Road Trip, Volume 2

by BA Tortuga

  Anything at all.

  Neil didn’t answer, but Paddy didn’t expect him to. Hell, he just needed to make noise, to talk, to not think anymore because he’d held a gun and shot someone, then watched the someone’s face sort of… dissolve, and he’d do it again to help his Neil.

  The light caught his attention, the flash sudden and bright and unmistakable. Plastique.

  “Boomer.”

  That was…. Wow.

  Wow.

  Boom.

  He pushed harder on the gas. Whatever police that were around, they’d be heading toward the blast zone.

  He was heading to Vegas.

  “Do you hear me, Neil? We’re going to the doctor’s in Vegas.”

  Vegas.

  Vegas, where they were going to be fine.

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  “MA’AM, YOU need to sleep.”

  Duncan logged in, staying away from the window as he typed. Nan was more than a touch upset, and her constant fretting was not helping him stay in control, especially after so many fucking days. The woman didn’t look a whole lot like her son, all but the eyes. Those eyes were MJ’s. Of course, MJ was a… special case, he guessed. Especially after he’d gone to Colby’s friend’s house and found… an abattoir.

  “I’m trying. I can’t. I’m worried about my baby boy. I have feelings, you know? Feelings.”

  “I’m sure he’s fine.” He checked Yahoo. Nothing. Then he went to Gmail.

  Oh, holy fuck.

  An email from John Wayne Jr.

  He clicked on it, half expecting it to be some sort of ridiculous spam, but his racing heart and sweaty palms told him he hoped otherwise.

  “Doc. Keep package safe. Find red rocket man. I’ll be in touch. We got a problem.”

  There was no signature. No sign. Nothing but that Doc, which no one else called him.

  He looked over at MJ’s mom. Safe. Right. “Everything’s going to be fine. How do you feel about Vegas?”

  Walking on the Sun

  Chapter One

  VEGAS SEEMED garish.

  Cowboy had always thought so, but these days he was damned tired and grumpy, and he wanted to see Duncan so bad he thought he might just scream with the frustration.

  Not that he was given to screaming.

  Thank God for the damned explosion at the base. At least that way, no one had demanded Cowboy show them a body. Sonny had been fucking impossible to deal with, and Cowboy had been forced to get pretty creative when it came to slipping the big guy a mickey.

  That whole dependency thing might come into play eventually too, and Jay-Jay wouldn’t thank him for that. If Jay was alive and kicking, which seemed unlikely. That burned son of a bitch Greg was fucking crazy and—unless Cowboy was reading shit wrong, and he didn’t read shit wrong very often—the insane idiot was tying up loose ends like whoa.

  Maybe he would just dump Sonny at the Tropicana and grab Duncan. They could go back to Texas, blend in.

  Like Doc would blend. Lord.

  They were supposed to meet at the Bellagio at eight fifteen, him and Doc and the redhead, at the very least.

  Cowboy checked his watch. Ten minutes.

  He hoped MJ’s momma had gotten her slot-machine groove on. That lady seemed like the kind who could really win some cash at the slots.

  “Colby.” The word was soft, low, and slid right down his spine.

  He spun around, and there was his Doc and the redhead and the tall, skinny Brit.

  Although, really, all he saw was dark hair and dark eyes and a tired smile. Dark eyes. Well, woo-hoo. Go Duncan for being in control of the beast. He smiled back, unable to stop it from sliding across his face.

  “Hey, Doc. You’re the best thing I’ve seen since Christmas when I was ten.”

  “You look tired.”

  “What do you want?” The little rocket scientist looked pissed. “Why did you have him find us?”

  So much for the pleasantries.

  “I need him.” He pointed a finger at the Brit, not so anyone around them would notice. “I need him to help find Jay.”

  “No.” The redhead looked stubborn. “He’s had enough. We won’t help. Boomer’s on his own.”

  “You want to tell that to the redneck? You go ahead. He’ll hunt your ass down. They took English here because of you, not Jay. Man wouldn’t have even been on the job, wasn’t for you.” It sounded like a good truth, one way or the other. Cowboy kept his voice low, even, not snarling like he wanted to.

  “I had a chip because of him; he knew.”

  Duncan did growl. “Enough. Not here. I rented a condo in the desert, big enough for all of us.” At his look, Duncan shrugged. “Nan was good at the slots. Too good. They paid us to leave the Tropicana.”

  “Nan.” Cowboy shook his head, chuckling. “Well, good on Momma. You could use a place to hole up,” he went on, nodding at the kid. “He needs more time to heal, and I need to know if Jay is alive.”

  “Wait.” Duncan stopped. “You mean…. We don’t know if he’s alive?”

  “Not for sure.” Shrugging, he pondered the buffet. “Sonny is a nightmare, I can tell you.”

  “I don’t care.” Paddy looked stubborn as fuck. “Boomer wouldn’t care if it was me.” The kid looked to the Brit.

  “He’s alive.” The Brit’s mouth still seemed a little off, like it was swollen from the inside. He looked like he might live, though, and was healed enough not to get stares, even in the Bellagio garden. A few more months and he’d be right as rain.

  Duncan stared at the Brit. “How do you know?”

  “He’s quite loud. We have something of a connection these days, Manning and I. It’s quite… unusual, actually. Disconcerting, even.” The Brit met his eyes. “You seem like a man of your word.”

  Well, now. He wasn’t one to bullshit, that was the truth.

  “If we help you, help Sonny, I need you to promise me that none of you will ever contact us again.”

  “Shit, son. I don’t even know your name.” And if—when—Sonny got Jay back, Cowboy didn’t figure they’d ever leave each other’s sight again. Not that he could promise for Sonny.

  “I know that. I also know you could find us.” Those green eyes hardened, like chips of ice. “I want this over with. I want the people who want Manning and Padraic and your Duncan put down like rabid dogs.”

  “Well, now. I can get behind that.” In fact, that sounded like fun. He’d like to deep-fry that burned son of a bitch and serve him to his goons, one bite at a time. Cowboy was never gonna forget looking at MJ’s daddy, strung up like an animal, choked on his own cock.

  The hardest thing he’d ever done in his life was walk away from Jay, taking Sonny, just like he’d promised. He glanced at Duncan, whose fists were clenching so hard they were creaking.

  There was a hint of green now in those eyes, and it did his heart good to see the Brit’s eyes go wide.

  “It’ll help you too, babe,” he told Duncan, reaching out without thinking. God, he wanted to touch.

  Duncan stepped forward, then stopped. “We need to go. Now.”

  That growl went straight to his balls.

  “Yeah. Yeah, let’s head out where you’re staying, huh? The redneck is out in the truck.” Otherwise they were going to have to get a room.

  Duncan nodded, stared at Neil and Paddy. “I’ll ride with them.”

  Paddy sighed. “I don’t need a fucking chaperone.”

  The Brit rolled his eyes. “Children, please. I’m tired. If this place you’ve stored Manning’s mother has a pool, then I will happily go. Duncan may ride along with us. Shall we?”

  Oh, look at the little rocket scientist get all stiff and silent, the muscles in the tight jaw ticking. No more blinky little idiot for Red, huh? Growing up sucked.

  A sudden, sharp pain stabbed behind his left eye, and Cowboy jerked his head, staring at the Brit. Who stared back, a warning look in those eyes, a dangerous glint that told him that was the least of what the man
could do. Huh. That was interesting.

  Not near as interesting as the way Duncan swelled up like a frog, eyes going bright green.

  “Stop that, all y’all.” Cowboy smiled easily, trying to defuse the situation. Lord.

  Duncan met his eyes, the need there crystal clear. “We should go.”

  “Go. I’ll see you there.” He grinned, flicking his fingers against Duncan’s hand for just a second.

  “Uh-huh.” He was handed a business card. “Address. We’re on the second floor.”

  “I’ll be there.” As long as Sonny was still asleep and nothing exploded. Man, he shouldn’t think like that.

  “Good.” Duncan started walking, looking like he expected the Brit and Paddy to just follow along.

  They did too. Man, it was a day for change, wasn’t it? Look at his Doc go. Hell, look at his Doc’s ass.

  Cowboy headed out to the truck. They’d get settled, he’d say hi to Momma, and then he’d fuck that ass until the sun set. Maybe until it rose.

  Either way, it worked for him.

  SONNY WOKE up with a dry mouth and an aching head.

  Jesus, for a guy who couldn’t get a hangover, whatever Cowboy kept slipping him was really doing a number. He tried to roll over and sit up, and a shaft of pure agony went through his bound arms as they got trapped beneath him.

  He rolled his head back on the rough cotton pillowcase, which told him he was in a bed. Well, that was something, at least. When the hell had he become the bad guy?

  “Jesus fuck!” He kicked out with his legs, and they slammed against a wall, rattling things around.

  “Sonny?” The voice was familiar, big green eyes staring down at him. Rick. Paddy. Shit. “Let me get those off, huh?”

  “Please.” His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, and he kept thinking he was lucky he had one, after the way… the way those bastards had done MJ’s daddy.

  “Cowboy said he was worried you’d hurt yourself. I’ve been listening. Neil’s here. Do you want water? Or coffee?” Paddy freed his hands, quick as a bunny.

  “Water.” He wanted grain. Pure moonshine. It was unlikely, though. Sonny sighed, his hands falling limp to the bed. Then the tingles started.

  “’Kay.” Paddy nodded, headed out. “Bathroom’s down the hall.”

  “Thanks.” He could at least take a leak before he blew this pop stand. Maybe he’d take Cowboy’s truck, see how fast that fucker could go out in the desert before he crashed and burned.

  Burned.

  Jesus.

  The pain of it curled him into a ball far too small for a guy his size. MJ, giving himself up to that crispy bastard, then going up in a blaze of fucking glory. For him.

  It wasn’t fucking right. It wasn’t fucking right at all, MJ gone.

  Dead.

  Fucking shit.

  That had never been part of the deal. Never. MJ was supposed to take Sonny down and go on. All for one and one for MJ. That was how it worked.

  This? This, Sonny couldn’t even take in. Couldn’t comprehend it.

  No fucking way.

  He pushed into the bathroom, washed his face, the cold water making him want to gag, to scream. Sonny avoided the mirror, not wanting to see. The window in the bathroom didn’t open, so he’d have to go out the hard way. Past the others.

  Damn.

  “Here’s your water.” Paddy put the glass on the sink. “Are you hungry?”

  “No.” The word came out flat. Harsh. “No. I just…. I gotta go.”

  “Where?”

  “Fuck off!” Sonny slammed his hand against the wall, feeling something crack. “I don’t give a fuck. MJ’s dead!”

  “No, he’s not.”

  The world fell out from under him, and Sonny dropped like a stone, his head bouncing off the sink. His vision blurred, his hands reaching out for Paddy’s square form.

  “What?”

  “Neil can hear him. He’s not dead. Sonny, you’re bleeding.”

  “I don’t….” He crawled to the toilet, heaving, his belly empty but trying to void itself anyway.

  A cold rag landed on his neck, but it didn’t help.

  Not dead.

  They had MJ.

  They.

  Had.

  His.

  MJ.

  He slapped Paddy’s hands away and started crawling. “Neil. Where is the fucking Brit?”

  “He’s sleeping. He’s still hurt. You can’t wake him up.”

  Sonny shook his head, finally figuring out where Paddy was. He grabbed the kid’s hands and hauled himself up. “You’ve seen what they can do. Imagine what they’ll do to MJ, goddamn it.”

  “There’s nothing we can do right now. You need to relax.” Paddy stepped away.

  “Relax.” He stared, his hands opening and closing as he tried to get his legs under him good. “Relax. You little fucker.”

  “I could hit you in the head if that would make it easier.”

  “You try it and I—” Sonny broke off when Neil came into the bathroom, or at least the doorway, dressed in soft sweats and nothing else.

  It wasn’t pretty, even almost six weeks later.

  “Do stop. There’s nothing we can do. He’s alive, and he’s out of our reach just at the moment.”

  “Neil. You need to rest. To heal. Sonny’s going to be fine.”

  They had his Precious. His MJ.

  Neil just stared at him. Hard. “You’ll have to calm down to get him back. When we’ve all rested, we’ll make a plan.”

  A plan. Yeah. They needed a damned plan. One that didn’t make his head spin. Sonny tried to nod, but the world was narrowing to a little gray spot in his field of vision.

  “Sorry, MJ,” he mumbled, just before his legs gave out and he hit the tile. He guessed that was one way to relax.

  Chapter Two

  “YOU KNOW, ever since we started playing with Sonny and Boomer, people keep getting drugged and passing out.” He slapped at Neil’s hand. “No. I’ll do it. I can.”

  Maybe.

  Neil didn’t need to hurt himself.

  “Love, I can help get him as far as the bed.” Neil hated being coddled, and Paddy knew it, but there were broken ribs and fingers in splints and shit.

  “No. I can do it.” He was never going to let Neil hurt ever again.

  “Padraic.” The hand without all the bandages landed on his back. “Please. I am not an invalid.”

  The little sob escaped him, but he didn’t let another one out. Neil could have been, and it would have been his fault. All his fault.

  “Stop. We simply need to get the Sasquatch to bed, and then we can fuss all over each other.” Right. Right. All he had to do was look at that smile and remember all of the “could have beens” didn’t matter.

  “Sasquatch.” He chuckled. “I like that. You hold his head; I’ll take his feet.”

  “Got it.” Neil let him take most of the weight, which was a lot, even if Sonny had lost nearly twenty pounds.

  It took forever, but they got Sonny into the bedroom, a pillow under his head and a blanket over him. It would have to do.

  Neil was panting, bruises that were mostly faded made dark on his face because of the flush that had sprung up. “There. Now, how about a spot of tea?”

  “I can do that. You go to bed. I’ll be there.” He needed something too. One of the little pills Duncan gave him to smooth him out. That and a Pop-Tart.

  “Toast?” Neil sounded so hopeful that he couldn’t say no.

  “Sure. Toast and jam. I’ll even make you an egg. Go.” He didn’t wait; he headed to the kitchen. MJ’s mom had bought weird groceries, and he’d headed into town for the stuff he knew Neil liked, plus Jolt, Pop-Tarts, and M&M’s. He started the kettle, grabbed the pan for an egg, and popped a pair of Pop-Tarts in the toaster. Then he gathered cups and sugar and milk and two plates and…. The plates made the best little sounds in his shaking hands.

  Clackclackclackclackclack.

  He took a Valium, swall
owing the little pill dry. He could do this. He could do this. He could do this.

  The whistle of the kettle made him jump, his heart in his throat.

  Right.

  Tea.

  He felt Neil in the back corner of his mind, a tiny, inquisitive knock. Like someone clearing their throat outside a doorway.

  “I’m okay.” See him. See him be very much okay. He was the most motherfucking okay man in the history of okayness.

  When he got back to their room, Neil was on the bed, propped up on a bunch of pillows.

  “I made your tea and toast and an egg.” He put the tray on Neil’s lap.

  “Thank you, love.” Neil’s hand shook a little, but that was because it was the wrong hand. The one Neil usually used was all….

  All….

  That’s your fault, Padraic. Your fault. If he’d never met you, he’d never have been taken. Your fault. Yours. Every bruise. Every pain is your motherfucking fault.

  “You’re welcome. Bathroom. Be back in a sec.”

  “Paddy….” He could feel Neil reaching out to him, but he couldn’t stop. Not now.

  “Drink your tea. I’ll be right back.” He ran—from the disgust and horror and that nasty, evil, vicious voice that wouldn’t stop—and tossed his Pop-Tarts.

  He stayed there, hanging over the toilet, until he heard the scrape of Neil’s slippers on the tile. “Paddy. Please. I need you, love. Why don’t you come lie down with me?”

  “I’m sorry.” Neil needed him.

  He could do this.

  He so could.

  “No apologies. Just come have a sit-down.” They shuffled back to the bed, Neil moving slow, but moving. Breathing.

  Alive.

  No thanks to you.

  He was going to kill that voice.

  “Yes. We need to smother it, hmm?” Smiling, Neil beckoned him over.

  “I’m sorry.” He kept saying that. He slid into the bed, trying to touch and not hurt, all at once.

  “Paddy.” Neil pressed him down with the good hand and held him there. “I am not made of glass. This is as much my fault as yours. I am alive and whole and here.”