Page 241 of American Hellhound
“It’s alright,” Aidan said. “I got you.”
“No, no, hey.” His vision wavered, crowding with black spots. “Listen.”
“Dad–”
“I love you. I don’t say it enough.”
He heard voices, shouts, assorted bangs and thumps, and finally, sirens. And low, just before he blacked out, Aidan’s desperate praying.
Thirty-Six
On the roof – ideal flat surface, crenellations to provide cover and on which to balance his M24’s bipod – Reese scanned the scene below. The hostage had been secured inside the building and armed security personnel had streamed out into the parking lot. The Dogs had killed or restrained the Saints.
Badger was dead – he could tell through his scope.
Unfortunately, Ghost was down too. But his son was applying pressure, and the wail of sirens was drawing closer.
Situation contained.
Slowly, he lowered his rifle. The sun was riding just above the tree line, brilliant gold; its brightness made his eyes water. The breeze touched his face, a gentle caress. It didn’t smell like Denver; it smelled green, and warm, alive in a way that made the fine hairs stand up on the back of his neck.
Badger was dead.
His face fight tight, suddenly…and it was a long moment before he realized he was smiling.
~*~
Ian mapped every inch of Alec’s face and throat with his fingertips, anxious, flickering movements, searching for wounds, for blood that wasn’t there. The frames of his glasses were a tad crooked, but there wasn’t so much as a scratch on his person. Barely a wrinkle in his shirt.
“I’m fine,” he kept saying, over and over, but Ian couldn’t stop touching him, a feverish compulsion, his vision slowly glazing over, hands moving of their own accord.
“Baby,” Alec said, voice cracking, and his hands latched onto the lapels of Ian’s jacket. “I’mfine.”
“Nothing about this isfine,” Ian snapped.
Alec recoiled visibly from the bite in his voice, shrinking down into his shirt collar. But he didn’t let go.
Ian wanted to cover his hands with his own, give in to the pressure building behind his eyes and crumple, bury his face in his whole and unharmed throat, breathe in the clean smell of him. Always clean, his Alec, untainted by the nightmares of his own life, sweet and innocent, so blessedly stupid when it came to the evils of the world.
Instead, he shoved away from him and marched toward the wide front windows of his building. Snapped his fingers to get his security team’s attention. “Outside, now.”
“Yes, sir.” They flooded out, weapons drawn, to assist the process the Dogs had begun.
“Marie,” he said, turning to his girl at the front desk. “I need a stack of security contracts, signed and dated six months ago; I want one for each of Teague’s men. How long will it take to add them to the payroll?”
She blinked, surprised, but recovered. “A few hours, maybe…”
“Get started. I want it all official before the police start asking questions.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Ian,” Alec started, reaching for him.
“I don’t have time right now, darling.” Cold. All-business. From the corner of his eye, he saw his boyfriend wilt, mouth downturned, gaze wounded. “We’ll talk about it later.”
He took the heart-stopping image of his boyfriend with a gun pressed to his temple – the sight that had curdled his stomach and stopped his heart – and filed it away neatly to be dealt with later. When he didn’t feel so much like screaming.
~*~
