by H. M. Wolfe
Telling Ardan what to do was not something Alasdair pictured the other guys doing, especially that one. Yet he sat there, speaking his mind, confronting his boss, doubting the validity of his reason in a calm, firm voice. Of course, the redhead didn’t imagine Seymour or the others to be doormat kind of guys, but that attitude came as a big surprise.
“No, you will talk to the kid, show him around and that will be everything. There’s nothing for Alasdair here. He’s destined to be one of the greatest neurosurgeons in the world. If, just if, you don’t find his relatives, he will go back to that Leon guy. Make sure he stays there, this time,” Ardan said, looking intently at Seymour.
“This is not fair, and you know it,” the younger man replied in a saddened voice. “You haven’t given the kid any chance. You want to get rid of him, and that’s it. Why don’t you openly chase him away?”
“You don’t understand, Seymour. I don’t want to get rid of Alasdair. He’s the one who’s terrified of me, scared of this place. I want him out for his own safety and sanity. But you’re right on one thing, I left you no choice. I want to set things straight, so here’s the new deal. Alasdair gets accepted by Dubois… he stays. You find a shrink Dubois trusts… the kid stays. You find someone to call your own, and that person reciprocates… the boy doesn’t need to go. How about that?” Ardan smiled slyly.
“Alasdair and Dubois will get along just fine, you’ll see,” Seymour said, shaking his head and smiling mysteriously.
“Whatever you say, my friend. Oh, good luck with the little redhead not touching that poor kid or not yelling at him, thinking he doesn’t hear. Because at the first signs of disturbance Dubois manifests...”
Hands folded under his head while he laid in bed several days later, Alasdair played the conversation in his head, again and again, trying to find clues he could use later when he made a backup plan. At first, the teen had accidentally overheard the two men while passing by Ardan’s office, but he ended up listening intently.
Alasdair sighed heavily. He’d brought it upon himself. No one else was to blame, certainly not the man in charge of that place, the one who wanted him to go. From day one, the redhead saw that place as a prison, not making any effort to find out what it really was, but all he wanted at that moment was to stay there.
If the situation had been different, he would have returned to Leon in a blink of an eye and stayed there for the rest of his life. But the man now had a boyfriend, and Alasdair didn’t want to be an obstacle in the way of their happiness. From what he’d heard, the boy, Darien, was blind, and Leon spent all his time around him, taking care of his needs.
There was, of course, the variant of him going to live with his blood relatives. As his dad’s best friend told Alasdair, his grandfather would welcome him with open arms. But putting his trust in a family that might abandon him wasn’t his thing, not any longer, not after his own brother abandoned him on the streets of New York.
At this point, the redhead jolted, almost jumping off the bed because he just realized how he was going to convince Ardan not to send him away. Heart thumping in his chest, Alasdair left the room, headed to the boss’s office, knocked on the door twice, then waited for an answer.
“Come in, Drew. It’s open,” the man from the room spoke in his usual flat, emotionless voice. “Oh, it’s you.” He imperceptibly flinched at the sight of the boy. “Sit down.”
“I heard you and Seymour talking the other day. You were saying I had to go. Look, I know I’ve been a monumental asshole, and you have every right to be mad at me, but...”
“Alasdair, please, stop talking for a second and listen to what I have to say. Do you think you could do that?” Ardan asked, no trace of irony in his voice.
“Go ahead. I mean, yes, I will listen to you,” the redhead said, slightly blushing.
“First, I’d like to clarify an aspect. You didn’t overhear us, you eavesdropped. From where I sat, I could see perfectly where you stood, listening to what we were saying, and I have to say I was, and still am, very disappointed in you. But then again, since what I think is irrelevant to you...”
“I’m sorry about lying to you but not about eavesdropping. The things you and Seymour were talking about concerned me, so I had the right to know,” Alasdair replied, his eyes shining.
“I’m glad that you clarified that aspect.” Ardan nodded in understanding. “Now, about me wanting to send you away... I don’t plan on throwing you out on the streets, but you already knew that because you heard what we talked about. Seymour has a hacker friend, the guy helps us with... stuff, so I told him to ask the guy for help in locating your family.”
“For someone so concerned about my well-being that you killed to protect me, this decision to place me in the care of some strangers is... I don’t know. It seems that I’m not the only one who doesn’t listen or doesn’t want to know things about the other one.”
The kid’s accusation, spoken in a low voice, hit a sore spot, making Ardan hang his head in shame. Ever since he’d shot that piece of trash in front of Alasdair, all the man had done was to try and make up for it by cooking the boy’s favorite dishes, buying him clothes, books and everything he thought a seventeen-year-old might want.
On the other hand, Ardan had never asked the redhead about his past from before he’d come to him. Never took a step in that direction. Okay, maybe Alasdair would have rejected the man’s attempts to befriend him, maybe he wouldn’t have acted differently, wouldn’t have answered any of the questions, but the man hadn’t even made the effort to find out.
“Guilty as charged,” Ardan said, looking in the kid’s emerald-green eyes. “What should I know about your relatives?”
“It’s my brother, Allen. He’s the only one left; my parents died.” Alasdair lowered his gaze. “Two years ago, a few days before my birthday, he brought me with him to New York—a business trip, he said. But I was left alone at the airport while he took another plane back home.”
“What? That lowlife let a fifteen-year-old fend from himself in an unknown city? He doesn’t deserve to live for what he did to you!” Ardan’s hands were balled into fists under the desk as he made efforts to control his rage.
“And what are you going to do about it? Shoot him too?” Alasdair sighed, then continued in a small, defeated voice. “See, that’s why I was afraid of you in the beginning: you and Allen are so much alike.”
“What do you mean by that?” Ardan’s voice was soft, patient, almost warm, completely different to his usual, flat tone.
“You don’t like to find a way to solve a problem, to overcome an obstacle; you eliminate it, and that’s it. None of you look back, none of you care; simple as that.”
“It’s… It’s not like that. I’m not like that,” the man said, looking at the redhead with his turquoise eyes. “Yes, I kill people in cold blood, and I enjoy seeing them die, but my reasons... You will never understand them, or any of this.” Ardan gestured around.
“Then help me to because there’s nothing I want more than to understand and help you,” Alasdair said in a passionate voice, his eyes shining. “I mean it. I won’t judge anyone or disrupt the routine. Just give me a chance, please!”
As the kid spoke, Ardan examined his body language, and everything about it screamed sincerity and a great will to learn, help and understand. If he rejected the little redhead and treated him like a child under the pretext of protecting him, the man risked losing him forever. Driving Alasdair away was not an option anymore, at least not for the time being.
“You win, Spitfire,” Ardan said, using the nickname he’d given to the boy because of his fiery-red hair and quick temper.
The kid stared at him, a mix of shock and disbelief filling his emerald-green eyes. “How… Who told you?”
“Told me what? Did I do something wrong again?” Ardan lowered his gaze, voice barely a whisper. “No matter what I do…”
“My childhood nickname. That’s what my parents and Uncle Joraan used to ca
ll me. And my best friend back then, E. You…” Alasdair closed his eyes, letting out a small sigh of contentment. He smiled.
A weak smile appeared on Ardan’s pale lips. “Going back to you helping… since you want to pursue a career in the medical field, starting tomorrow, you will help the guys in the infirmary. If their reports are favorable, I will promote you to work in the lab.”
“Thank you very much. I will make you proud of me, promise,” Alasdair said in an enthusiastic voice. Leaving his seat, the boy went to where Ardan sat, giving him a big, squishy hug.
“Should I expect a visit from you in my bed, tonight?” the man said in a light-hearted voice, winking.
“I didn’t know you were the cuddly type.” Alasdair grinned. “I don’t see why not. It would be like being in the same bed with Ezra or Peyton. But I snore pretty loud, so consider yourself warned.” With those words, the redhead left the room.
Alone in the office, Ardan let out a long sigh of relief, the small smile still playing on his lips. The kid was much wiser and smarter than he’d given him credit for, that was for sure. And he’d changed a lot since the visit to his house, becoming less snarky and mouthy. From that moment on, the man thought, his relationship with Alasdair would be completely different.
The little redhead trusted him enough to not fear his proximity, and that thought alone made Ardan’s heart beat faster. Still finding it hard to believe the scene from earlier, the man opened his laptop, getting back to work. While he looked at the endless columns of figures, the net profits of the underground network of casinos he and his men ran, an email popped up, distracting him.
Usually, Ardan ignored the emails that were not related to what he was working on at that moment, but the man had a strange feeling about it. When he opened it, the suspicion was confirmed as the mail in question was from Seymour, redirected from one T-Ball, probably that hacker friend of his.
The mail contained important information about Alasdair’s family, and the more Ardan read, the harder it was for him to believe. The kid was a member of one of the oldest, richest and most prestigious families in the US—the Stark clan. The man was utterly shocked, especially after printing the files containing information on each of the family members.
A criminal psychologist, one of the top sharp-shooters in the country, a reputable businessman, a high-rank police official, a medical researcher and, last but not least, a former CIA director were only some of Alasdair’s high profile relatives. And then, realization hit Ardan: The Dragons’ House.
The biggest, most powerful crime-fighting organization, not only in the US but in the whole world, was run by the Stark family and its other main branch, by the Bloom clan. Ardan’s most valuable ally, the one who financially supported him until the casinos and the other enterprises had started to generate profit, had suggested he seek an alliance with the House on more than one occasion.
The man didn’t have any doubt that the leader of the organization would adhere to his cause and support his efforts. However, he lacked both the means and the opportunity as their leader was surrounded by an aura of mystery and guarded by tens, maybe hundreds of heavily armed men.
Sighing, Ardan closed his laptop, put everything in order and locked the office, heading to his room. A hot, quick shower and a good night’s sleep would help him make the best decision, the man thought. One that would not involve using Alasdair as a pawn or exchange currency.
Once in his room, Ardan stripped down, took a pair of clean underwear and some comfortable, cotton pajamas and went to the adjoining bathroom. After washing and drying himself thoroughly, the man went back into the room, where, to his immense joy and surprise, the redhead was waiting for him on the bed.
“Oh, hello, cuddle bug.” Alasdair grinned, waving. “What took you so long?” he continued, looking at Ardan in a completely new light. Dressed like that, he looked much younger and somewhat vulnerable.
“Sleepy, are we?” The man smiled weakly, ruffling the kid’s silky, unruly red curls. “Would you like to do something for me before going to bed?” Ardan asked, his heart squeezing as he anticipated a negative answer.
“Sure thing. What is it?” Alasdair looked at him with his emerald-green eyes.
“Um... my shoulders and neck are a little stiff. A massage would be great. Of course, if it’s not...”
But the teen didn’t let him finish. Getting in a comfortable position, he started to work on Ardan’s tense muscles, kneading, stroking, stretching or rolling the areas until they were completely relaxed. The man reciprocated the favor, then he slid under the covers, patting the spot next to him.
Alasdair got the message, joining the man, his back tightly pressed against the chest of the one who promised to protect him. Soon, the redhead fell asleep, smiling, as a sense of peace and safety wrapped them like a comfortable cocoon.
CHAPTER 6
“I think this was the last one,” Alasdair said, helping the twelve-year-old boy into his pants, after checking the cast on his broken leg. “It’s healing nicely, but no more running around if you want to keep it that way.” The teen caressed the small, skinny child on the head.
“You are a natural. Even the most reticent and fearful trust you.” Ross, a med school student in charge of the infirmary, smiled. “Plus, you are great around children. Someday, you’ll be a great dad.”
“Well, thank you, doc.” Alasdair blushed. “Shouldn’t you think about getting someone yourself? I mean, you are a good guy with great prospects. Any girl would consider herself lucky to have you as a boyfriend.”
“I’m not ready for that step yet,” Ross said in a whispered voice, lowering his gaze. “Besides, girls my age have other expectations. They want a guy who makes a lot of money, one who could offer them financial stability, not someone like me.”
“Hey, she’s there, waiting for you,” Alasdair spoke in a confident voice. “You don’t have to give up hope, that’s all!”
Ross sighed, ruffling the kid’s fiery red, rebel curls. “I’m going to miss you, kiddo. I’m going to miss our conversations, your wisdom, everything. On the other hand, I’m very happy for you. Congratulations on the promotion,” the man added, squeezing the kid to his chest.
When Ardan had informed him, about two months earlier, that the redhead was going to help him with the patients, Ross had been furious. He didn’t like the kid and considered him a useless, spoiled brat who hadn’t bothered to thank those who made it easy for him, taking everything for granted instead.
Anyway, Ross knew better than to disobey Ardan’s orders, but he had been determined to make Alasdair’s life a living hell. To his great surprise, the kid, instead of complicating his life, organized everything more efficiently, making things to run more smoothly. More than that, he possessed solid knowledge from various medical fields, all of them of real help.
Alasdair adjusted quickly to the everyday routine of the infirmary, examining the little patients, bandaging or disinfecting wounds, giving injections or administrating medicines. At the end of the day, when Ross was already exhausted, the little redhead still possessed enough energy in him to make everything squeaky clean.
“What promotion? What are you talking about?” Alasdair raised his head, looking into the man’s eyes.
“Oh, maybe Ardan hasn’t told you yet.” Ross coughed, a little embarrassed. “Starting from tomorrow, you’ll no longer work here. You’ve been transferred to the pharmacy.”
“The pharmacy? Like, the lab, where the famous Dubois works? The guy’s a genius, what does he need me for?”
“You are a genius yourself, kiddo, and probably that’s why Ardan wants you teamed up with that poor kid. The boss is many things but stupid he is not,” Ross said. “Working with Dubois is easy, especially if you know the basics about him, and I don’t doubt that Ardan will tell you everything you need to know.”
“Well, I guess you’re right about that.” Alasdair let out a barely audible sigh. “I’ll miss working with you too, but the
lab is only a few corridors away. I will come to visit you when my schedule allows. Until then, I’ll say good evening and sweet dreams.” The teen scrunched his nose, making Ross smile.
Once in his room, Alasdair took a quick shower, then, dressed in a pair of comfortable pajamas, laid on the bed on his stomach, wondering how much truth was in the rumours about the mysterious Dubois guy.
He was the one who invented, by himself and using only rudimentary equipment, all the ointments, pills, powders and extracts he and Ross administrated to their patients. This was all Alasdair knew for sure about him, the rest being, he thought, just exaggerations.
Like, for instance, the rumour that Dubois could work for a week without sleeping or eating, or the one saying that he had fits of rage that would leave him so drained that he would need at least a week to completely recover.
“What’s on your mind, Doctor Alasdair?” Ardan’s voice stopped the trail of the boy’s thoughts, making him flinch.
“I didn’t hear the door. I was thinking about my lab partner, Dubois. Is it true what they say about him? Does he really act so strange? Does he have another name, and if yes, what is it? There are a lot of things I don’t know about the guy. I...”
“Don’t worry, the two of you will be good friends. I have a feeling.” Ardan rubbed his hand up and down Alasdair’s spine, a small smile playing on his lips. “Have you practiced sign language lately?” he asked.
“Yes, I have, every time I had the opportunity, especially with Drew, Seymour and Landon. By the way, where’s my favourite bodyguard? I haven’t seen him in quite a while,” Alasdair asked, a thoughtful expression on his face.
“Seymour likes you very much too,” Ardan said in a gentle voice. “I sent him to keep an eye on some things, to make sure there wouldn’t be nasty surprises there. Speaking of, I have to go back to my office to take care of business-related stuff. Sleep well, my little healer.”
