Heavens Aground (Treble and the Lost Boys Book 2)

by G. R. Lyons

  “Cooper,” Ryley's mother breathed.

  “Shhh, babe, it's alright,” Ryley's father said, holding very still as he swallowed hard, his throat bobbing against the knife's edge. “Just do what he says.” The man tried to glance back over his shoulder. “Take whatever you want. Just don't hurt them.”

  The intruder visibly shuddered and hastily wiped sweat from his brow with his free hand before grabbing Ryley's father again. “I don't want your money,” he spat.

  “Alright, alright,” Ryley's father said, holding up his hands and still trying to see the guy over his shoulder. “Just tell us what you want.” He kept his voice calm and soothing despite being visibly shaken, his skin pale and his eyes wide as he kept trying to see the intruder as well as keeping an eye on his family.

  “I want…” the intruder said. “I want…” He roughly wiped the sweat away, digging the heel of his hand into his eye.

  With the man distracted, Ryley's mother tried to inch away.

  “Don't move!” the intruder shouted, snatching a gun from the waistband of his pants and aiming it at Ryley's mother with one trembling hand while the other still kept the knife to Ryley's father's neck.

  “Oh gods,” Ryley's father cried.

  “Shut up!” the intruder yelled.

  But Ryley's father continued to beg. “Please, don't hurt them. I'll do anything you want. Just–”

  “I said shut up!” the man shouted, yanking the blade across the man's throat.

  Ryley's mother screamed.

  “Daddy?” little Ryley cried, scrambling to get out of his mother's arms.

  The intruder struggled to keep his balance as Ryley's father fell against him, clutching his throat with both hands, blood pouring over his fingers. The two men went down.

  The gun fell from the intruder's hand as he tried to break his fall, the knife still clutched firmly in his other hand so that it raked through the father's side as he tried to pull away. Ryley's father grunted in pain but couldn't scream, still clutching his throat.

  Little Ryley struggled until he was free and tumbled to the floor. Before he could make it more than a step toward his father, his mother lunged forward, snatching his arm and dragging him back.

  She shrieked as the intruder reached for the gun.

  Ryley's mother turned little Ryley toward the front of the house, shoving him away. “Run, baby! Get out of the hou–” Her words broke off with a cry as a shot was fired, the bullet tearing right through her shoulder. Her knees buckled, and she hit the floor.

  “Mamma!” little Ryley screamed.

  “No, baby!” his mother cried, still trying to push him away. “Run!”

  The intruder finally got himself untangled from Ryley's father and tried to cross the room toward Ryley's mother, only to have his legs tripped out from beneath him. Ryley's father had given up trying to stop his own bleeding and grabbed the intruder's ankle instead, then tried to crawl forward while the intruder fought to break free.

  Ryley's mother tried to scramble away, one arm useless as blood poured down her shoulder, but she couldn't move fast enough. Even with Ryley's father scrabbling at the man's ankle, his bloody fingers slipping with every attempt to hold the man, the intruder managed to crawl forward and slam the knife into Ryley's mother's belly.

  The woman cried out in pain, and the intruder spun around, kicking Ryley's father in the head, sending the man reeling back.

  “Daddy!” little Ryley screamed. He ran over to his father while the intruder shakily got to his feet, and the little boy put his hands all over his father's face, crying, “Wake up! Wake up!”

  “Ryley,” his mother gasped, one hand clutching her belly as she tried to drag herself toward them. “Run, baby, please.” Tears streamed down her cheeks.

  The intruder turned, groaning as he kept wiping sweat from his brow, the man's whole body shaking uncontrollably. As Ryley watched, a detached part of his brain recognized signs of either drug use or some severe mental illness, but mostly all he could see was his nightmare playing out before his eyes, albeit from the wrong angle.

  “Ryley,” his mother pleaded again just before she collapsed, a coarse, rattling sound coming from her lungs as she hit the floor.

  Little Ryley, covered in his parents' blood, sitting between their bodies, looked up at the intruder and screamed, his little face so full of fury that his skin turned red all over.

  As he screamed, the knife was ripped from the intruder's hand by an unseen force. The man lunged for it, a dumbfounded expression on his face, then watched in horror as the blade turned and shot right toward his chest. He grunted in pain as it sank in all the way to the hilt, only to pull completely free and stab him again.

  And again. And again. Over and over as he slowly sank to his knees and collapsed between the other two bodies, blood spraying and pooling all around him.

  It wasn't until a voice sounded from somewhere off-camera that little Ryley finally got distracted and stopped screaming, the spelled knife dropping to the floor.

  “What in the world is going on in–” A woman came into view and shrieked. “Oh my gods!” She covered her mouth with both hands just as a man came up behind her, both of them taking in the scene with wide-eyed horror.

  Ryley blinked. Mom and Dad. At least, the people he'd always known as Mom and Dad. There they were, on the screen, some twenty years younger than they were now, staring at the sight of little Ryley covered in blood, sitting amongst three dead bodies while tears streamed down his face.

  The video ran on, showing Mom and Dad trying to make sense of the scene, comforting little Ryley, calling for help, turning away the guests who began to arrive for the birthday party. Finally, the video came to an end when someone eventually spotted the camera and realized it was running, muttering a comment about how they might be able to see exactly what had happened. Throughout it all, little Ryley seemed completely dazed. Almost numb. Like his mind had shut off and he was no longer there.

  No wonder Ryley had never remembered any of it. He'd so thoroughly repressed it all that he'd never had a single hint that his parents weren't actually his parents, nor that the nightmare was anything more than a nightmare.

  The silence that followed the end of the video was so heavy, Ryley almost felt as though he couldn't breathe, just like when the thick blood in his nightmare coated his throat and kept him gasping. He stared at the blank screen for a long while.

  “Some people from Jadu'n arrived,” Dad said, his quiet voice almost too loud as it broke the silence, “shortly after that.” He gestured at the blank screen. “They said they felt the manifestation of your powers, and after we showed them the video, they confirmed that you were gifted. It was the only explanation.”

  Ryley nodded numbly, still staring at the blank wallscreen. So the Vakti had come for him. But why had they never taken him to Jadu'n for training?

  As though he'd asked the question aloud, his father went on: “You were so traumatized by it all that we decided the best thing for you would be to distance you from the magic as much as possible. The women…The…” He snapped his fingers.

  “The Vakti,” Ryley supplied in a numb whisper, never taking his eyes from the black screen.

  “Yeah. They taught you to count your breaths, to stay calm. Said it would keep the magic restrained to some degree. Told us to reinforce that throughout your life, so you could have as normal a life as possible. So that nothing like that would ever happen again.”

  Ryley nodded slowly, hardly blinking as the empty blackness of the screen filled his vision. Even so, he could still see blood. Everywhere. He could still see his parents dying right before his eyes, still feel the fury and terror of experiencing that scene for the second time in his life. A buzzing sounded in his ears, and Ryley winced, pulling his attention from the screen.

  Both his parents—his adopted parents—sat forward in their chairs, watching him intently.

  “Ryley,” his father said, holding out a hand toward him, “breathe
–”

  The overhead lights flickered and buzzed, the intensity growing with every heaved breath Ryley took. His jaw ached from clenching it so hard, his whole body trembling.

  “Ryley, breathe,” his father ordered.

  “Fuck!” Ryley screamed, shooting to his feet. The blood-stained knife—the one that had killed his parents, the one he'd magically used to kill the intruder—tumbled from his lap and hit the floor, but Ryley gave it barely any notice as he stormed out of the room.

  ASHER SNATCHED up the knife, still wrapped in Ryley's shirt, before either of Ryley's parents could see what it was.

  He knew, though. The handle was distinctive enough. He'd just watched that very same knife kill three people while a poor little boy watched.

  Asher held out his free hand, silently asking Ryley's folks to stay put, and he followed Ryley, catching up just in time to see Ryley storm out the front door and slam it shut behind him. Asher opened the door again and let himself out.

  He found Ryley storming down the sidewalk, only to turn and pace back the other direction, his jaw set and his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

  Ryley jabbed a finger toward Asher as he kept pacing. “So help me, if you tell me to breathe right now, I–”

  Asher shook his head. “Let it out, Ry.”

  Ryley's momentum faltered for a moment as he glanced at Asher, then he resumed pacing. “Fuck. I might hurt someone but right now I'm too pissed off to care.”

  Asher slowly nodded, watching him. “And they've been forcing you to keep all that inside all your life. It's not healthy.” Ryley kept pacing. “Forcing you to never allow yourself any feelings. It's a miracle you haven't snapped before this.”

  Ryley glanced at Asher as he paced by again, concern showing through his fury. “You should be afraid of me. I'm dangerous. Fuck, I need this thing out of me. I need–”

  Asher held out a hand, coming close but not quite reaching for the man. “Be angry, Ry. You've never been allowed to be angry. Just let it out.”

  Ryley furiously shook his head but didn't say a word, though his pacing never slowed.

  Asher watched him for a moment, then said, “Tell you what: Let's get you home so you can change, and then maybe go for a run.”

  Ryley's pace slowed just perceptibly. “A run,” he muttered to himself.

  “Either that or we find you a punching bag you can shred to pieces.”

  Ryley barked a laugh, his pace slowing a bit more though his face still showed nothing but anger.

  Asher waited in silence.

  “Fuck.” Ryley threw himself down, sitting on the curb with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands.

  Asher waited a moment, then eased down beside him.

  They sat in silence for several minutes, Asher watching Ryley out of the corner of his eye while the man repeatedly ran his hands through his hair and shook his head, never moving his eyes off the spot of pavement between his boots.

  “Why didn't they tell me?” Ryley finally whispered. “Why would they lie to me for so long?”

  Asher shook his head. “I don't know, babe.”

  Ryley turned his head and peeked up at Asher from around his arm. “You called me babe.”

  One side of Asher's mouth quirked up into a smile. “Guess you're rubbing off on me.”

  Ryley whimpered. “Fuck,” he breathed, shaking his head, and looked back at the ground. “This is so not the time to be feeling horny, but I'd love nothing more than to rub off on you right now.”

  Asher chuckled, glad to see a bit of the Ryley he knew creeping back to the surface. “I'm sure that can be arranged.” He carefully reached out and gave Ryley's shoulder a squeeze. “Come on. Let's get you home.”

  Ryley nodded absently and stood, then turned to Asher with a frown. “Where– You know what, it doesn't even matter.” He blew out a heavy breath. “Just get me out of here.”

  Asher nodded and reached for his phone. He found a number for a car service, giving them the nearest intersection when he saw Ryley walking determinedly away from his folks' house. Asher chased after him, pocketing his phone, and watched Ryley resume pacing while they waited for their ride.

  Ryley didn't say a word, so Asher didn't either. His man had just been dealt one hell of a blow, one that even Asher was having trouble stomaching, and the whole thing hadn't even happened to him. Even knowing that the video had been real, his brain was processing it as nothing more than a film, something fictional and entirely disconnected from himself. For Ryley, though, it was intensely personal. Intensely real. Hells, he'd lived through it, suffered recurring visions of it for years, and then had to witness the whole thing all over again.

  And that didn't even touch on the fact that he'd been lied to his entire life.

  Asher kept out of Ryley's way, just watching him pace. The poor man was clearly itching to run. Maybe even to run away and pretend none of this had happened. Hells, Asher had been tempted to do the same when he'd found himself stuck on that island, but then practicality and the need to survive had kicked in and forced him to buckle down and get to work.

  Ryley needed to do the same, but Asher wasn't about to force him. It was clear to him now that Ryley had been kept forcibly contained all his life. Not just his magic, but himself. Everyone around him, from the Vakti to his adopted parents to Vic—and maybe even others Asher knew nothing about—had tried to make Ryley something he wasn't, just as Ryley had said. Too many people had tried to change him, to keep him confined to a box in which he didn't really fit, never accepting him for who he was.

  It was time for Ryley to break free.

  So Asher let him fume. The poor man needed it, and badly.

  Their ride pulled up, and Asher managed to get Ryley's attention long enough to get him into the car. Unfortunately, Ryley was so wound up that the car's electronics started going on the fritz, so Ryley had to forcibly calm himself yet again, counting his breaths before the dash finally stopped flickering and the car was able to move.

  Asher apologized to the driver, skirted an explanation, and gave the man their destination address. The driver gave Ryley a quick glance in his rearview mirror, then punched in the address and took off, stealing glances at his passengers as they went.

  All the while, Ryley had his head down and his eyes closed, his breaths forcibly controlled.

  It only took a few minutes to reach their destination. Asher pulled out his wallet and paid the driver, adding a tip as an additional apology for causing him trouble, then tapped Ryley on the shoulder.

  “Ry? We're here.”

  Ryley slowly lifted his head, glanced at Asher, and followed him out of the car, moving almost robotically. They hit the sidewalk, and Ryley jerked to a stop.

  “That's my house,” he said.

  Asher turned back to look at him. “Yeah.”

  Ryley blinked. “I thought– I guess I figured–” He looked around. “My car's still here, too?”

  Asher nodded. “Yeah. Come on.” He beckoned Ryley to follow him, and Ryley did, though he seemed to be moving on autopilot, his expression slightly dazed.

  “How–”

  Asher unlocked the front door and let Ryley through before following him inside. “Vic was taking care of things, but then I asked him if I could take over.”

  Ryley stopped and stared at him. “You did?”

  Asher nodded. He opened his mouth to say something, then hesitated when Ryley turned and slowly scanned the great room. His eyes stopped on the dining table.

  Asher darted forward, setting aside the bundled knife while gesturing at the tidy piles Vic had made of Ryley's bills. “Vic said he couldn't make sense of anything until he got it organized, but all the bills are paid and the mortgage is current. He showed me what to do to keep on top of all that for you.” He hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “There's food in the fridge, too, so I can make you something if you want, and–”

  “What–” Ryley started to ask.

  “I've sorta st
arted living here, if that's alright,” Asher said, then rushed on: “I just wanted to try being on my own, you know? And make sure you still had a place to come home to if– When you decide you're ready, and–”

  Ryley launched himself at Asher, jumping up to wrap his legs around Asher's waist as he kissed him brutally.

  “I don't deserve you,” Ryley breathed between kisses.

  Asher growled, clutching Ryley to him. “Bedroom?”

  “Fuck. Yes. Now. Please.”

  Ryley squirmed as Asher carried him down the hallway, and Asher heard Ryley's boots hit the floor behind him with a pair of thunks. They tumbled onto the bed, scrambling out of their clothes. Asher collapsed on top of Ryley as soon as they were both naked, rutting against him and taking both their cocks in hand.

  “Fuck,” Ryley groaned. “This isn't gonna take long.”

  “Right there with you,” Asher panted. Maybe it was twisted, but Asher had been aroused ever since watching that video. If three-year-old Ryley had that much power inside him back then—enough to kill a man—Asher could only imagine just how much power Ryley might be capable of now. Maybe even more so once he was trained. The very idea was both daunting and breathtaking. Seeing Ryley conjure up fire in the palm of his hand, that day in the garden, had been enough to make Asher hard. Trying to fathom what he could conjure now?

  It pushed Asher right up to the edge.

  They bucked wildly against each other, the headboard smacking the wall with each thrust. It seemed they'd barely gotten started when they were both coming, their shouts filling the room while their cocks shot all over Ryley's chest.

  Asher managed to roll off of Ryley right at the last second before he collapsed.

  “Holy shit,” Ryley breathed.

  Asher nodded, panting as he gazed up at the ceiling.

  The bed shifted, so Asher glanced over and saw Ryley reaching lazily off the side of the bed, his arm reappearing with his discarded shirt in hand. Ryley wiped off his chest and tossed the shirt aside again.