found himself without the product he was supposed to sell or a way to pay his supplier.

  Ollie supposed it was one of those things they would never really know the truth of, but more than likely, another of Justin’s abused employees had probably taken the drugs and left Niko holding the bag.

  “That is a serious thoughts face,” Rory said, sliding into the U-shaped booth on the other side of Dagen and setting the drinks he’d gone to get on the table between them. “No serious thoughts tonight, lad.”

  “Sorry.” Ollie tried to look sheepish before accepting a bottle of beer and giving Dagen a sympathetic smile when Rory placed a Coke in front of him. He wasn’t allowed to have alcohol with the medication he was taking, another reason Ollie had been concerned about coming out tonight. He got that everyone wanted to celebrate Dagen being out of the hospital. He really did. No one was happier than him that Dagen was doing so well that they got to be home where they could sleep in their own bed and lounge on their own couch. Eat their own food. Even though Dagen had to coach him through how to cook it all because he refused to let his diet fall into complete chaos despite being unable to train.

  It was a double-edged sword because, while he didn’t want Dagen to be tempted with the little things he couldn’t have, he also wanted to take his mind off the big things. It was the first day of the state lifting competition, and while Dagen hadn’t mentioned it, Ollie knew he was disappointed to not be there. Vidar had assured Dagen that lifting competitively or not, Dagen always had a place at the gym, and more, he didn’t have anything to prove. He could tell Dagen took it to heart, but he’d seen his man researching training routines for shoulder injuries and knew not to count Dagen out of the game yet.

  “The club is nice,” Rory said, looking around and taking it all in. Ollie had almost forgotten that Rory and Magnus avoided being in the same place at the same time, and as such, Rory had never been to Magnus’s club. Someday he would ask about it, but it appeared to have been either put on hold or disbanded entirely when Dagen was in the hospital. Whatever the cause, Ollie hoped they would work it out. He’d grown fond of both men over the last few weeks and it was obvious that, despite their differences, they both cared a great deal about Dagen and the family in general. “And look, Harbor’s already found a target.” Rory tilted his head. “Though not his usual one.”

  Ollie turned to follow Rory’s gaze to see Harbor on the edge of the dance floor, wrapped around a man. He couldn’t make out any features with the dim lights, but Ollie could tell they looked great together. “What do you mean?”

  “He typically takes up with the lasses,” Rory said and took a swallow of his beer.

  “Guys having a good time?” Magnus stopped by the edge of their table. He was stunning in expertly cut black slacks and vest with an emerald green button-down rolled up over tan forearms that made his eyes, so like Dagen’s, look so green the other colors were nearly eclipsed.

  Rory’s gaze swept over Magnus so quickly, Ollie almost missed the sadness that clouded them, before he grunted an affirmative and lowered his eyes back to his beer.

  Raising his own eyes to Magnus, he nodded. “It’s a really nice place,” Ollie said, looking out over the crowd to the stage where a different rotation of guys were now dancing.

  Magnus followed his gaze and smirked. “If you know anyone who’d like to go-go, send them my way. It’s so hard to find Midwestern boys with rhythm,” he said with a laugh. “I’ve been trying to talk Niko into it. He’s cute as a button, and with all those tattoos, he’d be stunning up there. So would you, Ollie.” Magnus shot him a teasing wink even as Dagen growled behind him.

  “Hey, hey!” Dagen said, snaking his uninjured arm around Ollie’s waist and pulling him back until he was basically sitting on Dagen’s lap. “This one is mine.”

  Ollie turned his head with a raised eyebrow.

  Dagen’s face scrunched up and then he sighed. “But of course, if he wants to dance, I’ll support him.”

  Ollie thought his heart might burst as he smiled and leaned in to press his lips to Dagen’s pouting ones. “No worries, babe. I may not be from the Midwest, but I dance like I am.”

  Magnus and Rory both laughed as Dagen pulled him closer, nipping at his bottom lip and licking into Ollie’s mouth for a much deeper kiss.

  “You know, I have strategically placed alcoves for that kind of thing,” Magnus drawled.

  Ollie pulled back reluctantly, sure his cheeks were pink, and pressed his face in the crook of Dagen’s neck just to breathe for a moment. He was so damn thankful to be there.

  A moment later, Niko plopped down beside Ollie, sweaty from the dance floor, and Magnus winked at Ollie before saying he needed to go check on some things.

  “Have fun?” Ollie asked, and Niko smiled.

  “Yeah, this place is great.” Niko fiddled with the plastic wristband he had to wear inside the club to mark him as under twenty-one.

  “How many years before you can take that off, laddie? Four? Five?” Rory teased.

  Niko huffed. “I’m almost twenty, you know. I couldn’t even be in here if I was under eighteen.”

  “Magnus said he was trying to get you to dance,” Ollie said, draining the last of his beer.

  A little blush crept over Niko’s cheeks. “I don’t know if I’d be any good at it…the money would be nice though.”

  “What money?” Vidar stepped up to the table, a dark look passing over his face when his blue eyes settled on Niko, and Niko’s immediately lowered. Ollie’s brows scrunched together. What the hell was that about?

  “Um.” Niko licked his lips. “I’m going to go grab a water.” He started to shift out of the booth, but Vidar stepped to block his exit.

  “Stay for a minute.”

 
There was something about the way Niko instantly backed down and slid back into the booth that had alarm bells pinging inside Ollie’s head. He opened his mouth to ask Niko if he was okay, when Rory and Dagen started to sing, and everyone around their table joined in.

  “Happy Birthday to you…”

  Ollie looked from one to the other, trying to figure out who they were singing to when he saw Kayla with Magnus and Harbor on either side of her walking to their table with a double layer cake in her hands, the top blazing with candles.

  “Happy birthday, dear Ollie…Happy birthday to you!”

  “What the hell?” he managed to squeak before that blazing cake was placed directly in front of him, and he looked up into the eyes of all the people that had recently come into his life and filled it with more kindness and support than he’d ever dreamed of finding. He focused on Kayla, her green eyes so understanding as she smiled at him encouragingly. Dagen’s hand slid around to encircle his waist and he rested his chin on Ollie’s shoulder. Ollie turned and met his gaze and saw all the emotion he was still so afraid to voice reflected back at him.

  “You did this?” he whispered.

  Dagen gave him that small smile. The one that lit him up, held him together, and was his. All his. “You deserve to be celebrated and I thought it was time you had some new memories to mark the occasion.”

  Resting their foreheads together, Ollie fought the burn building behind his eyes and brushed his lips over Dagen’s. “Thank you.”

  “Make a wish, baby.”

  He knew exactly what to wish for.

  End of Carry and Drag

  Chapter One

  Harbor Rourke slid his hand down the toned chest in front of him. This guy’s body was a work of art. He had a similar build to Harbor, tall and broad with muscle to spare. He tested the firmness of the muscle beneath his palm, finding he enjoyed knowing the kind of work it took to maintain a physique like this, enjoyed feeling the proof of someone else’s discipline against him. He’d never given the body bringing him pleasure such consideration before. Sure, he looked for the things that pinged his arousal: ass, breasts, shapely legs, a sexy smile. But to catalog the strength shifting under his hands, and knowing intimately what it took to achieve it, was an entirely different kind of admiration. It put him at having something more in common with the man moving against him than just two people looking for release, and Harbor wasn’t sure how he felt about that. He didn’t like complications. He didn’t like strings. Obviously, a shared affinity for exercise and keeping in top form wasn’t suddenly putting them in commitment territory, but it was more of a connection than Harbor ever entertained, it went beyond thoughts of mutual gratification.