by H M Wolfe
Twenty minutes later, he walked back into the forested area, changed for the night, and slid back under the covers, relieved that everything was over. He could sleep the rest of the day away, and leave at sunset, avoiding Quinlan and his questions. For a brief moment, the man's eyes appeared before his own, clouded with pain and sorrow, but he chased the image away.
He'll be fine, Brennan thought. The other cousins will take care of him. However, the Fates had other plans for the young man, the sound of a familiar voice waking him up around ten o'clock in the morning. Still sleepy, he put on a t-shirt and his spare pair of jeans and cracked the door open. The sight of Quinlan, clumsily holding a brown, paper bag chased the crankiness away, making him smile a little inwardly.
"Um...hi," Quinlan stated, lifting the bag to eye level, "I hope I didn't wake you up. I'm sorry if I did. Aunt Willa made some brownies, the tastiest in the world, and I thought you would like some."
"No, you didn't wake me," Brennan lied, stifling a yawn, "Just a rough night, with a lot of tossing and turning. I appreciate your gesture." He took the bag, opening it, and picking up a brownie. "Mmm, delicious," he moaned in delight, biting into it.
"Aunt Willa and Regina's brownies are quite famous among my family members." Quinlan nodded, his face brightened by a wide smile. "I'll bring you a sachet of tea to brew when you can't sleep; it works wonders when I have nightmares or with Tarquin's insomnia."
"Thank you, but that's not the case," Brennan declined with a small smile. "I haven't had any nightmares since..." he abruptly stopped, not wanting to give away more than he already had.
"It's okay; you don't have to be ashamed for having nightmares." Quinlan blinked in his innocent way. "Carter, the shrink in charge of my case, told me that repressing bad memories is ten times worse as letting them go. Tarquin does that from time to time, and it's pretty bad; he buries himself in work to forget. This time, Daniel figured it out well in advance, and he planned a surprise for the two of them.."
"Wait a minute, isn't Daniel your cousin, the one who lives over there?" Brennan pointed a shaky index in the mansion's direction. "And isn't Tarquin the name of his husband, the blond one, the tech god?" he continued, slightly nauseous.
"Yes, and yes." Quinlan smiled brightly. "You've got them right, although I don't remember mentioning their names more than once, twice the most. Daniel took his husband for a little vacation in the middle of nowhere, just the two of them. They left at the crack of dawn, must have already arrived by now," he continued.
"What?! Please, tell me they didn't take that brand new, shiny, black car. The one closest to the garage's door." Brennan fought the lump in his throat.
"It was the only one that could take them to their destination, so yeah, they took that one." Quinlan nodded in approval. "It would be its long inaugural ride. Daniel only took it on short distances, no more than a couple of times. I have to go." He frowned, checking his phone. "Auntie Willa messaged me. I'm needed at the mansion. Take care of yourself." He hugged Brennan, somewhat awkwardly.
His boss was going to be furious, more than that, the man would be livid, but Brennan didn't care, he could go and screw himself. What he regretted, though, was the unnecessary loss of life. The blondie wasn't supposed to die, and he wasn't supposed to be there in the first place. Maybe there was a chance that the raven-haired would succumb to his wounds, he thought, packing his backpack and duffle bag.
Indeed, as soon as he stepped into his boss's office, Brennan met his cold, deep-blue eyes that pierced right into his dark soul. With a small gesture of his hand, the man indicated the chair on the other side of the desk, and Brennan complied. After examining his subordinate for a few long minutes, the older man broke the heavy, uncomfortable silence.
"You failed. My enemy is still alive and kicking, although I expressly ordered you to eliminate him. What did I do wrong for you to repay me like that? Not only that, the goddamn bastard lives, but my beautiful Tarquin suffered life-threatening injuries. How do you explain that?"
"I have no excuse, I know, and I'm ready to deal with the consequences," Brennan answered as calmly as he could. "However, I couldn't anticipate Tarquin's presence in the vehicle; I'm an assassin, not a clairvoyant. As for the target, he can still die from complications."
"If you are looking for someone to buy your lame excuses, I'm not the right guy, sonny boy," the man harshly interrupted him. "Let's get straight to business." He undid his belt. "Or are you taking your word back?"
"No, I'm not a coward." Brennan took off his shirt. "I'm ready." He turned his back to the other man, waiting for the first blow.
"Not here, I don't want blood on the carpet; it's antique and costly." The man opened the door, brutally shoving Brennan outside the room. "That way." He pointed to a solid metal door. "Get inside and wait for me."
Brennan nodded silently, stepping into the dark, poorly ventilated place, the mix of odors inside making him gag, much to the boss's satisfaction. Seeing the evil smirk on the other man's face, as he chained him to the wall, Brennan braced himself for the pain that followed almost instantly.
The crack of the belt through the dense air and the sick noise it made on contact with his skin were the only sounds in the room. Brennan closed his eyes, pushing everything into the back of his mind, emptying his brain, but his efforts irritated the other man, who hit harder and faster. After what seemed an eternity, he finally stopped, but the torture wasn't over. Not in the least.
CHAPTER 7
B rennan's employer started to unzip his pants, making the young man freeze on the spot. When he foolishly agreed to be punished in case of failure, the assassin didn't think his boss would take advantage of him being temporarily restrained from fulfilling his dark sexual fantasies in that brutal way. He didn't intend to be a sacrificial lamb, waiting terrified for the inevitable end. On the contrary, the young man thought, tugging at his restraints.
"Oh, c'mon, don't be like that." The man ran his hands up and down Brennan's slashed back, smearing it with the blood that was dripping from the wounds. "Your good Uncle Fabian will give you a hell of a good time."
"Don't even think of touching me, bastard," the young man hissed through clenched teeth. "This was not part of the deal."
"Dear boy, haven't you learned by now that the winner takes all. In this case, your precious virginity? I'm going to break your sweet little ass, and you're going to enjoy it," Fabian purred, scraping his teeth on Brennan's scarred back. "Mmm, your blood tastes so sweet..."
"Whip me some more if you want, but don't do that; otherwise, you are going to regret it." Brennan tugged at the chains, with even more force than the first time.
"Oh, really?" the older man mocked him, twisting his nipples. "You seem to forget who saved your tight behind from being raped in prison day in and day out. I'm the only one you have, the only one standing between you and a cell in hell." Grinning wickedly, Fabian undid Brennan's jeans. "It's time to show some gratitude and take it like the good, little whore you are."
"Get your filthy paws off me," Brennan yelled, jerking desperately at the chains, with such force that one of them flew off of the bolt that held it securely to the wall. "Never. Do. This. Again." He wrapped the free end of the chain around Fabian's neck, choking him. "Do you hear me, sick bastard?"
Not waiting for Fabian's reply, Brennan freed his other hand, then he started to hit the other man with his fists, aiming more at the chest and stomach. The blows landed unwaveringly, methodically, the burst of rage he had at the start replaced by a fit of cold anger. However, the young man didn't plan to kill his detested boss; no matter how much he hated to admit it, the bastard was right.
He was doomed, evil to the bone, and the sick fuckers at the lab had brought the beast out of hiding, making it stronger with every twisted experiment they performed on him. Sometimes, Brennan wondered if there was still some humanity left in him, and the answer was always negative.
Just like Fabian, he belonged in the shadows; a creat
ure made entirely of darkness and chaos. A murderer; someone who doesn't belong among people, especially the decent, kind type, like that Quinlan guy with his big, deep-blue, innocent eyes and pure soul. The two of them should never have met; it was one of destiny's cruel jokes.
"I'm going to get my shirt from your office and go home. You better not call for at least twenty-four hours. I need to rest," Brennan spoke coldly, as he unwrapped the chain from around Fabian's neck.
"Will you still work for me?" the older man asked between fits of coughing, terrified at the perspective of a negative answer. "Not that you have many options," he dared to inject.
"Yes, I'll continue to do your dirty work," the young man spoke tiredly. "I'll come here for the details about the next assignment as soon as I recover, no more than three or four days."
"What about the mission you failed to carry out?" Fabian dared more, seeing the other man back to his usual, semi-submissive mode.
"I'll think of something, don't worry. I'm not the type who leaves a job unfinished. Or a promise unfulfilled, for that matter. See you when I see you," Brennan said, leaving the apartment.
He didn't go to his apartment, though, because his boss's attack made him feel dirty, and he didn't want to stain that place, so sacred for him, with the evilness of that man imprinted on his body. Instead, Brennan chose one of his numerous hideouts scattered all around the city. If he learned something during the three harrowing years spent at the lab, that was the art of hiding and disappearing without a trace.
The closest hideout to Fabian's apartment was in a rundown, abandoned motel, which had somehow survived the demolitions in the area. The most significant advantage of the place, and another reason Brennan chose it, was that it had running warm water, so necessary in his condition. The thought of him in the shower with the hot droplets cascading on his skin, making the dried blood trickle down the drain, made the young man speed up his pace.
Almost an hour later, squeaky clean wounds tended and dressed for the night; he slid under the warm blankets. But, instead of drifting asleep, Brennan listened terrified at the sound of their steps and the steady, threatening rhythm of their breath. He wanted to yell and scream in protest, but the weight on his chest and the cold fingers wrapped around his throat prevented him from doing so.
The words of that twisted-minded scientist from the lab, Conroy Winters, reached to him through the veil of panic clouding his brain. The wretched man used to call Brennan his little, deadly, untamed beast, so he did as any cornered wild animal would do: waited until the attackers got closer, and then fought back with all the fury pent up inside him.
The young man fought off one adversary after another, unclenching their greedy, sharp, dirty claws off of his pajamas, tearing at the fabric when he couldn't do it otherwise. This time, the ones attacking him were more vicious than ever, scratching at his chest, leaving long, bloody marks behind, making Brennan yell in pain and anger.
Suddenly, in the middle of the haze of rage and fear, Quinlan's face appeared before him, the same innocent, confused, and somehow pained expression in his incredibly beautiful blue eyes. At first, the occupant of the room wanted to shoo the apparition away, tell him that the rundown hideout was no place for someone with a soul as innocent as his, but he didn't.
Instead, Brennan closed his eyes, a single, hot tear rolling down his pale cheek. Rejected by his father, humiliated, most likely also mistreated, often ignored and neglected—Quinlan and he had a lot in common. He was a monster, and no one would love him. Fabian repeated it like a mantra, day in and day out.
And still, there was that innocent, child-like man, whose image pulled Brennan back from hell, and who warmed the assassin's cold heart, or whatever was beating in his chest. He wanted to keep Quinlan safe from the evilness of the world, to see him smiling all the time. The scary revelation shook the young man to the core: he was capable of affection, and the object of that feeling was Quinlan, the man with a child's soul.
"Any news?" Sebastian left his chair, heading to an exhausted-looking Alasdair, Joraan right behind him. "How was the surgery? How is my son? Is he awake?" The questions were flowing like a torrent from the man's lips.
"We solved the fractured skull problem and removed the tiny bone fragments the force of the impact produced inside, making sure nothing put pressure on the brain, or will damage the brain membrane," Alasdair explained in a professional tone.
"But...because I sensed the but in your voice," Joraan's forehead creased. "Please, don't spare us, we need to know the whole truth."
"We can't determine anything for sure until Daniel wakes up. Then, we'll run a detailed check on him, and I will be able to tell you more. However, what I can tell you is that he needs a lot of blood, and everyone in the Bloom family will be tested for compatibility. The greater the match, the..."
"Wait a minute," Vincent intervened, "why do you need to test everyone? Sebastian, Joraan and Hayden would be enough, as Daniel's closest relatives."
"Normally, yes." Alasdair nodded in approval. "But, just like in the case of the Stark branch, the Blooms' blood has a special chemical composition, that may differ from brother to brother or from father to son but maybe the same in case of cousins. It would have been great if Daniel had a twin, the match would have been perfect."
"Hugo and Theodore are here," Willa spoke as calmly as she could, not wanting to give away her internal turmoil in front of Sebastian, "and I called Ariana, she's on her way over here, too. Ezra is in Washington but said he'd come back to the city in a couple of hours, and Martin Cornelius should arrive any minute. Anyone else I should call?"
"No, thank you, Auntie Willa." Alasdair weakly smiled. "You are an angel sent by the gods themselves. We are going to test those who are present and choose our donors from those whose blood's composition is closest to Daniel's. Uncle Sebastian, Hayden, Gabriel, follow me, please. It won't take long. The results will be available in half an hour at the most."
The three men returned after a couple of minutes, Thaddeus, Theodore, and Hugo being the next who headed to the genetics lab. Only when her older son disappeared out of sight did Willa realize that him getting tested would reveal the fact that he didn't have a single common characteristic to her or his younger siblings.
Until then, she hadn't thought very much about that aspect, but then, as she sat on the chair in one of the Institute's private waiting rooms, in the company of her family, the memories came back vividly. The nurse was carrying a peacefully sleeping Hugo, the lawyer, the papers she and her husband signed, the money they paid... She would always love that helpless little baby, he was her beloved son, and no one had the right to tell her otherwise. Willa straightened her back, inhaling sharply.
Next to each other, fingers laced, flanked by their partners, Sebastian and Joraan relived the painful moments from thirty-four years before when the doctor assisting in the birth of their twin boys announced to them that one of the babies had died. The devastating pain, the nights when the two of them were crying themselves to sleep, everything came in at full force.
And there they were, in another hospital's waiting room, while Daniel's life was hanging by a fragile thread. Alasdair's arrival brought the two men back from the painful trip down on the memory lane. Both of them stared at the sheet of paper in the redhead's hand. It was as if their life depended on it.
"Thanks to all those who offered to get tested," the young doctor started, clearing his throat. "There is no need for new volunteers, we already have a perfect match, and this one's Hugo. A nurse will accompany you to the lab. I'll be there in a couple of minutes." He smiled at the older man. "And now, Uncle Sebastian, Auntie Willa, the billion-dollar question: did you know Daniel and Hugo are brothers?"
CHAPTER 8
"W ait a minute; what did you just say? Hugo and Daniel are brothers? That's impossible." Sebastian left his seat, shocked by his nephew's question.
"I couldn't believe it, either, but the tests are extremely accurate. There's no
place for errors or doubts." Alasdair pointed to the paper in his hand. "According to this, Hugo and Daniel have the same set of parents, paternal and maternal grandparents. For us, as doctors, this is a blessing," the redhead said, smiling. "I'll solve the mystery later. Now the donor and the patient need me." He turned back, leaving the waiting room.
"We decided to become parents even before we got married," Sebastian started in a melancholic voice, breaking the heavy silence, "and started looking for a surrogate mother shortly after, benefiting from my sweet love's father's generous assistance and financial support. The day the agency in charge of finding the perfect candidate announced to us they had found her was one of the happiest in our lives."
"A riding accident left my husband, Simon, temporarily paralyzed when he was fourteen, and the tests he underwent once his recovery was complete indicated he was infertile," Willa started her story. "He told me before proposing, but it didn't matter. I was in love with him, so I accepted."
"The fertilization procedure was a success on the first try," Sebastian continued his story, "quite unusual, we've been told. We were already on cloud nine, but our happiness didn't know any limits when they announced to us the surrogate was pregnant with twins, both boys. I was barely twenty, and my sweet love nineteen. Two naive gay boys, who couldn't imagine people could be so cruel, so ugly and mean. Well, I could, but that's entirely another story," he ended on a slightly bitter note.
"Simon had a cousin, elder than him, cold, manipulative, selfish, who was my husband's rival for their grandfather's affection," Willa said in a faraway voice as if she was talking to herself. "He was a few years older than his cousin, and already married, although childless. Anyway, he convinced the old gentleman to appoint as his heir the one who became a father first, then started to spread rumors about my husband's condition."
