THE PHOENIX WEDDING: The Complete 6 Books Series

by CJ Bishop

  “Thank you.” Abel kissed his cheek. “You’re the best.”

  Devlin discreetly cleared his throat and looked at Abel.

  Horatio chuckled. “I can live with second best.” He winked at Abel. “Don’t want to get you in trouble.” Devlin and Abel laughed. He looked past their small group. “I’m assuming our other two passengers will be taking an alternate flight home?” he murmured.

  “Yeah,” Abel replied quietly. “Clint has some…unfinished business to take care of.”

  “Kind of figured that was why they were tagging along.” Horatio looked at Abel. “How do you feel about that?”

  “I don’t claim him as my dad,” he said low, stiffly. “Not after what he did to these boys. I don’t care what they do to him.”

  Devlin stood behind him and rested his hands on Abel’s waist. He kissed his shoulder. “He certainly doesn’t deserve mercy.”

  “He isn’t going to get any,” Abel said.

  They got the boys settled in for takeoff. Once they were in the air, Abel took Noah and Noel back to Horatio’s bedroom and set the clean clothes on the bed. Noel continued to cling to Noah, though some of the anxiety in his eyes was beginning to ease. “There’s a shower in the bathroom if you’d like to wash up,” Abel told Noel. “Or you can wait till we get home. It’s up to you. Either way, here’s some clean clothes for you to change into. It’ll make you feel better to put on fresh clothes.”

  Noah looked at his brother. “Do you want to take a shower?”

  The fear crept back into his eyes and he hugged closer to Noah, his head ducked.

  “I’ll watch the door for you,” Noah whispered. “So no one walks in. Okay?”

  Noel hesitated then nodded. Noah handed him the folded clothes.

  “There’s clean towels in the bathroom,” Abel told him. “Take as long as you want.”

  When Noel went into the bathroom and closed the door, Abel looked at Noah. The boy sat down on the end of the bed, his eyes downcast.

  Abel sat beside him. “Why does he need you to watch the door?”

  Noah hugged his stomach and whispered, his voice unsteady, “The first time Jim…” his throat worked and tears filled his eyes. “…raped Noel…was in the bathroom. He…he walked in on him while he was taking a shower.” His chin sank to his chest and his lips tightened as tears rolled down his cheeks. “I couldn’t help him.” His chin trembled. “I couldn’t ever help him.”

  Clearing his throat, Abel wrapped his arm around Noah. “You helped him today,” Abel said quietly. “You helped get him safely home.” He kissed Noah’s head. “You’re his hero.”

  Chapter 12

  “I’d like to transfer funds into my savings account.” The man handed the slip to the bank teller, a young woman in her mid-twenties. “Immediately.”

  The woman—Lisa, her name tag read—smiled and nodded. She typed the account number from the transfer slip into the computer. Her smiled faded an instant later as she stared at the screen. When the smile returned, it was polite though not casually friendly as before. “Would you excuse me one moment?”

  “Is there a problem?”

  “Just one moment.” She walked away and entered through an office door labeled Bank Manager. A couple minutes later, a man emerged along with the female teller. He approached the woman’s computer and looked at the screen.

  “What’s the problem?” the man asked again, suddenly feeling anxious. “I’ve had this account for a few months.”

  The bank manager was an older man in his late forties or early fifties with slightly graying hair that was neatly styled. “It seems your account has had an emergency lock placed on it, Mr. Evers.”

  “What?” Jim Evers stared at him. “A lock? What does that mean, exactly?”

  “It means you can’t touch the money until whatever issue surrounding the account is resolved.”

  “What issue?” Jim fumed. “Who locked it?”

  The manager typed something and read the information that came up. “A Kaplan Enterprises law firm. Attorney Jenson Taylor sanctioned the lock on the account.” He looked at Jim Evers. “You’ll have to contact the attorney for further information.”

  Breath surging, Jim snapped, “This is bullshit. That’s my account.”

  “Actually…” the manager murmured, looking at the screen. “The account funds legally belong to Noah and Noel Hollins, stated here as the beneficiaries of a life insurance settlement. You are listed as the trustee of funds on their behalf.”

  “Yes,” Jim said stiffly. “And I’ve never had problems before. So why is there a lock on it now?”

  “You’ll have to contact the attorney.”

  Son of a bitch! He had expected them to come after the money when they took Noah, but hadn’t thought it would be this soon. How the hell did they lock down the money so fucking fast? It would do no good to contact the attorney or try to fight it. If he’d kept his cool when they’d come to the house, presented himself in a civil manner, given them no cause to buy into Noah’s stories of abuse…then maybe he could have come out on top of this. At least they don’t have Noel. Count yourself lucky. That kid could get your ass thrown in prison. Jim could only hope that the city streets had done away with the kid.

  Jim left the bank, stopped by the liquor store, then headed home. He had planned an early retirement on the insurance money. That was shot to shit now. It might be wise to disappear for a while, in case Noah told them everything and he ended up in prison after all. He’d half-expected that psycho cowboy to blow his brains out on the spot—where the fuck had he come from?

  A shiver raced through Jim at the memory. It had been like looking into the face of the grim reaper himself. Something in the man’s eyes had warned Jim that he’d killed before, and had no problem killing again.

  Jim unlocked the front door of the duplex and entered. The sky was overcast and a heavy gloom hung in the apartment. Jim took the bottle of whiskey to the kitchen and came to a dead halt in the doorway. His heart catapulted into his throat as he stared at the silhouette of the cowboy in front of the kitchen window. He hardly noticed the other man at the table until he stood up and Jim’s wide-eyed stare snapped to him. It was impossible to decide which one was scarier since both about made him shit his pants.

  “What…what’s going on?” Jim croaked. “What’re you doing here?” he gripped the neck of the whiskey bottle through the paper bag, squeezing fiercely, ready to use it as a weapon if it came to that. “You have the boy. Just…just leave me alone.”

  A low, deep chuckle sifted up out of the cowboy. It wasn’t a humorous sound—not humorous at all. In fact, it chilled Jim’s blood.

  “You didn’t tell us all your dirty little secrets when we were here before,” the cowboy drawled low. “But Noah talked. He told us about his brother…what you did to his brother.”

  Jim swallowed hard and took an instinctive step back. “You…you don’t understand. I’m not some faggot pervert. It wasn’t like that.”

  The cowboy came forward with slow steps, his boots connecting dully with the linoleum. “You raped a fourteen-year-old kid,” he growled. “It’s like that.”

  The second guy was big and looked like an Indian. He moved toward Jim. “The last man who raped one of our boys…” Hell burned behind the man’s steel gray eyes. “…got his dick ripped off and his ass fucked by a red hot pry-bar.”

  Oh fuck. Jim backed away, horror rising up inside him.

  “Don’t worry,” the cowboy murmured. “We didn’t bring a bar.” He looked at his companion and the man slowly withdrew a large hunting knife. “But you might wish we had.”

  “No…” Jim stumbled back another couple steps and clutched the whiskey bottle, raising it a fraction to warn them off. “Just…stay back.”

  “You’re already dead,” the cowboy drawled. “Accept it.”

  Shaking, Jim quickly stripped away the paper bag and smashed the end of the bottle against the doorframe, splashing liquor all over the fl
oor. “I said stay back.” He thrust the jagged end of the bottle at them. “I swear to God—I’ll fucking cut you-”

  Blackness exploded through his vision as a hard fist nailed him in the side of head like a wrecking ball, slamming him sideways into the doorframe. The broken bottle shot out of his hand and slid across the kitchen floor as he went down in a heap. He hadn’t seen the second man lunge forward and wouldn’t have thought he could move so fucking fast. The room swayed and faded in and out, his head feeling like it would spin off his neck. His bleary eyes fell across the cowboy’s boots as the man walked over, grabbed a fist of his hair, and dragged him to his feet, then threw him onto the kitchen table.

  “Please…” he gasped when the cowboy grabbed the back of his neck. “Don’t-” His face smashed against the table, crushing his nose. Blood gushed out, smearing the tabletop.

  “We don’t grant mercy to the merciless,” the cowboy murmured close to his ear. “Eye for an eye. Or in your case—an ass for an ass.”

  Panic exploded through Jim as his shirt was slit up the back from hem to collar and wrenched open. The Indian was behind him, crotch against his ass, pinning him to the table as he shoved one hand under Jim tugged open his pants.

  “No…” Jim choked, the taste of blood in his mouth. The cowboy shoved his face against the table and held him down. An instant later, he was stripped of his pants.

  “What’s wrong?” the cowboy growled and gouged his fingers into his neck cords. “I thought you liked to fuck.”

  Jim struggled, panic cracking his voice. “Don’t…don’t fuck me…I’m not a faggot!”

  Chuckling low and cold, the cowboy muttered, “No respectable fag would fuck a sick piece of shit like you. And my Egyptian friend here is quite respectable.”

  Jim shuddered against the table as the Indian—Egyptian—backed off and Jim could hear him in another part of the kitchen. When he came back to the table, he squatted behind Jim and pulled his feet apart as wide as his legs would spread, and tied his ankles to the table legs with what felt like electric cords.

  “What…what’re you going to do?” he gasped, his lips ground into the bloody tabletop.

  “Teach you what happens to motherfuckers who rape kids. Unfortunately for you, you’re not going to get the chance to learn from the lesson.”

  A sharp whimper leapt out of him when he felt the tip of the knife drag through the crack of his ass and nudge his balls then slide back up to his asshole and start to push in. “No…please…oh God—fuck!”

  “You abused two of God’s children,” the cowboy snarled. “He ain’t listening.”

  “I’m sorry!” Jim cried. “I’m sorry-I’m sorry-I’m sorry!”

  Leaning down closer, the cowboy whispered, “No—you’re not.”

  “Please-” A hand towel was crammed into his mouth just in time to muffle a blood-curdling scream as a blinding pain ripped through him. His eyes rolled back in his head and he gagged on the towel, choking as his throat filled up with foamy saliva.

  The cowboy continued to grip his neck, holding him down as his body writhed and convulsed against the restraints. “For with what judgment ye judge, ye shall be judged,” he murmured, barely audible. “And with what measure ye mete…it shall be measured to you again.”

  ♦

  “We thought you might be hungry.” Devlin handed a small plate of cheese and crackers to Noah. Beside him, Noel leaned against his shoulder—freshly showered and wearing the clean clothes. All washed up, the boy’s resemblance to Noah was more evident, though still easily distinguishable from his brother. Although they were twins, which put Noel at almost fifteen as well, he appeared even younger than they had guessed Noah to be. “Eat slowly,” he cautioned Noel. “If you’ve been running on empty lately, too much too fast could cause you an upset stomach. Don’t want that.”

  Noah handed one of the cracker sandwiches to Noel. “It’s okay,” he murmured when Noel hesitated. “You need to eat.” The other boy took it and held it for a moment before taking a tiny bite. Noah smiled and bit into one of his own.

  “Do you feel better after the shower?” Devlin asked Noel. “You look like a new man.”

  Noel ducked his head a little and nibbled the cracker and cheese.

  “He feels better,” Noah said quietly, looking at Devlin.

  “I’m glad,” Devlin said softly. He sat down on the end of the bed. “We’re all really glad to have you both as part of our family. I want you to know that if ever need anything, just tell us, okay? You’re not just guests in our lives, you’re family members.”

  Noah gazed at him, a dampness seeping into his eyes. “I like this family,” he whispered.

  “This family likes you, too.” Devlin smiled and looked at Noel. “Both of you.” The boy met his eyes briefly, but long enough for Devlin to catch the gratitude in those dark depths.

  How could anyone hurt two such angelic creatures? He thought about Clint and Cochise, and was comforted by the reality that they would make sure Jim Evers never harmed another child again.

  “Devlin…” Noah whispered.

  “Yeah?”

  Noah looked at Noel who was still working on his first cracker sandwich. “Do…do we have to sleep in different rooms?” Anxiety filled his eyes. “Noel’s afraid to sleep in a room by himself.”

  “No, of course not,” Devlin assured. “For one, we don’t have another bedroom. But even if we did, you could still share the same room if you wanted to. I know things are very frightening right now. It will get better, though. And the fear will go away.”

  Abel came into the room with two small cans of apple juice. “I thought they might need something to wash down the crackers.” He smiled. “I know I can’t eat crackers without something to drink.”

  “Of course.” Devlin shook his head and looked sheepish. “My bad.” Abel set the juice cans on the nightstand. Devlin stood up. “We’ll be right out here if you want anything else.”

  Noah nodded and replied softly, “Thank you.”

  At the bedroom door, Devlin slipped his arms around Abel’s waist and looked back at the boys. His throat knotted with emotion. “Two more angels saved from hell,” he whispered and kissed Abel’s shoulder.

  Chapter 13

  When Samuel left the office the previous day, he did so with a heavy heart. As private as Nolan was, Samuel could see that the man longed to confide in him. He was shouldering a burden alone and it was beginning to wear on him, on both the physical and emotional levels. Samuel had been certain he was about to surrender and actually talk to him yesterday, but Nolan had held back.

  During the night, Samuel’s thoughts had turned to Grid and his obvious affection for Nolan. It still felt right to Samuel, regardless Nolan’s impending marriage. The man was not happy and hadn’t denied it when Samuel stated the observation. But he deserved to be—as much as any of the rest of them.

  Just standing back and watching his friend walk into something that would make him miserable was not Samuel’s way. Maybe it wasn’t any of his business as Nolan had insisted, but how could he just ignore it all? Something in Nolan’s eyes was reaching out to Samuel, seeking refuge in a friend, someone to tell his problems to. Maybe he just needed a little extra nudge to finally open up.

  And here he was, ready to “nudge”. Samuel stood outside Nolan’s door. He glanced absently at his wrist watch; 10:30. He didn’t know if Nolan’s plans for his days off involved his fiancée or if she was here now. The most he’d given Samuel in regard to that aspect was a ‘in a manner of speaking’. Samuel didn’t really know what the hell that meant. He hoped the woman wasn’t here.

  Taking a deep breath, Samuel rang the doorbell. Nolan’s car was outside, so he knew he was home, though no one answered the door. Maybe he’s in bed with her. Samuel grimaced and banished the thought; he didn’t want to believe that. Not that he thought sex between a man and woman was gross. But when a man preferred men and then slept with a woman he didn’t even like…yeah, that kind
of made Samuel queasy.

  How do you know he doesn’t like her? He never said that.

  It was a gut feeling—fueled by Nolan’s depressed mood lately.

  Samuel rang the doorbell again. This time he heard quickened footsteps approach from inside. The door opened and Nolan stood before him in a white undershirt—partially damp—and dark blue slacks riddled with water droplets. His hands retained a wetness as he ran one through his hair, leaving slightly wet streaks.

  “Samuel?” he looked startled, then anxious. “What’re you doing here?”

  “I thought maybe…” he glanced past him toward the hallway. “…you changed your mind about talking.” He shifted his stare back to Nolan. “It does good to talk about things, even if talking doesn’t change what you can do about it.”

  Nolan shifted and glanced behind him. “I appreciate your concern, Samuel,” he said. “But now isn’t a good time.”

  “Do you have company?” He looked Nolan over again, taking in his damp clothes once more.

  “I, uh…”

  “Daddy?”

  Samuel’s stare was suddenly pulled back to the hallway as he stared in shock at the small boy—no more than three or four—standing at the edge of the living room, a large, soft towel wrapped around him, his dark blond hair a wet mess. Samuel blinked, uncertain if he was hallucinating, then looked at Nolan, stunned.

  Shifting anxiously, Nolan cleared his throat and walked over to the child. He sank to his heels and tugged the towel tighter around him. “Go to the bedroom,” he murmured. “I’ll get you some clothes in just a minute.”

  The boy glanced shyly at Samuel then disappeared back down the hall. Nolan stood up slowly and turned around as Samuel stepped into the apartment. The look in the older man’s eyes told Samuel enough for him to put most of the pieces together. He closed the door. “Why didn’t you want to tell me?” Samuel asked quietly. “You’re…a father. That’s amazing. Why would you want to keep it a secret?”