Chapter 11 #3
“They have no reason not to. And if they do question it?
You're good at talking, Sebastian. Use the skills you have.” He glanced at the gun that Six was putting into a bag.
It was the one that Sebastian had picked up when he'd been terrified that Dane was going to stab Peyton.
He'd never been so terrified in his entire life.
“Get some training before you attempt that again.”
“Get the fuck out of my house.”
Hunter inclined his head, and then in a matter of moments, the house was clear of anyone but Peyton and Sebastian.
Sebastian let out a breath, his knees shaking. He tried to take the card from Peyton's hand. “Give me that.”
Peyton held it out of reach. “He gave it to me, not you.”
“He's not to be trusted.”
“You trust him.”
Until five minutes ago, Sebastian would have said yes, he trusted Hunter. Right now, he didn't know what to think. Hunter had waited while two men pointed guns at the both of them and hadn't done a fucking thing to stop it. He'd been so sure that Peyton could get them out of it.
In the process, Peyton had been injured, and that outcome was unacceptable and not worth anything, not even Hunter's precious mission.
Sebastian gingerly pressed above the cut on Peyton's cheek. The bleeding had slowed but not stopped. “He was at least right about that.”
“Hope I get a good doctor,” Peyton said. “Otherwise, it's gonna scar my pretty face.”
“Might make you more dashing.”
“You think so?”
Sebastian pressed trembling lips to Peyton's temple. “You fucking scared me. Why did you rush them like that?”
“Because I needed to keep you safe,” Peyton said.
“And keeping yourself safe?” Sebastian asked. He would never want to be kept safe at the expense of someone else, especially not Peyton, a man who was becoming more than important to him.
“I had more chance of surviving that than you,” Peyton pointed out. “I’m trained to deal with high-risk situations.”
Sebastian wished he wasn’t, because it meant being in Hunter’s line of sight. He opened his mouth to reiterate that Hunter was not a man Peyton wanted to get in bed with, but the voice of their detective rang out, interrupting them.
“Sebastian! Peyton!” Quinn came rushing into the room, gun out.
He stopped short, his entire body deflating.
“Jesus,” he said on a shaky breath. “You're bleeding.” Quinn glanced at the blood on Sebastian's carpet as he made his way over to them.
Sebastian knew he'd have to replace it; there was no getting that out.
“Is that yours?” Quinn asked.
“Probably some of it,” Peyton said. “My cheek.”
“I can see your cheek,” Quinn said dryly. He holstered his gun and checked them both over, his hands touching everywhere he could reach.
“What happened here?”
“Can we explain on the way to the hospital? I need my shoulder looked at, and I'd like to stop bleeding. Maybe get me something to press against it?”
Shit. Sebastian got a clean tea towel from the kitchen drawer, uncaring which one it was and the fact it was essentially ruined as soon as it touched Peyton's face.
“What happened to your shoulder?”
“Hospital, Quinn,” Peyton prompted.
“Do you have a scarf?” Quinn asked Sebastian.
Sebastian frowned, confused. “Bit hot for a scarf.”
“For Peyton's shoulder,” Quinn said patiently.
Oh. Right. Sebastian found one buried in his wardrobe. By the time he came out with it, Quinn had walked Peyton down to his car, and the two patrol cars that Moira had spoken about were gone. He wasn't sure he wanted to know what Quinn had said to them. Or how they were going to explain this.
Quinn made short work of creating a makeshift sling, and then he was helping Peyton settle into the back seat. “I'll drive carefully; don't put the seat belt on.”
“My life is in your hands,” Peyton said lightly.
Quinn kissed him softly. “Both of you have so much fucking explaining to do.”
Will burst through the hospital doors, his heart in his throat as he searched the waiting room. He didn't recognise any of the startled faces, so he rushed to the receptionist desk.
The nurse behind it smiled widely. “How can I help you?”
“Uh—Peyton Sinclair? Sebastian Devlin? I don't—I'm not sure who's registered.”
“Oh, yes. They brought them in half an hour ago? They're in room twelve, just down the hallway.”
Will threw a hasty thank you to her as he tried not to bolt down the hall. He knocked clumsily on the door, and the relief he felt at Peyton's voice saying, “Come in,” shouldn't have bowled him over quite so effectively.
He fell through the door and gripped the door handle to stop himself from tumbling to the floor.
Peyton was sitting on the bed at the far end of the room, Sebastian sitting beside him and Quinn standing watch over them.
Peyton smiled at him, but all Will could see were the stitches on his cheek. The surrounding skin was red and angry, and whoever had cleaned the blood hadn't done a great job. He was wearing an ugly green hospital gown, his jeans peeking out below, and his shoulder was in a white cloth sling.
“Christ, what the fuck happened?”
“I saved the day,” Peyton said. “Sorry to steal your thunder.”
Will swallowed down the lump in his throat as he came closer. “Are you okay?”
“I'm fine, I promise,” Peyton said. “Come here. Um, careful of the—”
“Yeah, I can see,” Will said. He cupped Peyton's good cheek and pressed their foreheads together. “What have you done to yourself?”
“I can't take credit for either of these things,” Peyton said. “Or the blame?”
“What did you do to your shoulder?”
“Partial dislocation,” someone said behind them. Will turned to see a doctor—Prescott, based on the tag—smiling brightly at them. “We're ready for you to get your CT scan done.” He tapped the wheelchair at his side. “And you'll be riding in style.”
“I can walk.”
“Hospital policy.”
Peyton sighed and gingerly settled himself into the wheelchair. Will ran a hand through his hair and kissed the top of his head.
“What is the scan for?” Sebastian asked.
“We want to make sure there's no internal tearing or bleeding.” The doctor smiled at them, chart in his hand. “You're welcome to wait in here. We shouldn't keep him for more than half an hour.”
Will turned on Sebastian the moment Peyton was wheeled out. “Are you hurt?” He crowded closer to him, taking in the tightness around his eyes and in his jaw.
“I'm fine.” Sebastian worried at his bottom lip with his teeth. “He saved my life. When he got hurt, I—” He cut off, his voice choking a little.
Will tugged Sebastian into his arms and wrapped him up, cradling his head against his chest. Sebastian fisted his hands in Will's shirt, and Will could feel the rapid beating of his heart.
“I still don't fully understand what happened,” Quinn said. “You were attacked, Peyton fended them off, and then... they just ran off? But you won't let me put out an APB for armed-and-dangerous criminals?”
Sebastian's hands tightened for a fraction of a second before he pulled away from Will.
“Will, can you shut the door for me?”
Will glanced at him warily as he did as Sebastian asked. Closed-door policy was never a good thing.
“I want to trust you, Quinn, but I need you to trust me in return,” Sebastian said.
“We already talked about this.”
“This is different. And it involves Peyton.”
Quinn crossed his arms over his chest. “What happened tonight, Seb? And don't lie to me again. You think I can’t tell that you’re lying? Peyton might have a great poker face, but you don’t, and everything about this situation stinks.”
“We didn't lie,” Sebastian said stiffly. “They did attack us, and Peyton did fend them off. They just... they didn't leave on their own.”
“They weren't there when I arrived,” Quinn said. “I have two eyes, and there were just the two of you.”
“Peyton... killed them,” Sebastian said slowly, almost like he wasn't sure he believed the words.
Will believed them. He knew what Peyton had done overseas, probably knew more than he was legally allowed.
He knew what demons haunted him and why he had trouble sleeping, why loud noises only bothered him in certain situations, and why he had avoided the gun range for almost an entire year despite the fact that guns had always been a love of his.
“Did you bury them out in the backyard?” Quinn said, sounding frustrated. “There weren't any bodies either, just blood. I was there, remember? I saw.”
“I sometimes do work for a man who... deals with unsavoury situations.” He held up a hand when Quinn opened his mouth. “I can't give you more than that about him; I can't. Just know he's the one that gives me the cases that I can't turn away.”
“The raid arrest. Warren,” Quinn said. “The reason that these two men targeted you in the first place.
Some ridiculous idea that you knew something that you didn't?” He blew out a breath.
“We learned about those men yesterday. What we found.
.. They're only newcomers in the drug world. A small amateur group trying to make some kind of traction in Sydney, using hollowed-out, creepy dolls to distribute cocaine.”
“Would explain why the attempts were so sloppy,” Will pointed out. Proper professionals would be more discreet. And likely would have gotten the job done.
“This person that you can't tell me about,” Quinn said stiffly. “What does he have to do with... what happened tonight?”
“He took them.”
“The bodies?”
“For disposal.”
“Jesus Christ, Sebastian,” Quinn burst out. “How the fuck did you get messed up with someone like that?”
“He's on our side.” Sebastian hesitated. “I think.”
“You think?”
“I don't know what else to tell you right now.”
Quinn cradled Sebastian's face in his hands. “You're going to give me grey hairs.”
“They're distinguished. Grey beards are sexy,” Sebastian murmured.
Quinn growled as he pulled him closer and kissed him. He held out a hand, and Will took it, assuming it was for him. No one else was in the room. It seemed a reasonable assumption.
Quinn pulled him closer, and then he was kissing Will too. Sebastian kissed him next, and then he was feeling a little dazed, swaying on his feet.
“When Peyton gets back, I’m taking you all home, and we’re going to discuss how little self-preservation you all have.”
“Are you going to punish us?” Sebastian asked.
Will slid his hand under Sebastian’s shirt, wanting to feel his warm skin beneath. It helped calm him, reassure him that he was fine. He glanced at the door. He hoped that Peyton came back soon. “Why am I being included in this?”
“One for all, and all for one,” Quinn said dryly.
Will grinned. “Like musketeers?”
“There were only three of them,” Sebastian said.
“There were four,” Will corrected. He'd seen the movie. Both of them. He was pretty sure he had. He might have fallen asleep halfway through one.
“D'Artagnan wasn't a musketeer.”
“Did neither of you pay attention in history class?” Quinn asked. “There were hundreds of them.”
“Wait, they're real?” Will asked, blinking.
Sebastian laughed, and Quinn pulled him in for another kiss.
Peyton appeared in the door a moment later, smiling widely.
“Where's the wheelchair?” Quinn asked.
“I escaped my jailor,” he replied, pride beaming in his voice. “Ready to go?”
“Do we have to climb out the window to escape?” Sebastian asked. “I don't think you're going to be great at climbing right now.”
“No one is escaping,” Quinn said. “We’ll use the front doors. What's the verdict with your shoulder?”
“Clean bill of health. Relatively speaking.” Peyton held up some paperwork. “I have info you can read. Twice if you feel like it. Can we go home now, please? This place smells weird.”
Will kissed Peyton's temple. “C'mon, superhero. You earned some rest.” He fingered the sling lightly and then frowned, a horrifying thought occurring to him.
“How is this gonna work for sex?”