by Rhys Ford
“Don’t tell my bride about the brew.” Donal winked at him. “She’ll have my hide for lacing that up with fatty milk. She seems to think my heart can’t take the posh of it.”
Damien knew he was being a coward. The shivering pangs along his spine were enough of a shame. Seeing the shifting glances between the Morgans when he tossed his stomach into a nearby garbage can only drove that point home. He couldn’t imagine what they were saying about him hitting the glass doors to run for air.
The medical center looked and sounded nothing like Skywood. The bustle of nurses and orderlies were a stream of interested and focused professionals, not glorified babysitters looking to score a few hundred bucks for smuggling in a cheeseburger. Doctors hurried around them, some drifting off to stalk clusters of people gathered around each other in the waiting room, bringing with them either sorrow or relief.
One such white-coated harbinger swooped down on the stern-faced clan of Irish giants and fey with news of their precious feral rescue, waving a flag of good omens to protect himself from their intense wrath. Kane broke from the pack, the fire in his eyes turning their blue a hard steel, and the doctor’s clipboard did little to ward off the tall, angry cop barreling down on him.
It was the calming hand of the man sitting next to him that stayed Kane in his tracks, and his soft murmurs for his son to follow the doctor to the back to sit with Miki as they scanned for damage to his knee. Damien felt the walls close in on him and broke, heading for the open air and someplace he could break down without anyone seeing.
Donal Morgan proved to be a complication to his scheduled breakdown, especially since Damien hadn’t planned on any witnesses.
Eyeing the massive amount of sinew and muscle Donal seemed to be made of, Damien immediately dismissed any chance of taking the man out. The fact that he was a captain on the police force probably meant he had a gun on him someplace, and the last thing he wanted was a bullet hole in him, since he’d been avoiding that very scenario over the past few months.
He had no intention of spilling his guts to the man. If anything, Damien felt shoved out when he should have been the one at Miki’s side. For the first time since he’d hugged his friend tight to his broken body, he resented having to share Sinjun with Kane.
Even if he was too much of a coward to stand in the stink of his insanity to hold Miki’s hand.
“Fuck.” The word didn’t seem hard enough, not caustic enough to put his disgust behind. Taking another drag, he tilted his head back and tried again. “Fucking son of a bitch.”
If only he knew who he was swearing at, Kane or himself.
Donal said nothing, watching him with those Irish wolf eyes, and waited, patient and stoic. Sipping his own coffee, he shifted and stared out into the nearly empty parking lot, a light misting rain sparkling over the convoy of SUV tanks the Morgans drove to the hospital.
Damien longed to close his hand and punch the man in the face, knocking his smug, wise expression clean off. If only he didn’t need his hand to play the guitar. And, he thought as he eyed the man, Donal wasn’t able to take him apart with his pinkies.
“He talks about ye, our Miki does,” Donal said to the rain, loud enough for Damien to hear him, but the man’s gaze never wavered from the encroaching torrent.
His refusal to spill his thoughts broke, seemingly as solid as his resolve not to feed Miki’s fucking dog from his plate. “I’m the reason he’s lying there in a fucking machine with catgut holding him together.”
“Really?” The older man coolly shrugged and sipped at his coffee with a loud slurp. “I thought ye were the very reason he was with us at all.”
There would be no retreat now, not with the challenge lying subtly in Donal’s words. Inwardly cursing his weakness, Damien hid behind the rim of his cup, keeping his voice steady. “What the fuck do you mean by that?”
“What do ye think would have happened to your Sinjun if ye hadna’ found him that night?” The wolfish gaze drifted back to Damien’s face, pinning him in place. “Where do ye think he’d be now, Damie boy?”
“He’d have been….” Damien came up short, horrified at the places his mind took him. “Miki’s strong. He’d have kicked life in the balls.”
“Aye, maybe. But maybe not,” Donal murmured, turning the cup around in his broad hands. “I think our Miki’s strong because ye had a lot to do with his becoming the man he is. The two of ye, bound together in a way none of us understand, but it’s a glorious thing to behold. Where do ye think the world would be without ya’two? How silent this world would be without ye.”
“What? So God put us together?” He wanted to tear the man’s reasoning apart, shredding his words to show Donal the fallacy of his beliefs. “Where the fuck was God when that truck tore through us? Where the fuck was fate when some asshole… probably the same fucking asshole who killed my mother and shot at me… sliced Miki open?”
“I don’t have answers for ye there, Damie boy.” The man leaned back, resting his shoulders against the hospital wall. “But does that change the past? Because I’m telling ye, that boy in there… the one that loves my son… the one we’ve all come to love… is who he is because of ye.”
“Miki—”
“Hear me out.” Donal held up his hand, stopping Damien before he could go on. “I knew ye weren’t listening to Kane when he was talking about what happened. Were ye? Listening, I mean?”
“Um….” Damien thought back to what had been said when Sionn spotted the Morgans. His brain misfired, focusing only on how he’d held onto Sionn’s hand and the buzz of Irish accents murmuring around him. “Not a fucking thing. Just… that he was being stitched up. That he was okay.”
Donal sighed, the sound of an exasperated father, and Damien instinctively flinched when the man raised his hand to pat the bench next to him. A flicker of troubled emotion ran over the older man’s handsome face, and he patted at the wood again, silent and watchful.
“Yer Sinjun is a fighter. No mistake about that,” Donal began when Damien settled down beside him. “But see, Damie boy, while Miki has always been a fighter, yer the one who gave him something… no, someone to fight for.”
“I was dead.”
“He still fought for ye.” The man shook his head. “Do ye think it was easy for him to fend off the people who were suckling at yer corpse? He didn’t have time to mourn ye. Not really. There were too many people picking at him, even when he was hiding. Yer the one who taught him how to love, Damie boy. Yer the reason he can stand with my son and say he’s with Kane. No one before ye gave a fecking shit about that boy. And the less said about the bastards who had him before….”
“No offense, I know you’re a cop and everything.” Damien glanced at the man. “But I’m really fucking glad they’re dead.”
“Well, son, as a cop I’m supposed to be saying that every death is a tragedy, but for those two men, I’m thinking the devil should have had his due a long time ago,” Donal intoned. “And we’re not talking about them, are we?”
“No, sir, we’re not.” Before Damie could figure out where the hell the sir had come from, Donal spoke again.
“He fought that man off… the one who stabbed him. Miki was waiting for Kane to bring the car around because my boy didn’t want him to risk the wet sidewalk, and that bastard tried to gut him. Imagine then, that asshole thinking he can come up to our Miki and filet him without paying for it? No, not our Miki. He did what ye’d told him to do. Don’t know if ye remember it—”
“If someone’s bigger and stronger than you”—Damien grinned at the memory bobbing up to the surface of his brain—“you grab something and even the playing field.”
“Even it he did, at that.” Donal laughed, a hearty bark rumbling up from his chest. “Picked up one of those wire magazine things people put flyers in and beat the shite out of that arsehole. Then for good measure, grabbed the knife and gave him back what he gave our Miki. Pity he slipped on the wet. That’s what brought him down. That knee
of his gave out, else we’d be staring at that blond bastard through bars.”
“He’s fucking vicious,” Damien murmured in agreement.
“They have the knife, ye know?” Donal grinned wickedly at Damien’s raised eyebrows. “Our boys can find out who he is now. That’ll be summat—bringing him in now once we have a name. So don’t worry, Damie. He’ll be found.”
“He’s already gotten Miki. Maybe my mom too, but definitely Sinjun.” The coffee was getting cold, but he drank it anyway, hoping for a jolt of caffeine to hit his courage as well as his bloodstream. “I’m not good for him to be around. Not until this guy gets caught.”
“Miki’ll knife ye next, Damie boy, if he hears yer saying that,” the man warned him. “And I think Sionnie will hold ye still for him.”
Damien deflected the conversation. “Does he know you call him Sionnie?”
“Aye, he’s known for a while. He’s my nephew too, you know… for all his Finnegan blood.” Donal smacked Damie’s temple with a light tap of his fingers. “He’s run with my boys for years now. When his worthless da packed him up over here, it was a fight we had with his gran. Brigid and I wanted him with us, but she was hard to move. Said the boy belonged with her, but still, I look at him like a son, and I’m glad he’s brought ye in.”
“Yeah, Miki….”
“I’m not talking about Miki here, Damie boy.” Donal looped his arm around Damien’s shoulders and pulled him into a lopsided hug. The man was warm, scented with coffee and cream. “Your Sinjun’s not the only one I’m glad ye taught to love. Ye’ve given Sionn a bit of yer heart to hold onto, and he’s given ye his in return. Even if we didn’t already have Miki, ye’d still be a part of us. Yer with the Morgans now, boy. Yer our Damie, and heaven help that bastard who’s crossed ye, because he’ll be wishing Miki finished him when we finally catch up with him.”
THE puffy brace-splint they’d put on Miki’s leg made the singer look like a lopsided blue-footed booby, and he struggled to get out of Kane’s SUV, waving off his lover’s help. Damien hovered close by, then finally snapped at the singer to at least hold onto Kane’s shoulder, snarling at him when Miki tried to give him lip.
By the time they’d pulled their cars into the warehouse’s garages, the day had already started its futile efforts at pushing away the rain clouds. Small streams of pale, buttery light crept through the gaps in the stormy front, the wind jealously chasing the holes closed to keep the sun out.
Dude met them at the door, barking and weaving around Kane’s legs until the man shouted at him to stop. In retaliation, the terrier squatted and peed on the stoop, kicking up flicks of urine at them with his back legs before he trotted into the warehouse with his tail held high.
“Fucking dog,” Kane muttered without heat. “Come on, babe. Let’s get you in bed.”
“I just want to sit down on the couch for a bit.” Miki brushed off Kane’s tight, exasperated hiss, hopping past the cop on his one good leg.
“How about if I make him some tea? Maybe something to eat?” Sionn offered.
He needed something to do. He’d come outside just as Donal was walking back in with Damien. Hoping to catch the guitarist alone, he’d been taken aback at the sight of his uncle’s arm over his lover’s shoulders and the affectionate kiss Donal left on Damien’s forehead before he let Damie go.
The steak was still sitting in the fridge, and Sionn pulled it out, staring down at the rare meat and wondering if he should reheat it or make something out of it to throw at the others. He’d just decided to raid leftovers in the fridge when Damien came up behind him and wrapped his arms around Sionn’s waist.
“Just let me hold you for a bit,” Damien muttered into Sionn’s shoulder. “They’re out there chewing on each other. I wanted to come where it’s safe.”
“Who’s winning the argument?” Sionn turned around in Damien’s embrace and dropped his hands to cup the man’s firm ass.
“Miki.” The man grimaced. “He’s pissy. You don’t win with Miki when he’s pissy.”
“I’ll try to remember that.”
“Don’t worry.” Damien nodded. “He’ll remind you soon enough if you forget. No one can hand you your ass like Sinjun.”
Sionn waited a few heartbeats, rocking Damien in his arms before prying. “You want to be telling me what Uncle Donal told you?”
“Huh, not bad, you lasted what? An hour?”
“Almost two,” Sionn admitted proudly. “I didn’t follow him outside. I should be getting points for that, love. Now, talk to me. I know the hospital wasn’t doing you any good. Did Uncle help you with that a bit?”
“Yeah. He yells really good. All whispery and Yoda-like.”
Having had more than a few one-sided conversations with his uncle, the grousing coming from Damie sounded so familiar.
“How are you doing?” Sionn cuddled his lover closer. Sighing heavily, Damien slumped, letting his weight settle into Sionn’s torso. “You okay? You identified the guy who stabbed Miki as your shooter. That helps a lot, love. Gives the cops somewhere to go. Or are you thinking this is all your fault?”
“Oh no, Donal made sure I knew I wasn’t the one who put Miki in the hospital.” If Damie’s sarcasm was butter, Sionn would have been hard pressed to see the bread it’d been spread on. “The shooter did that. I’m not to blame. Just the asshole and the guy who probably hired him.”
“It’s the guy that hired him that has me worried, Damie,” Sionn admitted softly. “If we catch this guy, who’s to say someone else won’t take his place?”
“Yeah, that’s kind of why I’m half-glad Miki slipped.” Damie shifted, resting his cheek on Sionn’s shoulder. Puffing his cheeks out, he blew a kiss at Sionn’s collar. “Sinjun probably would have killed him. Not because the guy tried to off him, but because he’s pissed off the guy came after me.”
“I kind of got that about him.” He had to agree with Damie. Miki seemed more outraged about the blond man’s coming after Damien than any injury done to him. “How about if you and I make sure Miki’s staying safe while Kane’s out looking for this guy? I’ll check up on things with Leigh to make sure the pub’s okay, but then you and I are on Sinjun watch, deal?”
“Oh, you have no fucking clue what you’re signing up for.”
“I grew up with Kane and his brothers. How bad can one small Asian boy be?”
“No. Fucking. Idea,” Damien repeated slowly.
“You’re a part of us now.” Sionn placed his knuckles under his lover’s chin, tilting Damie’s face up. “The Morgans… Finnegans, and well, one Murphy, but I’m good for a whole clan by myself.”
“That’s what Donal said.” His snort tickled Sionn’s nose. “Dude, you all don’t even know me. I’m an asshole. Not someone people just up and love. Leave, yes. Love? No.”
“We’re all assholes.” He shrugged, then lightly brushed his mouth against Damien’s lips. “That doesn’t mean you won’t be loved. Or don’t deserve it. I love you, Damie boy. So does your Sinjun. The rest of them will too if they don’t already.”
A loud stream of Gaelic-laced profanities came from the living room. Close on its heels, Miki’s guttersnipe growls punched holes in Kane’s arguments, cutting the cop into small ribbons with every muttered curse. It was an uneven argument. What Kane had in common sense and heat, Miki countered with cutting wit, spiced heavily with a snarling volume from years of projecting his voice over crowds and loud music. Sionn heard the moment Kane lost the battle, more specifically, the phrase that drove Miki into overdrive. Ordering Damie’s brother-in-all-but-blood to stay where he was put was bad enough, but demanding Miki obey Kane broke the field wide open.
What Miki pulled out of his verbal sack of weapons made Sionn cringe, and he nearly let go of Damie to protect his own balls from being pulled off.
Peeking up at Sionn from under his hair, Damien whispered, “Think we can grab some food and sneak upstairs before they realize we’re gone?”
“We shall give
it our best try.” Sionn reluctantly let go of Damien and grabbed the plate of food he’d made up. “Besides, Damie love, we should be out of their hair before they begin rubbing their naked asses all over that couch. ’Cause, all kind of sex happens after you fight that hard.”
“FUCKING whore!” Parker clutched his side, scrambling to find what he needed in the back room of the clinic he’d broken into.
His wound was leaking heavily. A slow trickle ebbed through his fingers, and he pressed harder, hoping to stave off the flow coming from between his ribs. Afraid to risk turning on the overhead lights, Parker flicked on a small lamp by a copying machine, hoping it would give him enough to see by. Woefully inadequate, the lamp cast him into thicker shadows than he wanted, but he’d already spotted one security patrol easing by before he broke in.
“I’m not going to get caught by some damned rent-a-cop.” He snapped open a drawer, relieved to find suturing supplies.
After gathering up what he needed, Parker headed to the locked medication cabinet placed in between two small refrigerators. He’d lost his knife in the alley when the damned boy he’d been sent to kill bashed him across the face, and his side was the least of his worries. The right side of his face was swollen to nearly double its size, blocking his eye and pushing his nose in, while his left eye socket throbbed, a red tinge seeping into his lopsided vision. He needed drugs, something to take the edge off his pain, but a few jerks on the cabinet’s combination lock didn’t make it give way.
“Fuck this.” He still had his gun, a spare piece he’d picked up on the way from Montana. Not caring if anyone heard the shot, he blew open the lock, then flung the door open and grabbed anything that looked remotely like a sedative.
He’d bled on the sedan’s front seat, despite wrapping his side in a jacket. Barely able to make out a flashing neon vacancy sign amid the blood wash in his eye and the rain, Parker pulled into a cheap hotel less than a block away from the clinic. He’d have to move quickly. If someone spotted the interior of the car and connected it to the break-in, he’d have the cops on his ass before he could stitch himself up.
