Chapter Seven
F isher changed into his dark attire when he got to his apartment, pulled on dark gloves, and tucked a mask into his back pocket before pulling on his custom holster.
Sliding on his weapons—two short swords and his gun, he shrugged on a light black jacket that would cover the hardware.
He wouldn’t make the same mistake of not taking his nine-millimeter with its silencer twisted on.
Leaving his apartment, he hit the streets and caught an Uber several blocks away.
He normally went out every night searching, but tonight he had something else to do.
He glanced at the text from Mouse he’d received just after his shower at Justice’s place.
He felt guilty that he hadn’t said something before he left, but he couldn’t because he knew Justice would insist on coming with him.
Right then, he had to do this alone.
Mouse was in trouble and needed his help.
And when it came to Mouse and Beck, Fisher would do everything in his power to help. He wondered where the pair of teenagers had holed up and what kind of life they had. Had they stayed one step ahead of Blue?
He dialed the number Mouse had sent the text from.
“Fisher?” the teenager answered on the first ring.
“How’d you get my number?”
“From Kit,” Mouse responded.
Fisher snorted at the name, but smiled. Everybody in their circle knew Kit. Something sounded off in the boy’s voice, but he chalked that up to nerves.
“Where are you?”
“I’m hanging at the Back Door bar.”
“You’re underage.”
“They don’t care.”
“Stay put, I’ll be right there.”
The Back Door bar sat in a crime-riddled area of downtown Glendale and not far from Wrath’s apartment. Fisher briefly thought about dropping in and paying the assassin a visit after he met with Mouse, but he wasn’t sure if he’d have time.
What he needed to do was get Mouse and Beck away from running and hiding on the streets and into a safe place.
His only problem had been that he couldn’t locate them.
Until now.
Shoving open the outer door of the bar, he entered the small inner room and shoved open the door that would take him inside of the dark interior. He fucking hated that it took his eyes a few seconds to adjust, so he stood still until that happened.
Spotting Mouse waving from a table near the back of the semi-crowded place, Fisher took in every single face as he made his way to the table. He slid into the chair against the wall so he sat next to Mouse instead of across from him.
When Mouse launched closer and hugged him, Fisher gripped the boy tight.
“Why don’t you sit there,” Mouse gestured at the vacant chair opposite.
“It’s a habit,” Fisher said, drawing back and ordering a beer from the bartender when she came around the bar and walked over to their table.
“What about you, honey?” the woman asked Mouse.
“Just another Seven Up.”
When she walked away, Fisher turned again to face Mouse and got his first look at the beautiful boy he’d met a year ago.
“You left the house I put you in.”
“I know,” Mouse whispered, ducking his head.
He spotted the bruises on the boy’s face and swallowed back words demanding to know what the hell Mouse had been up to.
Had Blue done that to his face?
“How’s Beck?” he softly asked.
Like him, Mouse wasn’t one for sharing, so he had to warm the younger man up.
Mouse hurriedly reached for the straw in his empty glass and shoved it up and down into the leftover ice. “He’s good.”
The hesitancy in Mouse’s voice silently told him Beck was far from good.
Beck and Mouse were a matched pair and he’d never seen one without the other. Was Beck hiding in the back? Did they have enough to eat?
He made a mental note to order some food when the bartender came back. They always had some finger food in this place.
“Where have you two been hiding? I’ve been searching for both of you since you left the house.”
The place hadn’t been a prize, but it had been shelter in an otherwise dismal world.
Surprise swept through Mouse’s baby blue eyes when he glanced over at him.
“You have?” Blink, blink.
Fisher snorted softly. “Yeah, imagine that. You know I care.” That was his downfall with Mouse and Beck. He was determined to rescue them both and any other of Solomon’s lost boys.
He’d never forget that Blue also needed to be taken down.
And Fisher was going to be the one to do it.
Just for old time’s sake.
Mouse leaned against him and Fisher wrapped a firm arm around the teenager’s shoulder, silently offering comfort. He realized that this time was a hell of a lot easier than last time and it was all due to the time he’d spent with Justice.
“It’s going to be okay,” he whispered, trying to keep the sting from his eyes.
Crying never did a bit of fucking good. Only cold methodical thinking got shit done.
He smiled slightly and gazed down into Mouse’s upturned face.
Tears sprang into the boy’s eyes so quickly and Fisher frowned.
“I’m sorry, Fish,” Mouse’s voice wobbled.
“What? Sorry?” The hair on Fisher’s neck stood.
And time seemed to stop as if in a dream. He heard every creak of the floor, every clink of glasses, the laughter, and the air morphed around him.
Dread punched into the pit of his stomach.
The next instant was followed by sheer fucking tortured disbelief.
Snick.
Snick.
The two shots came from the side of the bar.
One bullet pierced Mouse’s throat and the other plunged into the boy’s chest.
Blood spattered, covering Fisher.
Instinct had him sliding off the chair and pulling Mouse beneath the table.
Another bullet cleaved into the wall where his head had been. He shoved over the table and took cover. He placed his fingers on Mouse’s pulse but found none.
The boy was gone.
Crawling over Mouse’s dead body, Fisher moved on all fours through the back swinging doors and into the hallway beyond.
He was up and running to the back exit.
If he could get the fucker outside, he’d end him like vapor. He shoved back his anguish and grabbed onto the rage that swelled like a fucking hurricane.
It was easy to disappear into the shadows of the alley and it was there that Fisher waited.
Poised to kill. Needing to kill. His fists covered with blood.
He needed to feel the life drain out of whoever had killed Mouse.
But the bar backdoor stayed closed.
Had the gunman left after shooting Mouse?
Did that mean the guy got away?
Fuck that!
Fisher sprinted down the alley and careened around the corner. He raced down the shadows that clung to the building, staying out of the street light glow until he reached the parking lot of the bar.
A man hurriedly walked across the parking lot toward a row of parked cars.
“Hey!” Fisher yelled, hoping to startle the asshole.
The man turned and fired and Fisher ducked. But that one quick glance had been enough for Fisher to get a look at the fucker’s face. He returned fire, blowing out the windshield when the man ducked behind a car.
“He wants you home, Fisher. Don’t make this difficult.”
Fisher stayed quiet, hunkered down, waiting for a clean shot.
“Don’t jeopardize more lives,” the voice yelled.
Gripping his nine-millimeter, his knuckles turned white. He lifted up to take aim and fired in the direction of the voice. Another bullet punched into the car near his head and Fisher took cover.
Sirens blared from down the street and he knew he was out of time.
It didn’t matter.
He knew that face and voice like he knew his own fucking hand.
Dodging back, he sprinted down the block and away from the bar. He launched up a fire escape of a nearby building and fucking flew over the asphalt roof.
He’d jump the distance between the two buildings when he got there. The leap was far and he made it by a fraction of an inch and kept running.
All the while, his mind raced with one question.
Why had Blue killed Mouse?
And who the fuck wanted him back?
His mind raced.
Was that information just another bit of his past he temporarily couldn’t remember?
Was that a part of the past his brain kept neatly tucked away?