by Anne Russo
“I know, Rhys. Never should…brought him,” Ian muttered, “Sorry, I’m so sorry.”
The last bits of the dream faded into the ether, lost as he awoke to discover Mei leaning over him. Her entire face lit up when he recognized her. Over her shoulder, Regan’s shadowy figure wearing a glimpse of the sweet smile Ian loved. The realization that he was free, overwhelming. Near sobbing with relief as Mei cut the binds that had tied him to this hell.
Now free, he sagged forward, knees buckling as both Mei and Regan followed him to the ground. Over their shoulder, Ian searched, frantic for Grady, but the room was empty. Only the remnants of Grady’s torture chamber, stained red with his blood. Ian closed his eyes to the sight, focusing on Mei. He tried to speak, but the words came out garbled and wrong.
“Where—where did? Grady?”
Mei lifted him to feet, his unsteady legs useless weight, his limbs a heavy burden he could scarcely carry.
“He’s not here. He must have known we were coming and ran.”
Ian didn’t grasp right away how injured he was, but it had to be dreadful, judging by the fear Mei couldn’t hide. Grady must have thought he was dead, or he’d have finished the job.
Ian shuddered. Death’s reach had come far too close this time. Regan hurried to take his other arm, helping to steady and carry Ian from the room. He slumped into their arms, relief washing over him as Mei reassured him.
“You’re okay,” Mei kept saying over and over until the truth sank in. “It’s okay. You’re okay now. I’ve got you.”
* * * *
“I have him, Adam. He’s alive.”
One sentence lifted the floodgates open. The tidal wave of panic Adam had been holding back surged forth as his knees buckled. He reached behind him for a chair and collapsed into it.
“He’s in awful shape, though,” Mei told him, unable to hide the slight tremor of panic in her voice.
“Tell me where you are. Katherine’s got a secure floor at a local hospital locked. Now do what you can do to keep him stable until they can get to you,” Adam explained, managing to sound calm, in control. “I’ll have the room ready.”
A long, agonizing hour passed before Mei burst through the doors with an unconscious Ian. Two guards laid Ian on a stretcher whisking him into the operating room Adam had prepped. But even Adam’s darkest thoughts hadn’t prepared him for the sight of Ian’s ruined body. He stood there in open mouth horror, overwhelmed. He tried to tamper his panic and concentrate as he set about removing Ian’s clothes. Mei stepped up behind him, offering her help.
“Help me get him undressed,” Adam told her, cutting off Ian’s ruined clothing as she helped remove his boots. Each item’s removal revealed more of the brutal extent of the torment Ian had endured.
Adam assessed from black purple bruises on his torso a few damaged ribs. There were many deep lacerations. As if someone took razor blades and cut until the skin from neck to waist tore to shreds. He had severe burns covering his legs and arms, several broken fingers. Ian’s face left a swollen mess of dried and fresh blood. There were half-dozen ugly contusions, but the one over his left eyebrow worried Adam the most. It was apparent Ian had withstood several ferocious beatings. And might have serious internal injuries.
Adam’s emotions were an unwelcome truth, poking holes in his attempts to stay professional. Overcome when faced with a patient who, against all rhyme or reason, he couldn’t bear to lose. Then Adam’s training kicked in and overrode his fear.
Adam drew a few shaky breaths, trembling as he moved on autopilot cleaning and bandaging up each wound. There were tears in his eyes as he worked. It stunned him, the realization, unaware until now of how frightened he’d been of losing Ian. Someone he considered near invincible reduced to a mangled shell, and yet he still lived. Adam could only be in awe of someone with that kind of supernatural willpower. Not realizing until now how much he admired Ian’s strength and self-discipline.
“How is he alive?” Mei asked, breaking the silence.
“I don’t know,” Adam answered, and he didn’t. “He’ll need an MRI, X-rays, an EKG. I want to make sure his heart didn’t sustain too much damage, but first, we need to keep him from bleeding to death.”
Mei shook her head, biting her lip. “Oh God.”
“He’ll live. He’s survived this long.”
“Adam?” Ian groaned, startling them both.
“Shh, don’t talk. You’re safe.” Adam assured, tears stinging his eyes. He reached for Ian’s hand without pausing to reconsider, squeezed it. Adam and Mei exchanged a worried glance.
“Grady—I have to—” Ian struggled to sit up, semi-conscious but battling with everything he had left. Adam dove into action, resting steadying hands on his shoulders. Pleading with him to lie back, but Ian continued to fight him.
“Quick. Get me midazolam. Three cc’s. I need to sedate him,” Adam ordered.
Mei dashed off as Adam attempted to restrain him, afraid he’d cause himself any further injury.
“Ian, listen to me. Can you hear me? I don’t want you to hurt yourself.” He bent down, hoping to get Ian to focus on him. “Ian?” Adam tried again, searching Ian’s face for any sign of recognition as Mei handed him the syringe.
“Relax.” He told him and slid the needle home. The drugs had the desired effect as Ian sank into the bed with a soft groan, eyes fluttering shut. Adam waited until the lines of agitation around his mouth, the clench of his jaw, settled. Watched until his breath evened out and he drifted off to sleep, Ian’s hand curled inside Adam’s own.
* * * *
Later that evening, Adam pushed open the door of Ian’s room to discover Kalifa and Hector by his bedside.
Kalifa was seated in the chair while Hector stood on the other side of the room, hands clasped in front of him. Immediately, the low, heated discussion between them stopped.
“I had no idea you two were coming,” Adam said, closing the door.
“Of course we came,” Hector answered.
“Yes, and we’ll be here until Ian is ready to come back with us,” Kalifa spoke up.
“We have plenty of guards here, and I’m here,” Adam protested, bewildered by their insistence.
“This isn’t open for discussion,” Kalifa intoned with a firm shake of her head. “We can remain outside if you insist, but we will not leave until Ian is well enough to tell us otherwise.”
“We have our reasons,” Hector added.
“I’m sure,” Adam replied, marveling at their fierce loyalty to Ian. “Please wait out in the hallway. I promise I’ll keep you both informed.”
His answer was enough to appease them. Without another word, Kalifa rose, gliding past him like a cool, silent ghost. Hector trailed behind her, a dark shadow.
Adam dropped into the seat Kalifa vacated, catching the traces of perfumed sandalwood. Overcome, he sat down beside Ian’s broken and battered body, concentrating on his chest’s rise and fall. An odd sense of peace washed over him with each breath exhaled. When had a life with monsters become preferable to one spent alone?
Adam only meant to close his overtired eyes for a minute but fell asleep sitting. He awoke to both a crick in the neck and a pair of disoriented eyes, struggling to focus. The knot in Adam’s chest loosened as he reached for Ian’s hand. Ian frowned over the gesture, eyes narrowed. Noticing, Adam slid his hand away, his cheeks burning.
Adam cleared his throat and straightened. “You’re awake. How are you feeling?”
* * * *
“Like I should be dead,” Ian answered, his voice feeling weak, sounding hoarse.
“You came way too close this time.” Adam explained, his voice cracking. “Way too close. God, Ian, I—we almost lost you.”
“Well, you didn’t. So stop making that face,” Ian demanded, still taken aback by the actual worry and hurt in Adam’s eyes.
Instead, he found it easier to focus on his various ailments. Aches and throbs and pulsating wounds, even an IV of morphine, could
only dull so much. He fought to sit up, only to be stopped by Adam’s steadying hand.
“Relax, it’s going to be some time before you’re on your feet again,” Adam huffed, his tone equal parts annoyance, part fondness.
As much as Ian hated to admit defeat, Adam was right. He had no business going anywhere. He groaned in frustration, falling onto the pillow. The gesture sent another agonizing spike of agony coursing throughout his battered frame. The pain was so severe, he bit his tongue bloody to keep from crying out.
Adam jumped to his feet, rummaging through the metal cart beside the bed. “I’ll get you something to help,” Adam reassured.
“No,” Ian insisted, adamant.
Adam leaned in close, holding his eye. “Stop it. There’s no reason to suffer. You’re safe with me. I promise.”
“I don’t care! No meds.”
Ian hated showing vulnerability to anyone; it was even more upsetting when it was Adam. Adam, who appeared determined to nurse him back to health, eyes shining with adoration. Ian couldn’t bear another second of his doting over him, showering him with care.
“Why are you fighting me on this?” Adam pleaded, flinging his hands in the air. “Let me help you.”
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why are you doing this? What’s in it for you?”
“Well, a goddamn headache, for one,” Adam threw back, shaking his head, dismayed.
Ian stopped his tirade to study Adam closer, his frazzled state enough to stun him into silence. His jaw unshaven, pale faced, and his lips thin and drawn. The dark circles under his eyes near purple from lack of sleep.
Adam’s brow furrowed, as if thrown off balance by Ian’s sudden retreat. He used the opportunity to help Ian lay against the pillows.
“In case you forgot, I’m a doctor, I mean—was a doctor,” Adam added, expression darkening. “Let me do what I can. Okay?”
Ian nodded. A tiny gesture, but it was enough to make him grit his teeth from the effort.
Adam took note, hurrying to ready a shot. “Please, Ian, you need to relax.”
Ian relented, cautious as Adam prepared a syringe. Ian turned away as Adam slid in the needle. The relief wasn’t instantaneous but close. His vision dimmed to fuzzy around the edges as Adam warped and spun in and out of focus. He reached out his hand, which Adam held without hesitation. Adam’s faint, calming touch smoothing his hair back as he urged him to rest. So Ian did. He closed his eyes and let the pain and Adam’s face drift out from his reach and into nothingness.
* * * *
Adam was well-aware that Ian was impossibly stubborn even on his best days. But Ian sidelined by injury, and gunning for revenge, was another matter altogether. The next morning, Ian tried to climb out of bed. He was frantic and half out of his mind, pulling tubes out, unaware of the damage he was causing himself.
“What the hell are you thinking?” Adam shouted, forcing him into bed while Ian fought him every step of the way. “Stop it. Right now!”
“Let me out of this room, Adam,” Ian growled as the veins in his forehead twitched in a warning. “I swear to God I’ll break your neck if I have to.”
Adam stood his ground. “You’re staying right here. And you’re not leaving this bed until I say so!”
Ian threw his head back, eyes closed, defeated. “I’ve to get back to work.”
“This is your job now, getting well,” Adam answered. “Mei has things covered in the meantime. Do us both a favor and relax.”
“Katherine?”
“She’s home.”
Ian frowned, his voice a tight whisper as he asked. “Is she—is she upset with me?”
The question took Adam aback. “You shouldn’t even concern yourself with—but no, no, she’s not upset with you.”
He caught the hurt in Ian’s eyes over Katherine’s absence. And he didn’t want to further agitate him by bringing to light her utter disregard for the man she had raised as her son.
“So, doctor,” Ian asked with an irritated huff. “In your expert opinion, when will I be on my feet?”
Adam smirked at the petulant look on his face. “Let’s not push it. How about we revisit this conversation in a week and take it from there?”
Still, sulking, Ian nodded in reluctant agreement, then threw himself back in bed, groaning.
* * * *
Ian spent another week in the hospital, recuperating. In the meantime, being the worst patient, Adam had ever dealt with in his life. To appease him, Adam disappeared for a few hours only to return laden down with items Ian had mentioned in passing. Among them, a stack of books and a large container of Neapolitan ice cream.
Adam found Ian sitting up in bed, paging through a book from the stack Kalifa had already delivered earlier. Ian glanced up as Adam tossed aside his jacket, placing the items by his bedside.
“For a man of such refined reading tastes, it’s shocking to learn you’ve the palate of a cranky two-year-old.”
“Did you bring a spoon?” Ian asked, ignoring the jab.
Adam grinned, pleased with the glint in Ian’s eye as he fished a utensil from the bag before opening the container. Ian moaned out loud at the first spoonful, shoveling it in with unconcealed pleasure while Adam sat beside him, marveling as the majority disappeared in several mouthfuls.
“How are you feeling?”
Ian swallowed before answering. “I’m going stir crazy.”
“You nearly died. You need to be patient.”
“What I need is to get back to work,” Ian sighed, pushing the half-empty container aside with a groan.
“Am I such terrible company?” Adam picked up the book. Arthur Rimbaud’s A Season in Hell and Other Works. “A little light reading before bed, eh?” Adam smirked, running his fingers over the cover.
“You’ve read Rimbaud?”
Adam nodded. “I took a course in French literature once. What a character, huh? Nothing like dying at thirty of sheer exhaustion.”
“Thirty-seven and he died of cancer,” Ian murmured. “He was lucky. Not all of us want to spend decades watching ourselves decay.”
“Bullshit,” Adam interjected as Ian glanced over at him, brow furrowed. “After what you’ve been through, what you survived? You fought like hell to live, Ian. So, deep down, I know you don’t want to die any more than the rest of us.”
Ian frowned and said nothing, but Adam saw he’d gotten to him, his arms across his chest, his posture defensive.
Adam sighed, pushing the hair out of his eyes as he stood to leave. “I’ll be in the other room trying to get some sleep,” Adam said, gathering his things together. “If you need me—”
“I know,” Ian muttered, still refusing to look at him as he headed for the door only to have Ian stop him.
“Adam?”
Adam spun around, startled by the quiet way Ian’d called him back. “Yes?”
“Thank you for this,” he said, tapping the ice cream container with his finger.
A genuine expression of gratitude. It floored Adam, filling him with a heady unwelcomed warmth he shrugged away. “You’re welcome,” he managed, hurrying from the room and Ian’s watchful stare.
* * * *
Ian’s attitude improved only slightly once they returned to the estate together. As Ian struggled to heal, he remained combative and testy. Quick to anger. But, Adam sensed his frustration was with himself, his inability to allow his body to get well on its own time. For instance, Adam had to remind him constantly to tone down his training or risk further injury. But Ian refused to heed him, determined to will himself back to near perfect health. No matter what it took, no matter the cost.
“If I asked you to dial it back…” Adam announced as he stepped into the gymnasium one evening after dinner to find Ian alone. He was going at the bag with every bit of his strength, hurling blows even as he gasped and struggled for breath. Ian offered him only a cursory glance before renewing his efforts.
Adam watched, quiet from
the sidelines before unzipping his hoodie and tossing it to the mat. “Spar with me?”
Ian raised an eyebrow at the invitation, slow to make his way over to Adam. Still out of breath when he spoke. “What brought this on?”
“If you’re strong enough to train, I assume you’re strong enough to take me on for a few rounds.”
“Rounds, huh?”
The punch Adam threw came out of nowhere. Ian nearly missed catching it before it contacted the side of his jaw. He pushed Adam backward and away with a tsk. “That was plain dirty.”
“And that offends you?” Adam shook his fist out and circled Ian, waiting for him to initiate the next move.
“I didn’t teach you to be a dirty fighter.”
“You sure about that?” Adam teased.
Stepping to his right as Ian threw a punch, eyes wide when the jab failed to land. Adam used Ian’s shock to his favor, countering with a sound blow to Ian’s jaw, the sound cracking the stillness between their panting breaths.
* * * *
The move snapped Ian’s head backward, stunning him. He waved the blow off, infuriated to find Adam grinning, far too smug and pleased with himself.
Ian flew at him, grabbing him by the middle and flipping him onto the mat where they both landed with a grunt. Adam tried sitting up, but Ian shoved him back, pinning him with his much larger frame.
“Who’s the dirty fighter now?” Adam taunted, wiggling underneath him as if to further prove his point.
“Fuck you,” Ian rasped.
He pulled away, but Adam clung, body arched and wanting under him. They were both half-hard, a fact not lost on either of them by the way each man’s breath quickened.
“Ian—”
The faint, quiet way Adam breathed his name made every hair on Ian’s body rise. His hips rocked against Adam’s own, making them both groan with want.
Adam took the initiative. Leaning up, he pressed his lips to Ian’s own. A subtle kiss, nearly chaste, and one left hanging like an open ended question. Adam paused, as if waiting for Ian to take the lead, to deepen the kiss. Instead, Ian froze before leaping to his feet, beet red and shaking.
