Sin and Tonic

by Rhys Ford

  “Go home, son,” Donal ordered. “Wrap this thing up and look at it again in the morning. But for right now, you’ve got to remember we are sitting on somebody else’s watch. Berkeley is going to have to take lead on this because it’s in their corner. After the shit they pulled with Quinn, the captain is going to want to bury this because he doesn’t want any more ripples. This wasn’t on you. Hall was going to do himself in no matter what. So go home.”

  The drive back to the station to pick up his Hummer had been mostly silent. Kel made a few halfhearted attempts at conversation, then lapsed into a numbed shock neither of them felt like breaking. After handing the keys over to the motor pool’s late-night attendant, Kane turned to find Kel behind him, his arms out for an embrace.

  It felt good to hug his friend, a solid warm body to remind him they weren’t the ones being scraped off a boat’s deck, and Kane held on to Kel long enough for his partner to let go of a short laugh. Then Kane turned and fixed a steely eye on the kid who stood slack-jawed with the sedan’s keys still dangling from his fingers, daring him to say anything.

  “Go home,” Kel repeated Donal’s order. “Go home and kiss your rock star until he wakes up and makes you smile.”

  It seemed like a good idea, except Kane’s rock star was still awake.

  He’d grown used to Miki’s habit of stealing his clothes and leaving guitars in odd places around the house. He’d adapted to running a lint roller over his jeans before going to work every morning, although some days he simply gave up and got knowing looks from other dog owners when they spotted the stray beige hair on his jeans. Coming home to find the refrigerator packed full with barely nibbled-on take-out Chinese no longer fazed him any more than being woken up by a video call from a musician or two who’d provided the soundtrack for his sexual exploration during puberty.

  But Kane didn’t think he would ever get used to the sight of Miki St. John wearing nothing more than a pair of low-slung cotton pants and a sexy smile, sprawled out over the sheets he’d gotten on sale one Black Friday.

  It wasn’t the first time Kane had been thankful for his lover’s vampiric sleep schedule, and it probably wouldn’t be the last.

  The contributor of beige hair was asleep at the foot of the bed, curled up over a pillow Miki had donated from the nest he hoarded against the headboard. Dude lay on his back, looking more like an overturned furry soup tureen than a vicious defender of the household. The dog’s feet twitched as Kane passed by. Then he stretched out, opening one eye to watch as Kane stripped off his clothes.

  “He probably thinks I’m going to kick him off the bed,” Kane muttered at Miki, then swore when he caught his chin on his shirt collar. After tugging himself free, he balled up the sweaty garment and tossed it into the open hamper. “You gonna be up in five minutes? I need to take a shower, but I’d really like to spend some time with you.”

  “I’m not tired. Spent the day a little drunk and a lot weepy, so I guess I’m embracing my Irish.” Miki’s kissable mouth curled into a smirk. “Go take your shower, and if you feel like kicking the dog off the bed when you get back, I’m good with it.”

  “I don’t know if I have the energy,” Kane grumbled. “The spirit is very willing, Mick my love, but the body is very weak. I’m up for cuddle and a talk.”

  “I’m good with that too,” he replied with a laugh. “I’m sure Dude would approve. I think he just got settled.”

  The hot water on his skin felt good, but the soap and a scrub did nothing to wash away the unsettled feeling Kane had in his gut. On his way back to the bedroom, Kane did one final check of the door locks and turned off the lights, then joined Miki on their bed.

  “Dad called me and told me what happened,” Miki said as Kane stretched out on top of him. Parting his legs so Kane could settle his weight between his knees, Miki stroked at the scruff on Kane’s jaw. “It’s been a pretty fucked day.”

  “I don’t think there is a word strong enough to describe how fucked a day this was,” Kane murmured. “But damn, it’s good to be here with you now.”

  Whatever he did to deserve Miki, Kane was grateful for it. They fit each other in ways he hadn’t understood when they first met, but eventually he saw they moved in similar ways, thought along the same paths, and often laughed at the stupidest things. They argued over small, senseless bits but stood shoulder to shoulder when it mattered. Kane always thought that the greatest gift he could give Miki was his family—his own family—and now as he stared at the ashes of Miki’s past, he understood that he’d been fooling himself. Miki fit into the Morgans of his own volition, carving out his space and defiantly daring them to love him.

  Kane had missed that the most precious treasure between them was Miki opening up his heart to let Kane in. Lying against Miki’s warm body, with an odd-looking terrier licking his big toe, Kane gave thanks to the God who’d thrown Miki into his path.

  “You make my heart hurt, I love you so much,” he whispered into Miki’s ear. A lock of hair tickled Kane’s nose and he fought off a sneeze. His body adjusted around Miki’s, and he rolled over onto his side, taking his lover with him. Miki, as usual, fought him a little bit. “Can’t you just let me hold you? Sometimes you’re like trying to give a wet, angry cat a nail clipping.”

  “My knee.” The bed gave a little bit as Miki adjusted his leg. “Was twisted funny.”

  “Better now?” Kane rubbed at the gnarled scar tissue stretching over Miki’s knee. He knew where to massage, having worked out muscle spasms and cramps after Miki spent a long day of playing. “How are you doing?”

  “Are we just not going to talk about the fact that a cop blew his head off in front of you?” He tilted his head back, his hazel eyes skeptical and doubting. “I thought I was the only one who thought denial was healthy.”

  “Right now, I’d rather talk through how you feel about your mom and maybe come up with what we’re going to do about your dad.”

  “What am I supposed to do about Donal? Bake him cookies?” He scoffed. “I can’t even make ramen right for you.”

  “Since you consider making ramen opening the package and just eating the noodles, then no.”

  “You act like I make the flavor packet into Kool-Aid.” Miki laughed as Kane gagged dramatically. “I just saw my mom for the first time today, and I don’t know if I can handle any more family right now. Why?”

  “Because today a man died because… actually, I can’t tell you why he killed himself, but I need to tell you he was sorry.” Kane took a deep breath and continued. “I talked to Book about what I can share with you and what I can’t. There’s some things I’m not going to tell you because I don’t think you need to hear them. And that’s on me, because I’m not going to give you that kind of pain. I want to ask you to trust me on that, okay?”

  “Is this about how my mom died?” Miki’s whisper was like the chiming of the church bell in the dark of the storm, caught by the wind and slightly out of control. The emotion in his trembling voice struck Kane hard, and he reached up to run his fingers through Miki’s hair. “If you’re telling me that I don’t want to know, then I’m going to trust you. But if in the future, I ask you, will you tell me?”

  “I promise to get you drunk first,” Kane vowed. “Because of the two of us, I think you’ve carried enough. It’s time for me to shoulder that burden. Okay?”

  A few years ago, Miki would’ve told him to fuck off and pushed him away. Kane half expected him to do that now, but instead Miki nodded and snuggled closer. They lay together for a few moments, serenaded by the snoring dog, and Miki sighed.

  His rock star lay against him, mute and attentive as Kane told him of Hall’s apology. His eyes shimmered a bit, but his mouth was set into a firm line, a stern expression Kane quickly kissed away. The taste of mint on Miki’s tongue soothed Kane’s rattled nerves, and he deepened their kiss, wishing he had enough breath to make it last forever. Sighing, Miki broke off first, breathing hard.

  “Still okay?” Kan
e asked.

  “Yeah, I am. I just wish I had the chance to kick the guy in the balls. That’s some kind of fucked-up crap he had going.”

  “I’m not going to argue with you about that.” Kane rubbed Miki’s nose with his thumb, pleased to get a hiss out of his lover. “Cancer was eating him up alive, just like his guilt. I got the feeling he really meant to save you. For everything that he did, he wanted to do one good thing and you were it.”

  “What do they say? The road to hell is paved with good intentions? The guy pretty much put down his own yellow bricks. Okay, tell me about my fucking father,” he grumbled. “What did Book say you could tell me?”

  “It’s not necessarily what Book approved of but rather what the DEA shared with us this evening.” Kane ran his thumb down the ridge of Miki’s spine, glad to feel the muscles there rather than the rough terrain of his bones from lack of eating. “The undercover operative—former DEA Agent Liam Stewart—is in San Francisco and has been for the past six months. It seems he’s the reason Wong has targeted you because the son of a bitch can’t reach Stewart, so he’s going to try to kill his son.”

  “And Wong thinks that’s me?” Miki’s upper lip lifted. “How the hell—”

  “It is you, a ghra,” Kane broke in gently. “And he wants to meet you tomorrow… if you’re willing.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Fortunes left on paper

  Iron grate at my back

  Handful of songs in my pockets

  You pulled me up from the black

  Dragons on the streets

  Fireworks in the sky

  We’ve gone and come full circle

  A curl of time gone by

  Sinners at the Crossroads

  An X in the road

  Sipping gin, counting time

  Getting ready to explode

  —’Nother Sip of Gin

  MIKI DIDN’T spend a lot of time at the police station Kane worked at. It held bittersweet memories, long hours spent being interviewed first by Kel, then again by Kane, about his abusers’ murders. The clatter of cop talk grated at his nerves, waves of authoritative voices bound together by a certain mind-set and a macabre sense of humor he didn’t share. He didn’t understand why it was so different around the Morgans, because they were as much of a cop as anyone could get, but it was. Maybe it was due to the sense of safety he had around them, but Miki didn’t intend to ever pick at the why of things. He’d learned at an early age it was better to adapt and adjust than question.

  That philosophy went out the window as soon as he discovered he had a mother who, at least on the surface, seemed to have cared for him, and a father who’d disappeared into the shadows only to reemerge at the worst of times.

  “Not that there is really any good time for somebody you didn’t know existed to come shoving his way into your life,” Miki muttered.

  Meeting his father at a cop house seemed like a good idea when Kane suggested it, but being surrounded by badges and guns was never a comfortable situation. He’d spent too much time in his teenage years looking over his shoulder, wondering when someone was going to drag him back to Vega, or worse, and despite it all, Miki hadn’t outgrown his edginess.

  “Fuck this.” He scrubbed at his face, then ran his hands through his hair, wishing he could loosen some of the tightness along his scalp. “I’ve already got a mom and dad. I’ve got Kane, Damien, a band, and even a damned dog. How many fucking people am I supposed to care about?”

  “There usually isn’t a limit, Miki boy,” a deep Irish voice rumbled behind him. “That’s the best part about the heart. It’s as big as ye need it to be.”

  For as large of a man as Donal was, he sure as hell was silent. Miki figured it was a ninja skill the man developed over the years of raising eight headstrong, independent personalities who seemed to view childhood restrictions as bendable so long as no one was hurt and it wasn’t against the law. If anyone needed to be able to sneak up on a plotting horde bent on death and destruction, it was Donal Morgan.

  Even knowing that, it still scared the crap out of Miki when Donal appeared out of nowhere.

  The Donal he knew existed in old jeans and comfortable T-shirts. His feet were either bare or he wore sneakers. His slightly silvered black hair was usually tousled, and the only bit of shine he wore was the battered gold wedding ring he’d put on once and apparently never taken off since. So it was always a surprise when Miki’s dad appeared in front of him wearing a crisp set of formal blues and a badge shiny enough to blind the sun.

  “I always forget you’re a cop,” Miki said, shaking his head. “I know Kane is one because it’s like a jacket he wears sometimes, and, well, Connor stinks like one, but I never think of you as a cop first. Seeing you like this kind of freaks me out.”

  Miki didn’t know what he expected from Donal, but it sure as hell wasn’t a hug.

  As good as it felt, Miki was very aware they were standing in the middle of a police station, and he was being hugged by one of the top cops. Squirming a little bit didn’t help. All that did was dig Donal’s badge into his chest, and he might have heard Donal chuckle. It lasted only for another second, then he was let go, off-balance but reassured he was loved.

  “How are ye doing?” Donal asked, tugging at Miki’s leather jacket to straighten it. “Who brought ye in?”

  “Dan, one of Sionn’s security guys. Damien came with me, but I think he got hung up going to the bathroom. There were a couple of guys there who wanted to talk guitars, and I didn’t want to stay. Too jumpy.” He let Donal push his hair from his face, smirking when the Irish man grumbled good-naturedly about having a hippie for a son. “Kane said he’d meet me here when the guy got in, but I haven’t seen him yet.”

  “Yer man’s already inside the room.” The cop was back in Donal’s eyes, a glacial frost over his smoky blue gaze. “I have a lot of questions and I know it’s not my place to ask them of him, but… damned if I don’t feel like I need to stand in front of ye.”

  The shift from gentle counselor to fierce protector shouldn’t have been a surprise, but it was. It felt good in a way Miki couldn’t put his finger on, but right then and there, for the first time in his life, he understood what it might have felt like growing up with a father. He didn’t need anyone to fight his battles for him. He’d learned that particular viciousness at an early age. But standing shoulder to shoulder with a man who could shatter a mountain between his hands—it felt damned good knowing Donal Morgan would have his back in any fight.

  Once again, he was reminded of how perfectly suited Donal and Brigid were. They seemed to fit each other in ways Miki could never see working, but it did. He supposed people wouldn’t say that about him and Kane because, on the surface, they just didn’t make sense. But they didn’t see the silences Kane shared with him or the laughter Kane could bring up out of him. Sionn and Damien made sense. So did Quinn and Rafe, and there was no denying Connor and Forest were married from the moment they met each other. Seeing Donal in warrior mode illuminated how he and Brigid were meant for a lifetime together. Pound for pound, Miki would always put his money on Donal’s wife, even if he was the one with the gun, but they definitely knew when one had to brandish their sword while the other lifted their shield.

  No one ever looked to Miki for comfort. His idea of consoling usually included an awkward pat on the back and a nervous look for someone who knew what they were doing. This time, oddly enough, it seemed like words Donal might need to hear were right on his tongue. And even if they weren’t, he was going to say them anyway.

  “You told me to call you Dad. To think about you as my dad. And I do. I don’t know the guy who’s in there and I don’t know why he’s in there. Shit, I don’t even know where there is.” Miki stared down the line of interrogation room doors. “I don’t know if I’m ready for all of this yet. Should I have everybody with me or be by myself? I keep going round and round about what the hell I’m supposed to do here and what I’m supposed to feel. It’s al
l just shit, you know?

  “But I know you’re here for me, and I’d be stupid not to stand behind you if you want to go through that door first because… you’re a fucking hell of a lot bigger than me and you’d clear the way, even if I know it’s shitty of me to want you to do that.” Sighing, Miki threw a glance down the hall toward the bullpen. He really wanted Damien with him. Kane and Donal were a given, but there was an emptiness at his side he knew only D could fill. Shit, if they’d let him bring Dude, he would have. “Shit, where’s Brigid? She’s not here, right? I mean, I love her, but I don’t know if I can deal right now.”

  “Ye told her ye were afraid she’d gut him if she saw him, right?” Donal huffed indignantly. “I’m ashamed ye’d think that of her. She’d at least punch the man first, then gut him. I love my bride, but she’s short. She’d have to bring a man down to his knees so she could get a knife to his throat. And she’s in Book’s office, pacing. In case ye’d be needing her.”

  “After. If it goes wrong.” Miki grimaced. “No, I’ll need her anyway. It’s going to go wrong. And even if it goes right, it’s not going to be right-right. I’m going to get D and then head in. If you go in first, just—”

  “I’ll not be killing the man, if that’s what yer saying,” Donal intoned, putting his hand on Miki’s shoulder. Turning him toward the bullpen’s door, he gave Miki a slight push. “Go on with ye. I’ll go find Kane, and then, well, we’ll see. Just go get yer brother and let’s see where this is going to take all of us.”

  LIAM STEWART had Miki’s height and, oddly enough, more than a little bit of his standard cynical expression. If Achara Sangsom gifted Miki with her beauty, the tall, street-savvy man pacing about the interview room poured his world-weary skepticism into Miki’s soul. Even if Kane didn’t know who Stewart was, if he passed him on the street, he would take a second look.

  Stewart’s face was a blend of the Highlands and the Emerald Hills, a strong jaw and sharp cheekbones with very little softness to them. His hair was unkempt, messy from the wind and the color of a good lager with a hint of mink hidden within the strands. Stewart wore a pair of black jeans and a blue polo snug enough to follow the lines of his lean, muscular torso, an artless grace to his body as he moved, a wiry strength bristling with unspent energy, and even his smirk when Kane opened the door held a hint of charisma Kane had seen flow through Miki when he was onstage with his band.