The Dead Don't Lie

by Anne Russo

  Adam studied him through a film of sweat and blood, understanding dawning. The realization was clear, this was his life now, and he’d have to either accept that unfortunate fact or die. A point that Ian drove further home.

  “In the end, everything comes down to survival. So tell me, now, do you want to die or not?”

  “No, I’m not ready,” Adam admitted, his voice trembling at the admission.

  “Glad to hear it,” Ian responded, extending his hand toward him.

  Adam eyed it as if it were a coiled cobra before exhaling a reluctant breath, allowing Ian to hoist him back to his feet. Ian got into position, and Adam mirrored his posture.

  “Get your hands higher,” Ian corrected with a smirk. “Let’s try this again, and this time, I’ll teach you how to stop me from hitting you.”

  * * * *

  It had been a month, Adam thought, the days and weeks blurred in this godforsaken place. His routine now consisted of having his ass beaten daily by a sadistic assassin, one who made it no secret he loathed his mere existence. By week one, bruises covered Adam from head to toe, and he was so sore, even chewing hurt. Ian, for his part, never spoke to him except to correct him. A task he often performed with a punch rather than actual words.

  In the beginning, Adam tried to take his abuse as stoically as possible. Though when his attempts earned him little but silence, Adam took to baiting Ian for a reaction. A sick need Adam figured had to be near suicidal, but he couldn’t curb the urge. Yet despite his best efforts, Ian indulged none of his antics, having no patience for him. His stance infuriated Adam as if he’d asked to be a prisoner in this hellhole with him and his merry band of killers. Killers ruled over by a Mommy Dearest herself.

  Katherine, a frightening and mythic figure. One whose temperamental moods he was still learning to navigate. There may have been scant doubt she was his mother, but there was no warmth, no comfort in that knowledge, only forced interest and concern on each of their parts. For Adam, she, like the rest of them, left him tense and on edge.

  The group themselves came and went at random intervals. They often disappeared for days at a time, resurfacing to regal Adam with tales of their exploits. Ian, too, took off on one secret assignment after another. Unlike the others, he said little of where he’d been upon returning.

  While away, he left Adam in the care of Kalifa and Hector. If Adam thought Ian was diligent in his eagle eye watch, they refused to give him nearly an inch of space. He took to referring to them as the twins even though they bore a scant resemblance to the other. Silent guardians of Ian and their own sacred space keeping company only with each other or Ian. Never with anyone else, they only spoke unless spoken to and never in any significant detail. Their demeanor was cool, never ruffled, and or engaged. Adam couldn’t tell if they were lovers or not; he wasn’t sure if the rest knew either. They shared a room, yet it contained two sterile twin beds and not much else from what he’d gathered.

  In contrast, Mei and her partners in life and crime, Vince and Regan, acted more like college kids on spring break. Still, to their credit, they had at least been friendly. They were even helping with his training when he wasn’t with Ian or his bodyguards. Today, Mei and Regan had woken him at six in the morning pounding on his door, demanding that he meet them downstairs. Standing in the freezing gymnasium, he was far from thrilled. Especially when Mei had a gun pointed at him, expecting him to take it from her.

  “You sure it’s not loaded?” Adam queried, hesitant.

  Regan rolled her eyes good naturedly in response as Mei reassured him with a calm smile. “We’re professionals. Trust us.”

  “No offense, but there’s nothing about any of this I trust,” he admitted, and both women laughed.

  “My, my,” Regan added. “Our boy here may catch on after all.”

  “Sorry, but I’d prefer not getting shot in the face while learning how not to get shot in the face.”

  “You’re not getting shot. Not today, at least.” Mei placed one hand around his waist. The other raised upwards toward the gun Regan leveled in his direction. “Now in all seriousness. The first rule of gunplay is never, and I mean never point a weapon at someone you don’t intend to shoot.”

  “What the hell is this?” Adam demanded, only half-kidding.

  “This, my friend, is essential,” Mei answered. “Ready?”

  “Ready isn’t the word that I’d use,” Adam returned, not thrilled with the way things were going.

  “Grab the wrist and then move out of the way. Got it?”

  He nodded as Reagan clarified. “Where the gun goes you, go in the other direction.”

  It wasn’t as uncomplicated as Mei or Reagan led him to believe. They kept counterbalancing his attacks even as both switched off to help. One of them holding the weapon, the other guiding him, using a series of countermoves. Grab, jerk, move. Even as they took their time, running through the entire thing step-by-step.

  All while, he stood there freezing, astonished by their skill and efficiency. There was a connection between the two far beyond being lovers and best friends. They trusted each other. And that trust extended to every single part of their lives.

  Later that day, while in the middle of his afternoon training session with Ian, Adam circled back to Mei and Regan, still marveling over the connection he’d witnessed, and wondering what it meant. To them, people like them and Ian.

  Ian, who’d been surprisingly patient as guided him blow by blow through a series of crucial grappling moves. Adam did his best to follow along, but his mind remained elsewhere. And being this close to Ian wasn’t helping matters.

  Soon, they were both sweaty and struggling for breath. Even Ian, though Adam noted with disdain that of the two, he was worse for the wear.

  “Can we—we just stop for a second?” Adam pleaded. “I’m pretty sure I’m going to puke.”

  Ian rolled his eyes but allowed him a break so he could pull himself together. Adam bent over, hands on knees, desperate for air, attempting to ignore how Ian’s damp tank top clung to his body. Which, if he were, to be honest, was impressive. Adam indulged in a few impure fantasies as he checked Ian out with what he hoped was a measure of discretion. Fat chance of that. Ian caught him staring and favored him with a cocky, knowing smirk in response. Adam dropped his gaze before Ian had the opportunity to note his reddening face.

  What the hell was wrong with him?

  Adam cringed at his patheticness. It’d been ages since any man sparked his interest, let alone one who’d kidnapped him, faked his murder. And, now seemed to take pleasure out of beating him senseless.

  Distracted, Ian, the sneaky bastard that he was, used the opportunity to sweep Adam’s legs out from under him. Adam’s world flipped upside down, landing him flat on his back. He tried to rise, but before he could make it to his knees, Ian locked an arm around his throat, squeezing tight. Alarmed, Adam fought to fling him off but managed to drag them both to the mat instead, Ian’s steel grip locking him in place with minor effort. Adam grunted, struggling to tap out, gasping for breath with Ian’s arm pressed into his trachea. Air was now a luxury as black spots clouded his vision. He groaned and tried to push back to dislodge him, but Ian remained unmovable. Ian took him right to the edge of consciousness before letting up the pressure. Enough to stave off the panic, though it did little to lessen his unbreakable, vise tight hold.

  In this position, Adam was well-aware of every hard muscle of Ian’s body. Now bent and molded to his own, far more arousing than he expected. He had to suppress a moan as a wave of desire swept over him. Desire so acute that it stunned him into struggling even harder.

  The move made Ian hiss between his teeth, to Adam’s smug satisfaction. A sick thrill raced through him at the realization. Ian half hard as Adam fought to free himself from beneath him. He rolled his hips back causing Ian to scurry away as if the touch had scalded, the air charged and electric. Ian leaped to his feet, leaving Adam on his hands and knees, heaving for breath. Adam
glanced up, surprised to find Ian’s hand awaiting him.

  Sighing, Adam allowed Ian to hoist him upright, as if he weighed nothing, weightless in Ian’s grasp. Ian stayed silent as he tossed him a towel and a bottle of water. Adam was lost in the memory of sweat-sticky skin. The need, touch, and scent ignited, try as he might ignore that unpleasant fact—the unwelcome truth growing sure and steady from mere proximity alone. Adam took a grateful drink, using the bottle to cool the sweat from his brow. The gesture had nothing to do with watching Ian lift his tank top to wipe off, his attention, drawn to a series of rough, twisted marks on both his forearms. The silver puckers of scar tissue interwoven across every inch of skin from elbow to wrist.

  Ian caught him watching, eyebrows raised. Adam had another swig of water and blurted out the first thought that came to mind for the sake of conversation. “Who taught you how to do this stuff?”

  Ian’s reaction made Adam regret asking as he stiffened. A dark cloud spread across his stoic features. He refused to meet Adam’s eyes when he answered. “Rhys.”

  Adam waited for Ian to continue. Ian sighed, taking his time before he spoke next. “I trained with him, and the rest I picked up on my own.”

  Adam noted the way Ian swallowed hard around the memory. It dawned on Adam that Rhys had been someone Ian had loved. Evident in the way he struggled around saying his name as if that alone caused him tremendous pain.

  “What happened to him?” Adam pressed, not sure why he pushed, but curiosity got the better of him.

  Ian’s eyes narrowed as he tossed the towel in hand. “What do you think? He died. They all did.”

  Adam caught the faint hint of grief interlaced in the fierce hostility of those words. It only served to pique Adam’s interest. “You must miss them.”

  Ian scoffed at the suggestion. “Missing people is a waste of time. We all go. It’s only a question of when.”

  “That might be the most nihilistic thing I’ve ever heard.”

  “Talk to me in a few years. A man without attachments or morals sleeps far better than one who does. And he lives longer.”

  He closed his eyes and took a breath, as if done with their conversation. “That’ll do for today. Tomorrow, six sharp. Understand?”

  “Got it,” Adam muttered, thoughts tangled as he sought to unravel Ian’s mystery. And why he had the urge to understand the secrets he kept and why.

  Chapter 5

  The days had begun to blur, whole days lost to the routine of training and exercise. When not doing either/or, Adam spent his time alone in his room. Though allowed free rein of the grounds and the attached gardens, they forbid him from leaving the property. Odd to live a life where he had access to every creature comfort imaginable yet remained a prisoner. A literal push of a button and they’d bring him whatever he asked for, be it a book or his favorite cologne. But not his freedom. As long as they had access to his family, the people he loved, they had him. So, he had two choices. Accept his fate or face the consequences. His once promising life was reduced to practice with Ian for hours upon hours. The intensity of their bouts leaving him battered and bruised from head to toe. Adam dug deep, refusing to plead for mercy, resigned to constant discomfort instead.

  “Your form is getting better,” Ian remarked out of the blue during one of their afternoon training sessions.

  The comment bowled Adam over as it was the first bit of praise he had ever gotten.

  Ian didn’t allow him time to bask in it. They continued through another grueling round. By the end, both he and Ian were soaked to the skin and worn to the bones.

  “That’ll be all,” Ian dismissed him.

  Relieved, Adam retreated to the far end of the mat for a much needed drink of water.

  Ian joined him. Adam, well-aware of his watchful gaze from out of the corner of his eye. He draped the towel in hand around his neck, turning in Ian’s direction.

  “What?”

  “Are you free tonight?”

  “Excuse me?” Adam returned, baffled by the question.

  “I need a plus one for tonight,” Ian explained. “And I assumed since you haven’t been past the gates in a while, you might appreciate the invite.”

  “Let me get this straight. You’re asking me out on a date?”

  “There will be dinner and dancing, so yes, for all intents and purposes, you could call it a date.”

  Adam colored. “And you thought to ask me? Why not Mei, hell, even Vince?”

  “I have my reasons. Is that a yes?”

  “I don’t know. Is no an option?”

  “This time,” Ian answered without missing a beat. Adam tried to decide if he was teasing him or not. “I’d appreciate it if you’d say yes, though.”

  “All right, fine, yes, I’ll go with you.”

  “Great,” Ian nodded, shifting away with a slight grin. “I look forward to it.”

  By the time Adam got back to his room, he had found a new Armani tux waiting for him. Next to it, a wallet and identification for a Jason Suffield. With both a note instructing him to be ready for eight P.M. sharp. Adam had hours to kill in the meantime and considered taking a nap. Exhausted from the usual unmerciful bout of training, but he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to sleep.

  Adam placed the tux on the bathroom door. Now alone with his thoughts, Adam was a mess of butterflies as he tried to imagine what tonight might bring. To distract himself, he tried relaxing with a hot bath and a book. Yet as the seconds ticked by, his anxiousness grew. Adam wondered, yet again, why Ian hadn’t taken Mei with him instead.

  Why me?

  He was still searching for an answer when Ian knocked right at eight. Adam opened the door to find him dressed in a matching tux, freshly shaved with his hair slicked back. Adam was struck dumb by the transformation. Ian blinked, mouth agape, as if just as entranced with Adam’s appearance. He recovered swiftly, surveying him from head to toe with an appreciative eye before making his assessment.

  “It fits,” he remarked, gesturing for Adam to turn, inspecting him from every angle.

  “Do I look okay?” Adam couldn’t help but ask.

  Ian answered him with a nod. “You look fine.”

  Adam frowned at the dismissive remark. In fairness, he wasn’t sure what he expected. Ian wasn’t one for compliments. For now, that faint glimpse of pride in his eyes told Adam everything he needed to know.

  * * * *

  By the time they made it into the city, Adam’s overwrought nerves were at a fever pitch. Once at the hotel, Ian left the car with the valet and escorted him into the building, taking Adam’s arm as they moved into an exaggeratedly decorated ballroom, one filled with dozens of lovely couples. Everyone dressed in black and white, tasteful but expensive diamonds on full display. People danced and drank, carrying on raucous conversations without a care in the world.

  Adam surveyed the room noticing among the many attendees, several men with other men, realizing why Ian had chosen him instead of the others in their group.

  Ian drew him past the scaled down orchestra playing in the corner. At the microphone, a dazzling woman stood in a strapless red dress. Her angelic face was framed by tangles of curly black hair as she crooned out tearful love songs. Ian continued, bypassing a magnificent spread of delicate canapes and fancy hors d’oeuvres. The drifting aromas reminded Adam that he’d forgotten to eat. His stomach grumbled in protest as Ian led him away, much to his disappointment.

  He didn’t stop until they reached the bar where Ian ordered them each a martini. They stood side by side, watching the other couples, sipping their drinks in silence. Ian’s attention focused on Adam as he drank. He turned, meeting Ian’s curious stare as if searching out his innermost thoughts.

  “Yes?”

  “Do you want to dance?”

  “Seriously?”

  Ian chuckled and nodded. “Yes, seriously. Do you?”

  Adam gulped, struggling with the urge to loosen his collar. “I don’t know.”

  “Have you n
ever danced with another man before?”

  Adam reddened; he tried to focus his attention elsewhere, but Ian followed his gaze. Adam took a few welcomed sips, far too sober for this conversation.

  “No.”

  “But you’ve wanted to,” Ian countered.

  “I wanted to,” Adam admitted.

  “Then come on, finish your martini, and we’ll check that one off your bucket list.”

  Adam smiled uneasily. “Bucket list, huh?”

  Ian flashed a grin in return. “It’s a short, lonely life. Let’s make the most of it.”

  Adam swallowed the last of his drink, the alcohol bolstering his courage. “Do I get to lead?”

  “Not tonight,” Ian retorted as he reached for his hand.

  Adam made a face as Ian led them out onto the dance floor center, pulling Adam into his arms. Adam fought back the lump in his throat, finding solace by burying his face in Ian’s chest. Together, they settled into an uncertain rhythm, Adam guided by the thudding of Ian’s heart as they gravitated closer. Their boldness was spurred on by the music and the scant distance between them as Ian folded him tight in his arms. Adam closed his eyes, waves of self-consciousness urging him to run.

  “You’re shaking,” Ian whispered, his warm breath against his ear.

  Adam shivered at the sensation. “People are staring.”

  “You’re right,” Ian confirmed. “They are.”

  Adam searched around, frantic, as several pairs of eyes met his, skipping away guilty when they met his own. “Oh God,” he moaned.

  Ian tilted his chin up and met Adam’s gaze. “It’s not what you’re thinking,” he reassured him. “They’re looking at you because you’re beautiful. Not because you’re dancing with me.”

  Overwhelmed, Adam tried to step away, but Ian refused, the grip on his waist tightening. “I’m not—” Adam protested as Ian drew him further into his arms. Only cloth and a sense of decorum between them.

  “You are. How do you not know that?” Ian murmured, meeting him eye-to-eye.

  Adam shuddered, frightened by how much he enjoyed being in Ian’s arms, the thrill of the unknown beckoning. And with it, the dawning realization of the power he might own. A carrot to dangle in front of his tormentor. Was he seducing or the one being seduced? So far gone, that one push, one shove and over the cliff he’d go, free falling into an abyss of his own making?