Page 35 of Escape into the Night

“You ain’t gonna let yourself go under. Non. I think you want to. I think you get real close sometimes. Close-close. But you won't.” He leaned forward, his breath warm against Taz’ ear. “The infamous Tazmanian Devil is too much of a fighter to let that happen.”

For a brief second, the warm sensation had his last defenses crumbling until he inhaled a startled gasp and the scent was all wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong. Suddenly, intensely, he needed Luke. He needed the steady hand on his back to be Luke’s, not this silent mountain of a man. He needed the smell of Luke’s cologne, not this stranger's spicy, sweaty, musky miasma. Most of all, he needed Luke’s voice. Luke’s praises. He needed Luke. He needed his Daddy.

He sprang from the stool much too fast, his head connecting with the muscled man’s chin. With legs like Jello and nonexistent balance, Taz stumbled and staggered before his knees gave out completely. The stranger was right. He didn't want to die. He didn't want to disappear, not without putting up a fight. He never fought his father and look where that got him. Not this time. He crab-walked, more of a scoot than a backwards crawl, before shifting to his knees and attempting to stand. It was futile, though. They were both bigger, stronger, and faster. Especially the silent one. Taz hollered up a storm as the beefy motherfucker scooped him off the floor like a rag doll. Taz found himself abruptly slung over the man’s shoulder and soon discovered that his fists did very little to deter the man as he attempted to pummel his back in the area that might have been where kidneys lived.

Naturally, the dumb fuckers in the bar didn't give any fucks. Taz’ thoughts were sluggish as he kicked and punched and tried to come up with some sort of plan to avoid his own murder. Beefy bro was mostly undeterred as he lugged Taz out of the dive bar and into the crisp October evening. With renewed vigor, Taz hammered his fists into his abductor's lower back and finally forced a flinch out of the man.

“Quit.” With a little shake and that single syllable, the mountain of muscle continued to trudge down the sidewalk and the liquor sunk its claws in good and well. He was going to vomit or pass out or both. Every so often, he'd make another flailing, feeble attempt to escape, but in the end, resignation was easier. The first sob broke free and nearly became a retch as his stomach protested the poison he’d consumed. He suspected, in the back of his addled mind, that tequila sunrise wouldn't taste nearly as good coming up as it had going down.

They walked and walked, Taz growing limp as he accepted his fate. Maybe they’d toss him in the river. Or maybe in the trunk of a car or a dumpster. Maybe Luke wouldn't be sad forever. Maybe, hopefully, he wouldn't permanently ruin the man’s life by getting murdered. Maybe, just maybe, someone would have good memories of him, despite how fucked up he was as a person.

His vision went dark as his world went topsy turvy. There was a faint grunt, followed by a second utterance that sounded distinctly like a French swear word, and then Taz’ ass met the hard surface of a step. He blinked and tried to stop the world from spinning as two men became ten, his eyes seeing double, triple, quadruple, on and on until the swimming of his sight went even darker. Focus returned briefly as Mr. Suave crouched down in front of him.

“Stop running, sweetheart.” A gentle hand patted his cheek. “Else your Daddy gone have to use this on you.”

Taz’ eyes dropped to his lap and his drunken stupor morphed into utter confusion. Brody's leash? Taz snatched it up like a lifeline, clinging tight to the item that had been missing since Luke’s encounter with the man pretending to be a bum weeks earlier. The stairs creaked as Mr. Muscles climbed up beside him and took two giant steps. The familiar jangle of the doorbell behind closed doors pricked at Taz’ mind. That was their doorbell. The doorbell of his home. He lifted his gaze just in time to watch the two strange men escape into the night, there one moment and gone the next.

The door flung open behind him and relief flooded Taz’ body as Luke’s voice cried out his name. Warm hands, gentle hands, Luke’s hands, swept over him and that was the tipping point. He spun in place, grappling to find purchase before clinging to Luke so tight, it made his muscles tremble. And then he burst into tears.

“Daddy! I f-fucked up—”

“Shh. Baby, no. I'm here. I've got you.”

Chapter Twenty

Connor

Theairwasdampand chilly as Connor strode down the sidewalk. Tendrils of fog drifted low over the asphalt, giving the streetlights substance as the rays refracted through the haze. Everything felt close, claustrophobic, heavy. The entrance to the parking lot was visible in the distance. Excitement combined with adrenaline as Connor tugged his baseball cap lower and continued his trek. He never took the same route twice, never came at the same time, never stayed too long, but he would be damned if he didn't visit his fiancé. The only thing riskier than sneaking Theo out was Connor becoming predictable.

He neared the dimly-lit lot, scanning the cars for anything that stuck out. If there were unfamiliar vehicles or something out of the ordinary, he'd keep walking, but a small sigh escaped, full of relief, when he discovered all the usual cars parked in their typical spots. Tension built in his body as he veered off the sidewalk and made his way toward the flickering light over the door of the second floor apartment where his Theo was hiding.

It was the best place for Theo. A classic bachelor pad, the quintessential cop home. Ordinary enough to be forgettable butlived in enough to keep up appearances. Hank was doing them a huge favor with this setup. The risks were mounting higher every day, but they were out of options. Connor rolled his shoulders and continued his mission, hyper aware of his surroundings to the point of paranoia. The shift of a shadow at his three o’clock had him freezing. A quiet sound, a footstep on the gravely asphalt, spurred him into action. In a move that came instinctually, Connor pivoted, crouched behind the bumper of a blue Ford Focus, and had his Glock out of the holster and aimed toward the shadows in a microsecond.

“Easy there, lover boy.” The shadowy mass stepped into the low light with his hands up. “No need to get the heat involved.”

Connor’s eyes swept over the man with calculated precision. Same height as him, leaner build, head-to-toe black tactical gear. He clocked at least one weapon, and assumed there were others not nearly as visible hidden on the man’s body. In the evening light, dim and shifting, he recognized the physical attributes recounted to him by most of their friend group. This fucker was becoming a big fucking problem, mostly because Connor couldn't figure out his angle.

“Reckon you're ready to tell me who the fuck you are?” Connor shifted into a more upright position, his gun still trained on the slowly approaching individual.

A warm chuckle danced around the otherwise empty lot as the man stuffed his hands in his pockets. Connor uttered a warning grunt and flicked the gun in a way that caught the unreliable illumination with a metallic glint. “Ah, hands where I can see’em.”

Another chuckle, louder this time. “I knew you were gonna be the hardest nut to crack. You gone shoot me here, really? Outside Hank’s place? Gone be hard to explain that one. Thirty seconds of police response time won’t work so good for you.”

“The fuck you want?” Connor's grip firmed, his finger hovering above the trigger as they scanned one another.

“Same as you. Should I say y’all? I want the same as y’all, frère. Let’s cut the dramatics. You know well as anyone that if I were the threat, I've had every opportunity to pick you off. Each and every one of you.” The man jerked his head toward the building behind Connor. His voice rose higher, a call that echoed off the ring of buildings and drifted into the ominous quiet of the night. “Cher, say hello to our new friend!”

Connor, despite his training, couldn't resist the urge to turn around and track the man's gesture. He couldn't see anything outside the aura of the security lights illuminating the lot, but the wispy fog revealed just how fucked he was when a laser sliced through the air, marking a pinprick of red dead center on Connor's chest before disappearing again. Panic lanced through him as the truth of the stranger’s words hit home.

“Ye reckon this is the best way to prove ye ain’t a threat? A fucking sniper?” Connor pivoted back toward the man, gesturing with his gun to halt his slow forward progression. “Stop right there. On God, I will blow your fucking face off.”

“Mais, frère,” he soothed, his low, lyrical voice dancing between them. “We know where you are going. Might as well let me tag along. You gone want to hear what I have to say.”

“Why the hell would I do that?” Connor didn't even bother trying to hide the disdain in his voice. Fear was making him reckless, but he'd fight to the death if it meant giving Theo and Hank enough warning to maybe, possibly, hopefully escape. He had a full clip. That'd be a hell of a lot of forewarning if he could manage a couple rounds before the sniper on the top of the neighboring building took him out.

“Because I have information. And if we could find Theo, the ones who are searching for him won’t be far behind. My Terry been back up security for days now an' you ain't even know.”

Cold dread swamped Connor to the point where he couldn't breathe. The man had a damn good point. A terrifying truth. Breathing became harder and his hands shook to the point where it was wiser to holster his weapon than risk an accidental misfire. He secured his piece and wiped a sweaty palm over his face.

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