Arthur nodded. “I have been unable to tell him….” He trailed off because he saw that she understood what he meant. “Jenny, doth thou believe history repeats itself?”
The question caught her off guard. “What?”
Arthur sighed deeply. “’Tween Mordred and myself were a series of misunderstandings. The end result was tragedy. Now with Lance there’s….”
He let the thought trail off, unable to articulate it for fear it might come true.
But Jenny understood. “Arthur, I’m going with you,” she announced in that tone of hers which said, this is final.
Arthur shook his head. “Nay. It doth be too dangerous for a lady.”
“You mean Reyna’s not a lady?” she replied, a bit more snidely than she’d intended. “Look, Arthur, I can take care of myself, and I want to be there with you. I want to help. I want to find Lance. And I won’t take no for an answer.”
Arthur looked uncertain and hesitant, but she stood her ground, hands to her hips, soft features set with determination.
Arthur gazed at her so long and hard she was afraid he’d call the guards and have her removed. In fact, Arthur was sizing her up anew. Every time he met with her, Jenny showed him something more, something extraordinary. Alas, a woman of this age doth be confusing and terribly exciting, he concluded and then nodded.
“Very well, Jenny. The time of destiny be at hand. Come.” With Chris walking between them, Arthur called out to the others, “Come, my knights, we march.”
All the boys assembled as they had on the cleanup campaigns and dutifully followed after their king and queen toward whatever destiny Fate had in store for them.
SINCE neither Lance nor Jack had their phones, and neither ever wore a watch, and with no windows in their holding cell, neither boy had any idea how much time had passed since they’d been thrown in there. But they knew for certain that time was running out for Arthur, maybe for the entire Round Table, unless they figured out what to do.
They lay up against the wall side by side, thoughtful and brooding, lamenting choices made and not made. Words said and not said. But none of it mattered anymore, because neither boy really believed he’d come out of this alive.
“He’s gonna kill us,” Lance finally said aloud, though he’d been thinking it for hours. Thinking about that. About Arthur. About Mark. And about Jack. A lot about Jack. And the “g” word. Did it even matter anymore if he was gay? After all, death didn’t care what you were.
“Soon as he takes down Arthur,” he finished, his soft voice hopeless and accepting.
Jack sighed with resignation. He’d reached the same conclusion, but found he wasn’t tight with fear. No, he actually felt at peace. It would be okay. Dying didn’t scare him like it did most people. Mark was out there somewhere, waiting. Maybe he’d finally get up the courage to tell the boy how much he’d loved him….
“Well, I know for sure I’m toast,” he affirmed stoically. “You heard what he said about faggots.”
Lance looked over sharply, anger welling at the humiliating way Jack had been treated. “Don’t use that word! You’re Jack, and you’re good. Fuck him!”
Jack smiled sadly. “Don’t worry about it, Lance. I’m used to being called names.”
Lance’s eyes burned. “Well, you shouldn’t be!”
Jack just grinned gratefully, his body suddenly warm, his heart restless. This boy was so amazing. He found himself staring at Lance, biting back the urge to reach out and pull him in close. “It doesn’t matter anymore. He will kill me, Lance, I know that. You might have a shot, though.”
Lance snorted in disgust. “For what? To work for that scumbag? I’d rather die first!”
He paused and met Jack’s eyes.
The older boy nodded and smiled back appreciatively, heart still edgy, limbs tingly.
Sudden awkwardness overwhelmed Lance, and he couldn’t meet his friend’s gaze, couldn’t look at Jack’s handsome, battered face, or into those sad and fatalistic brown eyes. He fought the lump in his throat.
“What’s the matter?” Jack asked uncertainly, fisting his tunic to quell his shaking hands.
Lance looked up shyly, hesitantly, his heart suddenly uneven and afraid. “Well, we both probably won’t make it and, well, I been thinking a lot about, well, I been kinda wondering if… well, about what you said before, about the things we don’t say to each other?” He turned red and fell silent, eyes downcast.
Jack felt mystified and flustered by his own confused feelings, but he tried for nonchalance. “Hey, badass boy, this is your best friend over here. Spit it out.”
Lance suddenly looked him right in the eye before he lost the nerve. “Can I kiss you, Jack?”
Jack blanched, his face displaying guilt and hope and shock all at the same time. “What?” It was but a wisp of breath, almost inaudible.
Now Lance dropped his gaze, his chest constricting, his cheeks burning. “I’m sorry, it’s stupid, I know. It’s just that, well, Reyna kissed me one time, and I know I liked it, but, well, I’d just really like to kiss you too. I know I sound crazy!” He felt almost breathless with embarrassment.
Jack understood, or thought he did, and reached out to gently grasp the boy’s tremulous hand, hoping to steady his own. “No, you don’t, but you’re not gonna die here, Lance. I’m gonna make sure of that.”
Lance almost looked ill he was so mortified. “I just have a bad feeling, you know, and I been wondering what it….” He trailed off again, lowering his head in disgrace.
“What it would feel like to kiss another boy?” Jack finished for him, suddenly flashing back to his own first kiss and how his whole body seemed to melt right down into his shoes.
Lance lifted his heartrending eyes, almost offended. “No, Jacky. I been wondering what it would feel like to kiss….” His gaze dipped beneath his lashes for a second, and then he peeked timidly back out. “… you.”
Jack’s eyes went wide with surprise and staggering comprehension, the blood drained from his face, his fingers unexpectedly going cold and numb with fear.
Lance saw that guilt-ridden look in Jack’s eyes. That look of betrayal. Betrayal of Mark. “Never mind, it’s stupid. Just forget I said anything. God, I’m such a pathetic loser!” He pulled his hand back and looked away shamefully. His stomach plummeted, his heart caught in his throat, and he wished he could just disappear into the floor.
Jack paused, breathing suddenly stopped, hands shaking as he once more recalled Mark’s words to him in that letter: “You two would be good for each other….” Mark had given him permission. Had Mark somehow sensed the effect Lance would eventually have on him, and him on Lance? Could he even have seen Jack’s love for him but believed Lance more worthy of it?
Since the moment Jack had accepted that he wasn’t bi, that he would never be attracted to the girls who hovered around him like bees to pollen, he somehow knew he didn’t want to be a player and treat boys like so many guys on the football team treated those girls. He was lonely, and his parents’ indifference toward him only reinforced his pervasive sense of unworthiness. But even then, at fourteen, he knew he wanted someone to love who would love him back, someone amazing and special and one of a kind.
Someone like… Lance….
Jack turned his body and reached out to cup trembling hands around his friend’s soft, smooth face and forced their eyes to meet. “You are so not a loser, Lance. Oh my God, no.” He hesitated then, all poignant eyes and unsteady heart. His breath seemed to waver uncertainly on his lips. “But you know I… I still love Mark.”
Lance nodded desperately, those deep green eyes so doleful and heartbreaking. “I know. I just wanted to, you know, see what it felt like. With you.”
Shame and remorse filled him, and he was sure Jack would say no.
But Jack didn’t say no, because he didn’t want to. He leaned in before Lance could say another word and pressed his lips gently to those of the younger boy.
Lance remained still a mo
ment, closed his eyes, and kissed him back. Jack’s lips felt so soft against his, so achingly perfect, and Jack’s fingertips caressing his face seemed feathery light and warm.
It was a lingering, tender, and loving kiss. Lance felt such an overwhelming rush of excitement alight his every nerve ending that he thought for a second he might pass out, and Jack, too, felt an astonishingly intense jolt of pleasure overpower him, and then the boys hesitantly pulled away from each other.
Lowering his shaky hands awkwardly, staggered by his own reaction, Jack blew out a short breath and skillfully hid his turmoil as he eyed Lance carefully. “Well?”
Lance smiled uneasily, pulling his own wavering breath back into his lungs, and touched his lips with trembling fingertips. “I don’t know.” He did know, but he didn’t want Jack to feel even more guilty. “I’m not sure how it made me feel.” He dropped his gaze so Jack wouldn’t see the lie plainly written in his eyes.
Jack nodded, his own rush of excitement troubling and thrilling him in equal measure. “You want my advice?”
Lance nodded eagerly, his head still lowered, his body warm, his heart fluttery.
“Wait till you fall for someone, and then it’ll be the Fourth of July.” He glanced down a moment, fearing Lance might see what he was really feeling.
Lance raised his head to smile uncertainly, a smile tinged with bittersweet sadness. “Thanks, Jacky.”
Jack nodded again, sensing the reason behind that sadness, and deftly fought to veil his own unsteady nerves. He needed to change the subject. “I promise you, Lance, whatever happens to me, I will save you.”
Lance grinned slyly, needing to still his own timorous heart. “Not if I save you first.”
That broke the awkward tension, and Jack laughed. “Deal,” he said and they bumped fists.
Both boys settled back against the wall, and Lance’s eye fell on the toilet across the room. An idea began to form in his crafty mind. “You know, Jack, I been thinking. They might take us with them when they go to do, you know, whatever. You heard R.—he might need us for negotiations or something.”
Jack shrugged. “So? What can we do?”
“We need to arm ourselves,” Lance whispered, just in case the place was bugged.
“With what?” Jack whispered right back. “They took our dirks, our phones, everything.”
Lance nodded. “Yeah, but I just got an idea.” A wonderful, crazy idea. He nodded his head toward the toilet.
Jack eyed the toilet and then turned back to Lance with a quizzical look on his face.
Lance just grinned.
THE teams had all gone out and reported in from their checkpoints. None had noted unusual activity at any of the houses, and every team was poised to begin the assault. Arthur’s was the last to depart. Heading up his team was Justin, who appeared confident and powerful in his helm, mail shirt, and breastplate. He carried his sword and shield with dignity and pride.
The remainder of Arthur’s team carried smoke bombs in their backpacks, along with some of the nets Arthur had procured that morning. Lavern led a small contingent of expert archers to act as perimeter cover in case they were attacked.
Within the dry riverbed, Arthur sat atop Llamrei, with Chris in front and Jenny behind, gazing out upon his knights, his eager and determined children. They shuffled restlessly, anxious to be underway.
“My noble knights,” Arthur called out to them, “this night we march forth into history. Ours is the most dangerous quest of all, for we seek to destroy the man who doth control so much of these drugs. Be on your guard at all times, my knights. I have faith in you all. We go forth under the banner of right, so let us take a moment to ask God for protection this night.”
He bowed his head in silence, as did every child with him. Then he raised his head, held Excalibur high above him, and called out, “It begins!”
A cheer went up from the group, and they clambered lithely up the riverbank and piled into the enormous SUV Justin had brought. He’d actually asked his mother for permission to borrow it this time. At first she’d said no, but when he explained it was for Arthur she relented.
However, Justin knew she never would have agreed had she known their true destination, for Arthur’s target this night was the supply warehouse of Mr. R. and Mr. L.
RAMIREZ and Lee had made good use of their time while Lance and Jack cooled their heels in the tiny bathroom. Ramirez had contacted all his main “drops” in the city so they would be prepared for an attack. Arthur’s foolish followers will get a rude awakening when they attempt to take my houses, Ramirez chuckled to himself.
“Is Santiago in place?” Lee inquired.
Ramirez nodded. All the pieces were in play to finish this uprising once and for all.
As always, Lee stood beside Ramirez’s desk, impassive and unflappable. “Why not just call this Arthur on the kid’s phone, tell him you have the kid, and lure him in. Easy take down. No chance of a mistake.”
Ramirez sniggered. “Mr. Lee, you’re an outstanding businessman, but very poor at public relations. This man has become a media darling, an entertainment for the people. He’s like the ultimate reality show. And like any good reality show—of which there are none, by the way—we must give the viewers a slam-bang finale. When this man dies it must be in full view of everyone, especially those stupid kids of his. The entire so-called crusade will end instantly tonight.”
Lee nodded approvingly. Ramirez may be a hothead at times, but his flair for the theatrical was often quite useful.
“Have your men load the fagboys into the limo,” he told Lee with a toothy smile. “I want them to have a front-row seat.”
Lee grinned and quickly left the office.
Ramirez pulled Lance’s phone from his desk drawer and slipped it into his jacket pocket before rising from his desk and following after Lee.
Chapter 13
ARTHUR’S team leaders had all been chosen to strike at drug labs within their own neighborhoods. That way, each leader intimately knew the lay of the land, the easy escape routes as might be necessary, and the best ways to attack each house. Of course, the kids all knew this was a token gesture. They would only be destroying one lab in each neighborhood, one out of dozens, but it would send a clear message to all who wished to deal drugs—the Round Table will seek you out and destroy you.
Esteban led his team back to Boyle Heights to the most notorious crack house in his neighborhood. It was one-story and old, like most houses in the ’hood, but especially ugly with its hideous pink paint job. It sat conveniently on a corner for easy access to buyers and sellers who could come and go without attracting undue attention. There was a three-foot-high metal fence surrounding the front, and Esteban knew there were two back buildings behind the main house where the drugs were produced and stored.
Eyeing the place in the fading sunlight as a knight of the Round Table rather than as a gang member who used to slang for these people, Esteban realized that it looked just like an ordinary house. Unless you knew what went on in there, you’d never guess.
Reyna crouched by his side, bow and arrow cocked and ready. They had hidden themselves and their team in the backyard of an empty house just across the street, reconnoitering their target for any signs of movement and awaiting Arthur’s signal.
Esteban glanced over at Reyna and shook his head as though once again forcing himself to believe all this was real. A fine-ass rich girl into him? Never saw that one coming. And this whole knights and Camelot business? Who would’ve thought a bad kid like him could ever do anything that seemed so good?
He eyed the crack house, so innocent looking, yet so deadly and so much a part of his youth. How many kids like Mark had OD’d or gotten hopelessly hooked on dope because of him, because he’d gotten them started? A lot, he figured. And for what? So he could have fancy-ass shoes and other swag?
Before Arthur, before all their neighborhood cleanups had revitalized the city, including his own barrio, Esteban would’ve said swag and g
irls and money were all that life was about. He thought he’d had power. But this, what they were doing tonight, this was power—the power to change things for real.
He found his gaze returning to Reyna. She looked so taut, so amped, so ready for action. Man, what a turn-on. She turned and caught him staring, but he didn’t care. She puckered and kissed air in his direction, drawing a smile to his face. He felt his phone vibrate and slipped it from his pocket. The text was from Arthur. Only one word: Begin.
LANCE and Jack were led at gunpoint out of the bathroom, into an elevator, and then down to an underground garage. The two young Asians calmly pointed very high-tech-looking handguns at both boys and appeared prepared to use them. Neither Lance nor Jack saw any possible opportunity to overpower these men. Sure, Jack looked a lot stronger to Lance, but a bullet trumps muscles any day, he knew. So the boys offered no resistance as they were led to a black Hummer stretch limo parked sideways across the garage floor.
Shoved hard into the luxuriously appointed car, the boys were flanked in one of the rear seats by the armed Asians. In the facing bench seat were Ramirez and Lee, the former grinning like a young child gazing at a pile of presents on his birthday.
“Where are we going?” Lance asked as the limo began moving.
Ramirez laughed. “You were there when it all began, Pretty Boy,” the man replied, “so it only seems fitting for you to be there when it ends.”
His words and cold, chilling tone sent shivers down Lance’s back. He exchanged a glance with Jack and knew his friend was thinking the same thing: if their plan didn’t work, this could be the end of everything.
ESTEBAN’S team was in place. Upon receiving the go-ahead from Arthur, and with dusk casting the ugly pink house into a half-light, half-shadow realm, everyone had slunk to his or her assigned location. They now surrounded the house, putting special emphasis on the two back buildings that housed the drugs. The archers were in place. Some had attached smoke bombs to their arrows, had them cocked, and merely awaited Esteban’s command.
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