Chapter Twenty-Three
F isher looked just as surprised as he was until fury swept over the man’s gorgeous face.
That long dark hair was loose around Fisher’s shoulders and the dark clothes he wore made him appear even smaller.
Looks were deceiving, though. Justice knew that all too well.
He fully expected Fisher to lay into him, but the man spun around and ran.
Justice launched after the darting figure. If he didn’t catch Fisher inside the building, he would have no chance in hell of catching him once he was outside.
Fisher was fast, but Justice had the arm reach in his favor, plus a box sitting against the hallway wall blocked Fisher’s path. Justice caught a hold of the man’s flying hair and fisted it. The grip yanked Fisher back.
“Owe, fucker!” Fisher snarled.
With his other hand, Justice fisted the man’s sweatshirt and released his grip on Fisher’s hair.
Fisher swung around and punched him in the face. Justice grunted and took the hit. He tightened his grip.
When Fisher made to slip out of the sweatshirt, Justice wrapped his free arm around the man’s waist.
“Let go of him!” a young voice shouted just before a slender youth came flying down the hallway toward them.
“Boston, no!” Fisher yelled.
Ahead of them, Memphis came out of a side door. The big assassin took one look and snagged the kid around the waist. The kid went ballistic and Memphis grimaced when the boy’s elbow hit his ribs.
“You got him?” Justice called.
“Go,” Memphis said with a grimacing nod.
Kicking open the nearest porn viewing room, Justice stepped inside.
“Get the fuck out,” he growled at the two occupants.
They scrambled out, tugging clothing back into place, and Justice shoved Fisher into the room before closing the door and planting himself in front of it.
Groans and moans came from the small screen on the wall.
Fisher pulled his gun.
Slowly, Justice crossed his arms against his chest, careful not to make any sudden movements.
“Move!” Fisher glared, pointing the gun at his chest.
“No.”
“If your friend hurts Boston, I’ll —”
“Memphis won’t hurt him.”
Fisher pointed the gun at his chest and hissed. “Fucking move!”
“Shoot me, Fisher. It’s what I deserve, but I’m not moving until we talk.”
“I don’t want to talk to you.”
“I’m aware of that.”
Fisher was breathing hard and Justice could tell the man was stressed and anxious. He’d give anything to change that.
“I’m sorry for what I did. I’m sorrier than you’ll ever know.”
“Save your fucking sorry for someone who gives a fuck.” Fisher snarled. “Now move out of my way.”
Justice shook his head and walked forward in the small space. Fisher’s eyes widened before the glare was back.
“I went to Solomon’s warehouse where he kept Apollo, Azrael, and Cash.”
“So fucking what.”
“I can’t imagine living in a place like that.” Justice rubbed at his mouth, smoothing down his cropped beard as he stumbled over his words.
“You call that living ?” Fisher sneered.
“My bad choice of words,” he murmured. “I can’t imagine what you went through.”
Fisher looked indecisive.
“Other guys were in there longer than me,” the man said woodenly.
“That doesn’t matter. You shouldn’t have been in there for one fucking second.”
Fisher glanced away and the gun lowered. The noise from the porn seemed to have caught the man’s attention, but Justice doubted Fisher was seeing anything at the moment.
“I didn’t know, Fisher.” His voice cracked. “I didn’t fucking know.”
At his words, Fisher briefly closed his eyes and tipped his head down. The waist-length hair spilled forward like a dark cloud and as much as he loved that long fall of silk, he hated that it now obscured Fisher’s face.
“Can we start over?” he whispered.
Fisher shook back his hair before glaring at him.
“I don’t know if we can.” The man’s voice sounded rough.
“Can we try?” Justice tried to keep the pain from his words.
“I need to go. There’s somewhere I need to be.”
“Where?”
Silence met his question so he tried another tactic.
“Who’s the boy with you?” Justice gestured to the hall beyond the closed door.
“Someone as fucked up as I am.”
“If he’s an assassin, you should take him to Dave.”
Fisher glared at him and Justice hoped he had at least planted a seed. Right now, the safest place for all of the young assassins was at Dave’s estate.
How many more of them were out there? Justice wondered. And on the heels of that thought, came another. When his sixth sense kicked in, Justice suddenly suspected that something greater was at stake here.
“Tell me where you need to go,” he said softly.
“You guys are so fucking stupid!” Fisher snapped as if totally out of patience, and pain swept into the depths of those beautiful eyes.
“What? I’m not following.”
Tucking his gun away and as if exasperated, a half laugh, half snort full of agony bubbled out of Fisher.
“Do you honestly think that you all made a fucking difference?” Fisher waved his hands and glared at him.
“Difference?”
Fisher gave a disbelieving sob and sent his fingers raking through his hair before yanking out a hair tie from his pocket. Slender arms lifted as he gathered up the long strands to secure at his nape.
The brief move exposed the long, jagged scar that ran along Fisher’s forehead almost hidden in the hairline. Justice had seen it and the others that riddled the slender man’s body.
“Difference about what, Fisher?” he probed.
“You guys rode in on your fucking white horses and saved nine victims from Solomon. But did you ever stop to think of how many more of us are out there?”
Fucking Solomon.
Justice’s stomach clenched.
“I heard that Cash gave Real and Dave all of Solomon’s locations.”
“So what?”
“I know for a fact that Real and Dave have been searching for previous victims that still remain on the streets.”
“And you seriously think that Solomon didn’t have help? It’s fucking naive.”
Justice’s breath caught.
“Did he?”
Fisher glared and Justice spotted the sheen that suddenly hit those beautiful eyes.
His mind raced at the implication.
Solomon had a partner…
Or was it partners?
Like Blue, Crow, and Tanis?
Were these new players in town old ones rearing their ugly heads?
“So, you’re saying that Solomon had partners?”
“Yes.”
“Is it Blue? I know he runs with Crow and Tanis,” Justice said, trying to get Fisher to open up.
The man looked away, but Justice saw the truth briefly flash in Fisher’s eyes.
“What are they doing out there, Fish?” he whispered, taking a slow step closer, he needed clarification.
Fisher’s tormented eyes lifted to his. “You don’t want to know.”
After the whispered response, several long moments of silence swept between them. A myriad of emotions moved over Fisher’s face.
Each one gutted him.
“Please forgive me, Fisher. Talk to me, tell me so I understand everything.”
“No. I can’t.” The man’s voice broke and along with it, Justice’s heart.
The raw, whispered word punched a hole into his chest and he stumbled back when Fisher pushed past him and reached the door.
Justice let him go.
There wasn’t any way he could keep Fisher with him if he didn’t want to be.
And the last thing he wanted was to cause Fisher any further pain. He’d already inflicted enough.
When the door didn’t open immediately, Justice slowly turned around.
He found Fisher watching him. For several long moments, their gazes locked and held.
Justice drank in every single thing about the beautiful assassin and locked it tightly away in his memories. He didn’t know if he’d ever get this chance again.
Opening his mouth, he planned on apologizing again, but how did one say sorry about something that had been fucked up beyond all recognition?
“Take care of yourself,” he murmured instead. The words raspy in his tight throat.
Fisher squinted at him as if unsure and Justice didn’t blame the guy for being hesitant.
With a quick nod, Fisher opened the door, slipped through the crack, and was gone.
The room felt void of life even with the panting and groaning coming from the TV.
Cracking his neck to relieve the building tension, he flipped off the low overhead light and stepped out into the hallway.
Memphis was still there, minus the teenager he’d been holding.
His last glimpse of Fisher was of the assassin, along with Boston, walking out the back exit door.
Justice had never been one for relationships. He and Fisher had never fully gotten off the ground past the sex, so what they’d had couldn’t technically be called a relationship. Could it? Was it more of a long hookup? Or maybe friends with benefits? Not even good friends yet because everything felt so new.
Whatever fragile thing they’d had, he had even fucked that up.
That right there only went to show him that he wasn’t cut out for anything remotely resembling a relationship.
People were better off steering clear of him.