‘Hey there.’ Crystal-blue so pure eviscerated him. Any substance of humanity left inside him combusted and he was left as nothing but a husk. A useless, empty husk.
Christ, the sob was right there. It locked his throat. It took up residence inside his mouth, stabbed his eyes, beat at his chest. His bit his tongue and tasted blood. He did gag this time.
‘My love.’ Her breath whispered across his dry lips.
Those words, those two simple words uttered by a voice of an angel tore at him more violently than the thousand words before them. They were more visceral than the visions of the violence committed in that hunting cabin. They eclipsed the brutality of that first vision of Nick hogtied on a rotten floor.
They were simply too fucking terrible to endure.
No, not love. Not for him. Not after the decision he’d made.
He twisted and rolled. His big body hit objects in his path. A person, furniture. He was on his feet. He swayed, sweat in his eyes, before anyone could say anymore.
His voice came out hoarse. ‘He’s been stabbed.’
His vision was still blurry, but it was unmistakable; there were four sets of widened eyes directed his way. Four open mouths and four looks of disbelief that flashed across both feminine and masculine features.
Until one set of jade green narrowed.
Euan attempted to mirror the ire. Instead, his face contorted strangely and something like pain sliced up his cheek.
Nick’s voice was both angry and concerned. ‘And you’ve been hurt.’
Hurt?
His mouth opened. Closed. His knees trembled. Christ, at any moment his organs would spill out onto the floor in their entirety.
Hurt was an understatement; he was destroyed.
He avoided the pain that twisted Kira’s features. He ignored the equal parts of concern and rage that contorted Nick’s lips. He took the single step needed in the small panic room to take him to the door.
‘His wound needs stitching,’ he said. After that final statement, he miraculously walked on his own two feet out of that door and into their small bunker. A home that was the last vestige of safety, and into his final hours within it.
Chapter 14
His hands were not trembling.
He was resolved, not reconsidering.
He was going to do what needed to be done, even if the thought of leaving butchered his insides.
As he sorted through the rows of sealed plastic crates and inventory lists to gather what he needed, he heard her approach.
The mix of emotions churned and battled inside him. The volatility made him snap. ‘Not now, sweetheart.’
The footsteps stopped. He’d only turned on the minimum required lighting, so she remained in the shadows. The darkened outline of her petite body was all that could be discerned. Her fine bone structure led to narrow shoulders, a slim waist, the subtle flare of feminine hips. Her arms were crossed across her chest. It was the spark of ire that enabled her eyes to glitter in the limited light.
‘What happened?’ she asked as she moved out of the shadows and into his line of sight.
She was so fucking beautiful, her femininity so profound, so innocent and perfect and wonderful.
After what he’d seen … After what he had decided … He couldn’t look at her.
He remained mute and continued to search for the medical supplies they needed.
The kitten-like growl that arose from her echoed off the low-ceilinged steel hull of the storage room. ‘What happened?’ she asked more firmly.
Euan remained quiet. But she was undeterred. She moved until she stood before him. Her height forced him to tip his head down. He was no longer able to avoid her gaze. Her eyes were cobalt as they tipped up to meet his. Her mouth was tight. Her shoulders trembled with her fury and frustration.
‘I won’t have any more of this,’ she whispered threateningly. ‘I know what you’re doing, and I won’t let you.’
He grunted, and suffered the full force of her anger.
‘You promised me you’d tell me what is going on. You swore you would let me help protect my home.’
‘Things have changed.’
‘Tell me,’ she begged.
‘No.’
Her eyes narrowed, the skin at the corners tightened. ‘I’ve had just about enough of your macho overprotectiveness.’
Euan couldn’t help the bark of sardonic laughter that escaped his lips.
‘We are in danger, and you continue to exclude me,’ she gritted.
There was still a curl in his lip when he replied. ‘That’s something that hasn’t changed. And won’t.’
She licked her lips and said, ‘Look at me,’
He let his eyes rove over the creased brow, the flushed cheeks, the quick rise and fall of her chest. ‘I am.’
She lifted her hands until they encased his cheeks. The twinge in the right one made him flinch. The hardness around her eyes softened, but the seriousness in her gaze did not. ‘I mean really look at me.’
He swallowed, his chest tightened. ‘I don’t know what you want me to see.’
‘I want you to see me. What is right in front of you. Not a fantasy, not an illusion, not a replica of something you might have lost, and certainty not something you can control and own.’
‘I don’t—’
‘You do, and I’ve let you. Because I know that’s what you need, but not anymore.’
Her words loosened something inside of him. ‘Kira—’
‘I can shoot a gun just as good as Nick can, I know this bunker better than both of you and yet you ignore me, treat me as inferior, and exclude me from all of this.’
He opened him mouth to interject. The weight of the shadows pressed upon him. The darkness seemed too bright. He yearned to vanish. She wanted this. Needed this. They were surrounded by supplies. Rows and rows of aluminium shelving that stored everything from batteries to hairbrushes. Her brother had built this, but she had maintained it. The fluorescent light flickered. He inhaled.
‘This is my home,’ she told him, removing her hands from his face and spreading them wide. ‘My grandparents built this house, my parents grew up here. I grew up here. My brother is buried here. I need to know what is going on and be a part of the solution. And you need to let me.’
That strange feeling inside him snapped, melted. She was right. It devoured every instinct he had. But she was right. Kira wasn’t an object he could hide in a bunker, a soulless being he could trap. She wasn’t a butterfly he could pin down for his pleasure. She was a woman. A woman who was just as capable, if not more so, than Nick. She’d been professionally trained by her brother. A man who was military trained. She was talented, accomplished and clever. If she had a dick, Euan would utilise her every way he could.
Her femininity was what held him back. He was a chauvinist. In this age of anarchy he had to be, but it wasn’t sustainable.
Also, the horrific truth could not be denied. He was planning to leave, and she needed to learn how to protect herself.
If he didn’t concede, she would take it upon herself to act. Everything now had to be managed. He needed to leave before they caught on.
‘All right,’ he agreed. Her features twisted in surprise. The ache of defeat settled inside him.
‘All right?’ she asked hesitantly. She didn’t believe him.
He exhaled and nodded. ‘Yeah, sweetheart, all right.’
She remained uncertain, still wary of his motivations. He let her take her time to read his face, see the truth of his statement. He tried not to turn his cheek into her hand when she touched what he suspected was a significant laceration in his face.
‘You’re bleeding.’
‘Thought I might be.’
‘Will you let me look after you?’
He knew what she was asking was for more than just cleaning his wounds. She wanted to care for his soul, nurture his heart. He couldn’t answer her, so he didn’t. ‘Let’s go into the main room and get Smith stitch
ed up. Then we’ll talk about what the fuck we’re going to do next.’
Chapter 15
Smith was on his back on the dining table. His blood pooled around him. His chest laboured. Visible ribs rose with each inhalation. His hollowed stomach depressed with every exhale. His eyes were squeezed shut and his lips were curled, bloody teeth visible through a sneer. His hands fisted weakly, their slight tremble the only tell to his escalating panic.
In the face of Smith’s physical torment, Euan had pushed his own interests aside and devoted himself to the people who needed his strength, his fortitude and his presence of mind to keep them safe. While he still could.
Lily worked without a sound. She was thorough as she cleaned the wound. She was efficient as she drew out exactly what she required from the first-aid kit and medical supplies. She offered soothing touches to her patient and firm commands in a raspy voice as she’d worked. The stitches she made in his flesh were neat and symmetrical.
But that wasn’t what stole Euan’s focus. It was the gruesome, curling scars that covered almost every inch of Smith’s exposed torso. An elaborate mural of torn flesh that could almost be called art, if not for their terrible origins.
Euan placed a reassuring hand on Smith’s good shoulder. The warmth in his palm eased the boy’s troubled thoughts.
Smith had told him that it wasn’t Mickey-O who had caused the brutal markings to his young flesh. But it still further solidified his plans to rid the man off the face of the earth. That biker had a hand in this macabre horror show, he was sure of it.
The rich smell of spilt blood was thick in the air. Vegetable soup in a heavy cast-iron saucepan sat untouched and cold on the stove. It was late, yet no move had been made for bed or sleep. They all remained in the main living area, still bloody and sweat-stained. Euan felt the dirt under his nails as though it were a curse.
His cheek had been cleaned. The small laceration had been quickly sutured with only three stitches as Kira had looked on. Their conversation seemed moot in the presence of reality, but he could tell her commitment to her cause remained.
He sighed. ‘Nick, I want you to show Kira how to initiate all the defence mechanisms we’ve put in place.’
Nick’s reply was hesitant. ‘Okay …’
Euan turned to Lily; his skin was tight. ‘And I want you to tell me what the fuck is going on.’
Silence reigned. It was laced profusely with the stench of defeat.
The rasping tone of an unused voice held everyone’s focus. A bloodied hand from her ministrations petted Smith’s sweat-slick brow. ‘After you left Nirvana, there was a coup.’
A heartbeat, two. The implications of the statement reverberated around them. The vibrations shook the foundations of Euan’s soul, assaulted his assumptions of that time.
She’d been there. She’d been surrounded, trapped, suffering. Euan swallowed down the sickness that rose up with the realisation. Christ, could he have saved her too?
Nick’s voice broke the silence, it cracked, the words hoarse. It echoed Euan’s thoughts. ‘You were there? The same time as we were?’ Her smile was small. Just a finite tip of the corners of her mouth. Her tone was soft, despite the rasp. ‘I’ve been with Mickey-O long before the plague.’
Smith reached up from his prone position. He grasped the fabric of her shirt at her hip. His fingers trembled from his wounds and bloodloss. ‘No,’ he begged.
Euan squeezed his hand on Smith’s shoulder to placate the man. His eyes met Lily’s and held. ‘Go on,’ he said.
Whisky bled. Gold turned into despair. Regret and hurt penetrated through the flecks of gilt and brown. ‘Two men managed to convince two hundred that Mickey-O was no longer strong enough to lead them. Your appearance had changed things, altered the dynamics, and they took advantage.’
Nick was up from his seat from where he’d been perched on the edge of the couch. Kira, sensing the shift in the room, moved quickly to his side. She intertwined her fingers with his but he seemed not to notice. ‘What are you saying?’ he asked.
Lily unpinned Smith’s fingers from her clothing. She laid the clenched fist on his stomach even as he pleaded at her with his eyes to cease talking.
She didn’t heed his request. ‘It wasn’t Mickey-O who did this to John.’
‘Don’t,’ Smith urged, coughing.
She smoothed the hair from his forehead, cupped his clean-shaven cheek. Her fingers brushed over a neatly stitched gash in his chin. Her eyes never left Euan’s.
On his part, Euan realised his fingers were digging into Smith’s flesh a little too fiercely. He relaxed his hold. ‘Tell me,’ he demanded.
She continued her petting. ‘I don’t know their true names. They’re known only as the Reaper and Death. But if you seek vengeance, you won’t find satisfaction with Mickey-O’s demise. Nirvana as you know it doesn’t exist anymore.’ She captured Euan’s gaze, molten gold wrapped around him and solidified. ‘It’s worse.’
Instinct had his attention snap to Nick. His skin was the colour of ash, his corded throat worked to swallow down his dread. Kira now held both of his hands, blue eyes tipped up to watch a soul as it shattered.
Euan struggled with his own horror. ‘And these two men, they did this? To Smith, to you?’
Her single word was laced with infinite intangible emotions. ‘Yes.’
Realities were clicking into place. ‘You’re professionally trained.’
‘Yes.’
‘You knew Mickey-O before the plague.’
‘Yes.’
‘Oh God,’ Nick breathed. He pulled his hands from Kira’s to fist them in his hair. He paced the room. Turned, paced again. His boots made depressions in the carpet. Kira watched him with visible trepidation.
Euan licked his lips. His inhales were shallow and his heart rate escalated with every enunciated word.
Lily held his gaze. ‘Say it,’ she whispered to him.
His stomach was a mass of poisoned lead. ‘You’re a surgeon.’
A small smile, yellow teeth. ‘Yes.’
Euan shuddered, consumed by the reality of what stood before him. The reason why Mickey-O’s second-in-command had been sent into the wilderness without a weapon, without sufficient supplies, on the verge of death, with one of the most important assets left to the human race in tow. All in a desperate hope they’d find him. The only man who had beaten the pit. The only man who had held the threat of death back with nothing but his fists and his bowie knife. The man who loved another man and hadn’t been afraid to show that affection surrounded by a violent homophobic horde. The man who had tried to save a woman from the clutches of the bowls of hell, and who had buried her body with reverence when he’d failed.
He said, ‘You’re his daughter.’
Her smile faded, her eyes grew tormented, from memories long hidden. ‘Yes.’
Silence. Long, heavy.
‘Oh God, Oh Christ,’ Nick chanted. Kira jumped to hold him. She pressed her body against his spine in an attempt to ease the torment that he displayed. But it was futile. Nick was no longer conscious of his reactions.
Lily was a treasure, an asset, the spoils of war. She was his bargaining power. His collateral in a battle he would now win, without even leaving his house.
Mickey-O had sent her to him, sent her right to his doorstep, knowing that he could use it all against him.
He said, ‘A coup? With only two men?’
‘If you knew these men …’
She trailed off because she must have read the look in his face. Two men? Two men with the fortitude, the demeanour, the character to fool the masses into their own terrible plans …
‘No!’ Nick cried as he tried to pull himself out of Kira’s arms. ‘I swear to you, Euan, I swear if you say what you’re thinking …’
Euan reacted to the wretchedness in Nick’s voice. He turned, held out his hand. ‘Not saying anything, Nicky.’
Nick’s features contorted, transformed. He ignored Euan and lurched towards
Smith. He pressed his forehead to the supine man’s thigh. Smith raised his hand and didn’t hesitate to rest it on the crown of Nick’s head. Then, silently, they shuddered through the shared realisation that they had both been tortured, maimed and scarred by the same two terrible men.
When Kira wrapped herself around Nick’s hunched form and held him through his grief, it was Euan who turned from the three of them and met the stalwart gaze of Lily. She knew, likely had known from the beginning.
‘Who were the men in the cabin?’
Her face shut down. ‘My brothers.’
Poison swamped him. He swallowed the bile, the wretchedness, the terror that wormed its way up his throat. ‘And Mickey-O?’
‘In hiding.’
Euan reached out and found Kira. Her hair was in his hands in an attempt to calm the earthquake that rocked through him. The tremor in his fingers was acute now. It didn’t surprise him. ‘They’ll try to find you.’
Her eyes moved to the ceiling. ‘I suspect that the men we killed today were just the beginning.’
So did he.
Chapter 16
Smith managed to use his own two feet to walk to the bathroom. His hand was wrapped around Nick’s bicep. He used the muscle as leverage to manoeuvre his ailing body down the hallway.
The door was silent as it opened. The cool LED light illuminated basic white tiles, a perspex shower cubicle, the toilet and a single porcelain basin. To Smith, it would look like heaven.
Smith couldn’t disguise his disbelief. ‘Serious?’
Nick replied. ‘Serious.’
‘It all works?’
‘Warm water and everything.’
‘Fuck me.’
Nick smiled despite the fucking lancing pain that shot through his stomach. The incessant bitch of an ache in his heart. The sick sorrow in his soul. ‘Yeah,’ he murmured, then added, ‘You need help?’
Smith didn’t hear him. Filth-encrusted hands skimmed the porcelain sink as though it was the unblemished skin of a newborn …
Or that of a lover.
At the thought of Euan, Nick inhaled and said, ‘It gets better.’
Fractured Refuge Page 13
