Hidden

by T K Barber

  He could take him. He wouldn’t get to Booker in time, but he was pretty damn sure they weren’t gonna kill him. Otherwise, why the hell go through all this trouble? And he was no stranger to pain.

  Thomas exhaled and kicked as hard as he could behind him. His foot connected with soft flesh, stomach, and the man let out a massive grunting groan. Thomas spun and drove his knee upward, straight into the guy’s chin.

  A satisfying clack and wet smack followed by a soft thud on the ground made a small smile curve on Thomas’s lips.

  Short-lived.

  Another heavy-handed punch landed on his wounded side. He let out a high shout and bit down hard on his back teeth as he doubled over.

  Booker grabbed the back of the hood and Thomas’ head along with it. He yanked back, strangling the sound that tried to come out.

  “You know. If I weren’t under orders to deliver you in one piece, I’d dig around in that side of yours to see if any of my bullet was left in there.”

  He craned further back, and Thomas managed a gasping breath as starbursts formed behind his eyes. Booker pulled the trigger?

  “Since bullets are so expensive. And the one that hit you? Meant for your little girlfriend. She’s lucky she tripped.”

  That—his heart thundered—was the wrong thing to say.

  “Get up. I’m gonna drop you off so I can go home and sleep like a baby.”

  Thomas struggled to breathe as he let Booker pull him up. When Booker shoved back and released the hood, Thomas slammed his head forward and connected with Booker’s face.

  He shouted and his steps staggered, causing the staircase to sway again.

  “That’s for tryna hurt my girl.”

  “You sorry,” Booker paused and grunted, the sound nasally and weak. “God! GO!”

  He grabbed Thomas’ arm and turned him around, stepping up beside him as far away as the railing would allow.

  Another step up, nearly dragged by the traitor. The staircase groaned and Thomas’ breath quickened, causing his injured side to throb. Even if he got away, he couldn’t run far enough, fast enough. And another gut check wasn’t on his wish list.

  Yet another step. Fuck. Had to be where he figured. Two more. His stomach clenched. Sweat formed on his brow.

  “Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He spoke under his breath, his slamming heartbeat making jumps in the sound.

  The thrum of his pulse pounded in his ear, drowned out the hum of traffic. Thump. Thump. Thump. Faster than he thought it could go before giving out.

  Three more. One final step, and he froze. His throat closed. He tried to take a step back. Tried to run. Booker tightened his grip and jerked forward.

  “Fuck! Lemme go! I can’t . . .” Thomas sucked in a breath as the latch on the door clicked. He knew what was on the other side. “Please!”

  His entire body shook. Terror shoved all reason away. All confidence, gone. He was a leaf, about to be shredded by a lawnmower. Crushed under a heel. Devoured by a nightmare. His own, personal, made to order nightmare.

  He was back in the place he’d begged to die. Way more than once.

  “Book, don’t do this!”

  The metal scraped. That familiar tang of old blood, cold metal, and musty wood wafted out, sucking the life right out of his body. His facade melted away completely, and he barely hid the sob in his voice.

  “Please . . .”

  One more shove and he was across the threshold.

  His lungs refused to work. The metal scraped again, and the city sounds vanished, leaving him only with the pound of his pulse again.

  Footsteps. Closer.

  Thomas dropped down to his knees as despair settled in his mind. Maybe he would pass out before . . . his heart skipped several beats and he shuddered as he whimpered.

  “God, please!”

  The footsteps stopped. Thomas knew who it was before the voice oozed down from above.

  “God’s not here. Just you and I, Thomas.”

  Thomas’s heart stuttered again, and his stomach threatened to empty its contents. He fought back bile.

  “You know this is necessary, right?” The steps began again and stopped right in front of him. “I’m just trying to help you.”

  The hood was snatched off, and Thomas blinked against the harsh yellow light, then squeezed his eyes shut, praying it would all just vanish.

  He knew what he’d see. Where the chair was. Where the screen was. Where the tray of shit Steven had liked to use was.

  He knew what was coming and who he’d finally be afterward.

  His throat wouldn’t move.

  A heavy sigh filled the space above him. “Open your eyes, son.”

  Thomas trembled but did it. He kept his focus trained on the polished, expensive shoes in front of him. At least it wasn’t Anna here. At least she was safe. He took a slow breath and raised his head.

  “See? Compliance is much better, don’t you agree?”

  Pop was smiling. A real smile. Thomas had less than a clue how to react to that.

  When was the last time he saw that? Was pop happy? About the whole thing? Or about Thomas doing what he was told? When the room blurred, he blinked.

  “Tears.” Lyle crouched down and held Thomas’s gaze. “Monsters don’t cry.”

  He flipped open a switchblade and Thomas’s entire body jerked. Lyle stood and gestured for him to stand.

  Whatever small chance Thomas might have had when he stumbled in here was shrinking fast. He had to try something . . . didn’t he?

  A slow breath in, and he rose slowly. He swayed and winced, the pounding of his heart nearly deafening. When he steadied, Lyle made a circle in the air with his finger. Thomas turned.

  “This is the best way.” Lyle sliced upward through the rope. “Once we finish this, you’ll be better. Stronger. Who you’re supposed to be. Then there’ll be nothing to keep you from coming home. It’s not quite the same without you.”

  Thomas furrowed his brow and swallowed a lump. He missed him? No. That’s not what he said. And that’s not what Thomas wanted. He wanted Anna. And she loved him like he was. He rolled his shoulders back and Lyle quirked a brow.

  “No. I ain’t comin’ home. I ain’t workin’ for you anymore.”

  Lyle frowned, and shook his head. “I had hoped to appeal to your sense of logic. Familial obligation. Family’s all we have Thomas. I’ve always been here for you. Protected you.” He pulled his phone from his back pocket. “But now you’ve forced my hand.”

  Thomas’s heart skipped and stuttered in his chest again. If his pop so much as breathed in Anna’s direction, he’d burn him alive. Family or no.

  Lyle put the phone on speaker and held it out in his palm. What game was he playing now?

  Thomas swayed from adrenaline sputtering through his body. When the familiar silky, practiced receptionist voice purred out from the handset, every spec of blood in his body pooled in his stomach.

  She was groggy, but still chipper.

  “Mr. Valentine? What,” Becca yawned. “What can I do for you?”

  Thomas’ chest hitched with heartbroken breaths as he blinked away more useless tears.

  The sound of his pop’s chuckle made Thomas hollow, sick, like he was dying.

  Lyle pushed the mute button and sighed. “Their fate is in your hands. Come home to me. Rejoin the gang. Be who you’re supposed to be.”

  “Mr. Valentine?”

  He had no choice. No way he’d let his pop do anything to them. His entire body shook as he fought to keep his fear, rage, sorrow from bubbling to the surface.

  The only thing that would be worse right now, was if Anna herself shot him dead in the heart.

  No . . . His eyes widened.

  Worst would be if something happened to her, and he couldn’t save her. God, he’d do anything to keep that from happening. Even if it meant giving up his soul. Being the monster.

  He nodded.

 
Lyle took a deep breath and smiled again. A real smile. Thomas chewed his lip. Something he did made his pop happy.

  Lyle unmuted the phone. “I apologize for the late hour. Could you please have Antoni meet me at the firm in about—” he flicked his wrist to check his watch. “Thirty minutes? Something came up with the Findley estate, and I need his help with the paperwork.”

  A pause.

  “Of course, sir. He’ll be there. Goodnight.” The line went dead.

  Lyle clapped Thomas on the shoulder, giving it a quick squeeze as he pocketed the phone. “Good choice, son. This’ll be a lot easier if you don’t fight.”

  Lyle

  Twenty-two years. Meticulous planning. Suffering for the sake of this endless war. With her. For her. Them. His chest tightened. Achingly familiar eyes stared back at him, rimmed with tears. Thomas blinked, and Lyle exhaled.

  “I have something that’ll make this far less painful. For both of us. Come.”

  He turned and walked toward the left of the room. To the set up they’d been using for many of these years. He fished the bottle out of his blazer pocket and frowned down at it.

  Amobarbital. His own research showed Ryker hadn’t lied. And the dosage was confirmed by the pharmacist. But still . . . planning was different than doing.

  He gripped the plastic tighter. This was necessary. This was the time.

  They reached the single metal chair flanked by a metal table, empty, save for a single glass of water, a spoon, and a charred piece of wood.

  He winced when his eyes fell on it and refocused instead on the bottle.

  There’d be no single other opportunity to win. To show her. He would have been the better choice. They could have been . . .

  A lump formed, and he snarled as he slammed the bottle down on the table, rattling the wood against the glass. Useless fucking tears.

  “Have a seat.”

  Years of practiced detachment kept the waiver from his voice. When Thomas didn’t move, Lyle turned a glance over his shoulder.

  His son was chewing his cheek with his brows knitted, his gaze drilling into the chair.

  Lyle blinked twice as a pang of guilt stabbed him in the gut. This was all her fault. All of it. Since day one. Since she left.

  He gripped the bottle and turned back to pour the powder into the glass. Despite what he had assumed, letting the mask crack, slip away, wasn’t difficult. It was freeing.

  “Son, I really am trying to help you. I know it hasn’t seemed like it.” He picked up the long-handled spoon and stirred the mixture slowly. “I’m making the choice easier.”

  “W-what choice, pop?”

  Lyle smiled, focused on the swirl in the center of the glass. “The choice to save her.” Another glance back at Thomas as he tapped the spoon on the rim of the glass. “From yourself.”

  Tommy’s eyes widened, wheels visibly turning as he passed a few rapid glances around the room. “I’d never hurt her!”

  Lyle set the spoon down and lifted the glass, giving it a sniff.

  “You love her.” He stepped to the left and gestured to the chair again. “Believe me, I know how much damage a love like that causes.”

  The words soured his throat. And stung his heart. Thomas drew his bottom lip in and worried it. He blinked a tear onto his cheek, and Lyle swallowed.

  “You’ll hurt Annalise, son. Just by being you.”

  Tommy’s eyes closed, and he wiped a hand down his face, then crossed his arms. “I—I don’t wanna hurt her, pop.”

  “I know. Here.” He held the glass out with a small smile.

  When Thomas cleared his throat and took it, Lyle exhaled. Two long draws and Thomas wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, setting the empty glass down with a metallic clink on the table.

  Good. Just a couple of minutes. Lyle kneaded Thomas’ shoulder and helped him to the chair.

  “It’s who we are, son. We break things, and things break us. People. We get left in the cold. Left for a safer bet. The love of a Valentine isn’t a gift. It’s a burden. A sickness. A death sentence.” Bile singed the back of his throat, and he gritted his teeth as smoke-filled air swirled in his mind.

  Thomas furrowed his brow. “How’s lovin’ someone so much you wanna die a bad thing?”

  “You loved your mother too, Tommy.” Realization drained all the flush from Thomas’ cheeks, and Lyle swallowed as he continued. “But, look at what you did to her.”

  Thomas sat down hard on the unassuming metal surface and cradled his head. “I’m sorry, pop.” His voice was weak, pitched. “I’m so sorry.”

  Lyle walked over to the projector on the floor and crossed his arms. There wasn’t a choice.

  He swallowed, stretched his neck, and took a moment to collect himself. He needed to do this. It was already in motion anyway. And soon enough it’d all be over. His eyes flicked to Thomas when he started whimpering.

  He’d be doing his son a favor, really. He’d always been too soft. Too driven by his heart. Too much like me. Too hard to turn. No matter how proud it had secretly made him that his son was too strong for that. Tommy was a loving soul. A bright spot.

  Lyle scowled. This was a dark place. You needed darkness to survive it. And you needed to be darkness to rule it.

  He flipped the switch. A few shuttered flashes and images began cycling. He kept from looking and frowned as he moved to crouch in front of Thomas.

  “You have a chance to save Annalise, Tommy. And to make amends for what you’ve done.”

  Thomas’ tear-soaked face popped up, and he searched Lyle’s eyes.

  “How?”

  Barely more than a sorrow strangled whisper, but a wide-open doorway. Just a few steps across the threshold, and he could slam it shut forever.

  Lyle smiled and pushed up to standing. “Time to let the monster out, my boy.”

  Annalise

  Annalise bounced her knee in the back seat beside Marianna as she hung up the phone. Two calls back to back, and from what Annalise overheard, a shit storm the size of Texas was about to descend on that warehouse, complete with a deadly cloud known as The Dogs.

  Good. She frowned. Too slow. Rico was driving too slowly. Teleportation wouldn’t be fast enough.

  She shifted to adjust her seatbelt, and the muzzle of Thomas’ gun dug in a little. She smirked. If she had to shoot someone, she was ready.

  Nick didn’t know she’d been taking lessons from the Masey Street range, to take back her power. No one knew. It was the only reason she didn’t lose her shit when Rico fired. She swallowed. Mostly.

  Marianna exhaled and Annalise oriented on her. Time for answers.

  “Why?”

  A soft chuckle was her reply and set her nerves on edge.

  “You really are perfect for him. So much fire.”

  Marianna crossed her ankles and looked at the rearview mirror, meeting Rico’s gaze. His expression softened, and he gave her a single, small nod.

  An unsure smile formed, and she faced Annalise. “My boy is lucky to have you in his corner.”

  Annalise blinked. Then blinked again as her mouth fell open. He said his mom died. That—

  “Yes,” she interjected quickly. “He’s my son. Lyle,” she swallowed, “is his father. He and I—doesn’t matter. What’s important is that I was forced to make a horrible choice twenty-two years ago. When Thomas got shot, I started making moves to correct that. Now, that’s all in jeopardy.”

  Annalise’s shock was quickly snuffed. She clacked her jaw shut. Something was off. That didn’t sound like she wanted Thomas because she wanted Thomas. She was acting like—

  “What the hell does that mean? What could be ‘in jeopardy,’ other than Thomas’ life?”

  They bounced over the double railroad tracks. Annalise tucked her hands under her knees and rotated, facing Marianna fully.

  “You aren’t worried about him at all, are you?”

  Marianna flicked her gaze to A
nnalise and straightened her spine. “Of course I am. I don’t want anything to happen to him, even more than you.”

  Annalise snorted. “Fucking doubt that.”

  “He’s my son. And I love him.” Her voice hitched, but she cleared it away with a small cough. “Thomas is . . . unique. In his position, I mean.”

  Annalise chewed on her lip in thought and glanced out the front window. They were headed further through town than she’d ever ventured. To the side most law-abiding citizens didn’t go. It ran close to Gang Land. Much rougher than Mob Town.

  When trees and pavers gave way to rundown buildings and streetlamps, a lightbulb flickered to life in her mind. Disgust burned the back of her throat. She shot a look at Marianna.

  “You want to use him!” She looked at Rico, whose gaze was pinned on the road, then back at Marianna. “Because he’s from both sides. So . . . what? Will that give you control over the other, his, family? That mob or something? What kind of dumbass sense does that make?!”

  “It’s not that simple.”

  “Seems pretty simple to me.” Her eyes bugged. “You were only protecting him because you needed him!”

  “Whoever controls Thomas in the event of—

  “CONTROLS?!” Her pulse rocketed and she clenched her fists. “He’s not a fucking remote! Or a robot! Or some other—thing. He’s a person! And for your information, he doesn’t want to be on either side or even in the stupid mob at all. Did you know that?”

  Marianna pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes at Annalise.

  “Well, unfortunately, he doesn’t really have a choice. He’s needed.”

  Bullshit.

  Annalise fumed. “Listen to me, Ms. Marianna. When we get him back, he’s going to have a choice. You’re going to give it to him. And when he says no, that’s it. You’ll leave him alone. And me, because we are going to go far the hell away from here, you, and everyone.”

  Marianna scoffed a single laugh. “You aren’t in a position to issue orders to me, sweetie. And you have no idea what’s at stake.”

  She may not have known everything, but Annalise did, in fact, have something that put her in exactly that position. She just figured out the missing piece and was ten feet tall and bulletproof.