by P. W. Davies
Peter settled into one of the couches, slowly relaxing while Victor opened the door. As he heard the door creak, Peter took a deep breath and shut his eyes, trying to soothe his frazzled nerves. This is what he’d asked for, after all. In for a penny, in for a pound.
“Hello, can I help you?” Victor said from the entryway, sounding nonchalant as he did. Whatever he did to swallow back his emotions, it made Peter envious as his heartbeat picked up in tempo. When a gunshot didn’t immediately sound from the other part of the condo, he at least opened his eyes and listened closer, though with no less tension filling his limbs. As it stood, at that moment, Peter had become completely frozen into place by fear.
They had committed themselves to it, though. The roller coaster had started its ascent to the top and as the visitor pushed past Victor and entered the condo, Peter reminded himself of this. Craning his neck to see as much as he could from his vantage point, he watched as two strangers walked inside, mute and with as much of an intimidating air following in their wake as the man who last pushed past Victor. Straightening his posture, Victor did his best to continue looking unaffected. “I don’t remember giving permission for you to enter,” he said.
“You can thank me for the lack of broken door,” the final man said without making eye contact with Victor, his voice containing the hint of an English accent. “I was tempted to have one of my boys kick it in when you didn’t answer.”
“I’ll be sure to inform the police of that when they arrive.”
As Peter recognized the speaker – Mark Talbot – he turned to address Victor. The latter still stood by the door, with it ajar, and when Talbot motioned to take hold of it to push it shut, Victor placed himself between Talbot and the door. “Leave. Now,” Victor said. “You’re not welcome here.”
“You didn’t call the cops. Cute that you think I’d fall for that, though. I know who you have here.” Talbot took a step closer to Victor. “Or, are you going to cite Attorney/Client Privilege of some bollocks like that to me?”
“I don’t make it a habit to harbor my clients in my condo, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Yeah, but I know that Christian Richardson is a client of yours. People say you’re a corporate attorney, not a criminal one. It’s a fancy firm you work for, though. Looks like it pays enough to keep the lights on here.” Talbot glanced around first before looking back down at Victor with a smirk. “Where’s Richardson?”
“Not here. If you saw my note, I assume you know that means I’m currently looking for him.”
“Yes, I did see the note, actually. Not exactly a smart idea, is that? Leaving something out where you know other people could find it. You’d need a key to get in there to leave it in the first place and I’ll admit, that was one of the problems we had in going in to say hello. Hard thing to do without disrupting the neighbors.”
“If you try anything now, you’ll find yourself in similar trouble.”
“Yeah, but Richardson is a professional. They like to keep things quiet until it suits them otherwise.” Talbot waggled a finger at Victor. “I don’t think you have the ability to make things as messy.”
Victor raised an eyebrow. “Try me.”
“You don’t even know the half of what you’re stepping in, sir. Don’t kid a kidder.” He smirked. The next step he took closer to Victor put him dangerously close to the other man, his hand brushing back the end of his suit jacket so he could rest his hand on his hip. “I came here myself, for the record, so that we could bring you in with as few scratches as possible. As much as my people know the consequence that comes from making me upset, I answer to others who would be upset at me if we jeopardized this. Consider me insurance.”
His smile broadened. “Going to be a problem?” Talbot asked, adding as an afterthought, “Mr. Mason?”
“And you only brought two other people?” Peter asked, realizing belatedly that the question had made it past his lips and out where other people could hear it. The sudden knot that formed in his stomach accompanied the entire room training its attention to him and as the cumulative set of gazes fixed themselves on him, he made the silent determination that he’d entered the conversation. “I mean, if you’re taking people in. There’s two of us and three of you.”
Talbot squinted and strode closer to the living room, bypassing the kitchen island as he did. “Is that the tall one?” he asked. Before anyone could provide an answer, he chuckled. “It is. We met briefly the one night in the bar.”
“Was that another of the things you decided you should handle personally?”
Inspired by the strange wave of bravado, Peter rose to a stand. Talbot’s entourage followed him further into the condo and as Peter flicked a quick look at Victor, he hoped the other man read the opening. ‘Call the police,’ he thought. ‘I have literally no idea what I’m doing, but it seems like I have his attention.’ His eyes returned to Talbot when the other man responded. “Christian Richardson is the kind of problem you handle personally, yes. Especially when your superiors are cross he slipped away from you once. I don’t think I got your name, though.”
“Peter. You could always try leaving him alone.”
“You’re naïve, Peter. You must be refreshing to him. New fling?” Talbot chuckled. “My, he’s made himself at home here. Had a couple of saucy flames where we’re from, but both were smart enough to disappear when he did. Must have gotten soft in the past few years.” He paused by the edge of the living room, lingering near the piano. Lightly, his fingers traced over the lid protecting the keys. “Do you know what your boyfriend does for a living?”
“I know. He’s a contracted killer.”
Talbot barked out another laugh. “Makes him sound so civilized. I’ve seen what he does to people, Peter, and it’s not civilized.” Humor carried into his words, lilting with a wicked form of delight, even when they took a turn for the macabre. “He prefers knives. I like being quicker about it – a good shot between the eyes is better than making someone choke on their blood. I think there’s a twisted, sociopathic part of him that enjoys watching a person suffer first.”
“I guess forcing someone to watch his father die will do that to a person.”
While Peter had intended the retort to be direct, he hadn’t anticipated the sudden way it would make the smile on Talbot’s face vanish. He raised an eyebrow and as he tilted his chin upward, Talbot abandoned the piano in favor of walking closer to Peter. “And what’s he told you about that, Peter, huh?” he asked. “Anything good?”
Peter’s pulse picked up in tempo again, his mind immediately regretting the decision to be clever. “He’s pretty close-lipped about that, actually,” Peter said. “Doesn’t like to talk about it. To tell you the truth, I understand exactly how that goes. I was orphaned, too.”
“Sad story. You have my condolences.” Talbot glanced back at Victor. As Victor straightened his stance again, his hand deftly slipping out of his pocket, Talbot glanced at the enforcer closest to Victor and nodded him in the other man’s direction. Peter opened his mouth to issue an objection, but the words stopped in his throat the moment the other enforcer walked to make up the difference in space between him and Talbot. “Now, Peter, why should I believe the only thing he told you about his father is him witnessing the murder?”
The sound of the door shutting tempted Peter to look in Victor’s direction. “Because it’s the truth,” he said. Talbot paced closer. Peter felt his throat turn dry. “For this reason, to be honest. He warned us that knowing too much might put us in danger.”
“Knowing him has you in enough danger. I doubt you could dig the hole any deeper right now.” When he pushed back the side of his jacket again, Talbot revealed the holstered gun that had been obstructed from Peter’s view with him so far from the others. He glanced from it back to Talbot and instinctively took a step backward. “What do you do for a living?” Talbot asked.
“Doctor. You were in my emergency room a few days ago, in fact.”
“Then you know that anywhere in this room is close enough for me to shoot you. Stepping away might make you feel a little better, but I’m not opposed to taking out a knee to make sure you don’t go anywhere else.” The smile which crossed his lips looked predatory. “Knowing, of course, you know how to treat yourself.”
“I’d really prefer not to. Harder to focus.”
“Then stay put and we won’t have any problems.”
Talbot closed within a few feet of Peter, stopping when a groan directed their attention toward where Victor stood. While Victor himself looked shocked, nothing about his pristine appearance had yet been ruffled and the direction of his gaze brought Peter’s focus immediately to the man who had collapsed to his knees in front of Victor. A knife stuck out of him and when Christian strode confidently into the room, he pulled the knife from the man’s back and provoked a wail of pain from him as a result. Lowering onto one knee, one gloved hand covered his mouth while the other pushed the blade into the base of the man’s neck. Christian lowered the body onto the ground, peering up at the others to gage the rest of the room.
Peter felt a wave of nausea crest over him, threatening to pull him under.
“Forgive me, love,” Christian said while rising again, looking at Peter as if he could sense his discomfort. “I know it’s your penchant to heal, but there’s only so much threatening a person tolerate before he’s forced to do something about it.” Reaching into his pocket, he produced an already-stained cloth and idly wiped the bloodied blade. “Victor, darling, have you called the police yet?”
“Had been attempting to without being noticed,” Victor said, his expression still registering shock. “This man here stopped me.”
“Hold off on the call, then. I might have Roland take care of things instead.”
Walking past Victor without looking him in the eyes, Christian crept closer to the kitchen. His graceful movements feather-weighted, they reminded Peter of the dancer and suddenly, he realized that this was Christian’s music, the opening notes having already played. “Holding loved ones as collateral is cliched, don’t you think, Mark?” he asked. “Very Bond-villain of you.”
“It brought you here,” Talbot said. “You think you’re not a predictable cliché?”
“Considering it’s taken you this many years to find me, no I don’t.” He pocketed the cleaning rag again and lifted his knife to waist level. “Either way… Glad I could help you remove the middle man by being present. Victor and Peter need not be involved.”
“I love that you think I’m going to let them on their merry way.”
“You might want to mind your tongue. Another threat and I’ll be tempted to take it.”
“I dare you to try.” Lowering his hand onto the grip of his gun, Talbot resisted drawing it, but communicated his intention to do so. His gaze remained set on the hitman, all the humor draining from his expression. “You aren’t going to want to kill me, Christian. If you do, then you don’t ever return to England and I know exactly what you left behind there.”
The way Talbot’s brow arched suggested something more behind his words, which Christian seemed both to understand and not at the same time. Christian regarded the other man, spending a lingering moment in reflection, and Peter could only imagine the war raging inside his lover’s mind. Christian twirled the knife in his hand as a delaying tactic. When his gaze flicked quickly to Peter, Peter understood the choice his lover faced. Embrace the present and end the threat, or allow the past to sway him once more.
He answered the debate with his next action.
With fluid, graceful movements, Christian vaulted onto the kitchen island, plucking the kitchen knife Peter had left into his free hand almost as an afterthought. The second blade barely rested against his palm before Christian threw it for the second of Talbot’s associates and though it only lodged into his shoulder, it distracted him enough for Christian to jump from his vantage point. Where he landed placed the man between him and Talbot. Talbot drew his gun and fired and to Peter, it looked like Christian had predicted the action. The bullet buried into the second man, stopping him midway through the attempt of drawing his own weapon. Falling at his feet, the gun preceded its owner’s descent only by a few seconds.
He had barely crumpled onto the floor, bleeding out onto the carpet, before Christian leaped over him and kicked his gun to the other side of the room. Talbot motioned to aim at him again, but Christian threw the second of his blades and though this one missed, it distracted Talbot enough for Christian to take cover behind the couch. Peter saw the opportunity, with fear in each beat of his heart, and as he ran for where the gun had slid, he waited for another shot to ring out and a burst of pain to accompany it. What he didn’t expect was to provide a moment of distraction.
As Talbot shifted his attention to Peter, the unwitting slip gave Christian a chance to vault the couch. He ran for his antagonist, and while Talbot’s reactions had pointed him toward the oncoming threat, Talbot himself failed to brace for the impact of Christian’s fist with his chin. His head recoiled. He stumbled backward a few paces, but maintained a stand and dodged the next attempted blow. While trying to point the gun at Christian, he left himself open to a knee in the stomach, and doubled over while Christian reached for the gun.
The awkward way he turned, though, placed the gun between their bodies and as he squeezed the trigger, a gasp by Christian startled Peter into action. Somehow, the other gun had made it into his hands, though he barely remembered clambering for it. Every action movie he’d ever watched resonated in his head and after cocking back the hammer, he crudely lined Talbot in the sight and fired. His ears rang, and though the previous shots had been loud, somehow this one struck him as deafening.
Still, he beheld the aftermath of his action. While he had aimed for Talbot’s torso, the bullet struck his shoulder and as Talbot dropped his gun, Christian seized the moment. Drawing another knife, he plunged it upward and as Peter watched, he saw the blade drive deep into Talbot’s chest. Talbot grimaced. Whatever raced through his mind in those final seconds, Peter saw the familiar flicker of light departing a person’s eyes and as his knees buckled, his limp body collapsed onto the ground.
Christian breathed a sigh of relief. While he attempted to lift fully to a stand, he listed to the side and reached out for the adjacent chair to catch his fall. Victor sprang into action seemingly at the same time Peter did, and while Victor ran directly for Christian, Peter paused first to toss the gun onto the couch. His eyes jumped from one piece of carnage to the next as if confused. Talbot lay still where he had fallen. The man Christian had used as a shield didn’t move, either. Before he could be tempted to look at the first stabbing victim, Peter shut his eyes and took a deep breath, opening them only when he had calmed his nerves.
Victor shifted to the side while Peter crouched in front of Christian. The latter had propped himself against the chair, taking deep, erratic breaths while clutching at his side. “Let me see,” Peter said, reaching for Christian’s hand.
“Are you going to kiss it and make it better?” Christian asked, a pained smile crossing his lips.
“More like get you to the hospital.” Peter glanced up at Victor. “Could you make a call?”
“Don’t,” Christian interjected. Victor glanced between the two of them while Christian slowly moved his hand away from the wound. “It didn’t go far. I’ll take a shot of whiskey and grit my teeth like a good boy while you dig it out.” His brow arched, his gaze meeting Peter’s. “Please.”
Peter sighed. “I’ll only agree if I don’t think there’s any internal bleeding.”
“Thank you, love.”
The way his smile shifted hinted at both the pain he was in and his fondness for Peter, which made Peter feel both disturbed and delighted. He hadn’t watched this man kill three people, he told himself, and though he knew it would take a while before he erased that image from his head, the tender brush of Christian’s fingers against his warmed his heart and brought
his focus back to the injured man. Mirroring the small smile, he leaned forward and kissed Christian’s forehead.
Once he pulled away, he looked up at Victor. “Tweezers, towels, sewing needle, dental floss, and that whiskey would be perfect, please,” he said. “I can use it for cleaning the wound. Maybe a lighter, too, to sterilize the needle?”
Nodding, Victor motioned to stand, stopping when Christian reached for his hand and took hold of it. As he raised an eyebrow at Christian, the other man released his hold and reached into his pocket, producing his cell phone. “Passcode is your birthday,” Christian said. “Day and month. Look for Roland in my contacts and call him. Make sure to tell him the police might have been alerted toward shots fired.”
“I take it he has a way to handle that,” Victor said.
“The less you know, the better.” Christian winked and Victor sighed, but as he walked off to fetch Peter’s supplies, Peter heard Victor unlock the phone.
Peter shook his head, glancing back at Christian and wrapping an arm around him to help him settle into a better position. While the other man inhaled sharply, he withheld any cries of pain, gritting his teeth until their movement ended. His eyes clenched shut, they now opened and while his breaths had turned erratic again, Peter watched his chest slow into a normal pattern.
“You might be right,” Peter said, trying to distract Christian. He leaned closer and while blood continued to pool on the wound, using Christian’s coat to dab the blood away cleaned it long enough for him to assess the injury. “It doesn’t look like it hit anything significant, which makes you a lucky bastard.”
“Parents were married. I believe I’ve mentioned that.” Christian flashed a smirk when Peter glanced upward. “I might have had some control over the aim when I assumed he was going to fire.”
“Helpful to know. I at least won’t worry as much.” The staccato in Peter’s exhale defied his words, his smile strained only from the weight of everything starting to impact. “Are you sure your people can handle this? I don’t want you to wind up in jail.”
