Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
Colm
“They’ll send more after us, once they realize the others are dead. You understand that, right?”
It’s the first thing Fallow has said to me in hours, and I’m not totally sure how to answer.
I know it’s true, but I’m having trouble being really worried about it right now.
I’m more concerned about his face. On the upside, after driving through the night and half the day, we’ve got a decent among of distance between us and the scene of the crime, and we’re almost ready for a pit stop.
“Don’t worry about it,” I tell him, but he looks unconvinced.
All the GPS is disabled in our cars for obvious reasons, but I take my phone off of airplane mode for a hot second to check how close we are, and it’s right on time.
When I pull off at the next exit, Fallow doesn’t seem to notice.
His eyes are closed, and he’s resting his face against the window with a melted-looking ice pack still held to his eye.
It’s not until we pull up at the side of a gas station, not the pump, that he opens his eyes and asks what we’re doing.
“Picking something up for your face.”
It only takes a minute to run out to the lockers and pick up my package, and as an afterthought I stop in the gas station store itself to grab more ice, and some food.
I hustle back to the car when I get a brief pang of fear that it’ll be empty when I get there.
I’m never 100% sure that Fallow won’t decide he’s better off alone and split, and while that made me nervous initially because of my fear of Murphy’s reaction, the fear I have now is more complex.
Not something I have the fucking bandwidth to examine right now, but it’s in me, whether I want it there or not.
He’s right here, though. Still with his eyes closed, but with a tension in his body that makes me think he’s paying close attention to his surroundings.
I throw the bag in the back seat and quickly pull us out of the gas station without another word. There’s a motel just down the street from here, and both of us could finally use some rest.
Fallow seems okay with letting me lead the way through the process of getting there and getting a room, and it’s making me more worried by the minute.
I’ve seen a lot of sides of him so far, even if we’ve known each other for less than a week.
The brutal, almost gleeful murderer, sure.
The sex pest. The regular pest. But this solemn, inoffensive version of him seems so unnatural, I’m tempted to grab him just to get a reaction out of him that isn’t lukewarm.
I wouldn’t, obviously. But I want to.
He excuses himself to shower as soon as we get inside, and I take one right after him. As much as I’m worried about him, I’m grateful for the few minutes of solitude the whole process brings. On the face of it, nothing much has changed in my life the past few days.
Sure, things have escalated with the Aryans and Fallow being here has thrown a wrench in my shit.
And sure, this road trip to get to the bottom of it all isn’t that normal for me.
But nothing has significantly, substantively changed for me.
I’m still the low-level boss of a small cell of a shitty organized crime family, keeping my sex life extremely private and off the grid and looking forward to a long life of more of both of those things.
A short life is more likely, but I like to be optimistic.
The question is, why does everything feel different?
I don’t know if it’s just a side effect of being around Fallow—someone so utterly unlike anyone I’ve ever met—but it’s like the fucking air has shifted and the molecules that make up my body are in a different flavor now.
I don’t know what to do with any of that, though.
Eventually, Fallow will leave to go and sow chaos somewhere else, and I will go back to my normal, medium-interesting life.
Maybe I should talk to Sav about this when I get home. He’s never really been a talker, and men in our business are always discouraged from feeling their feelings out loud or in any way that isn’t violent, but I bet he would get it. If anyone’s life has fundamentally changed, it’s Sav’s.
By the time I work through this rambling, messy train of thought, both Fallow and I are clean and semi-dressed.
Well, I’m in my underwear, because that’s how I sleep, and Fallow is fully dressed in sweats and a long-sleeved shirt, despite the heat.
I can’t pretend to understand why he’s so effortlessly comfortable being naked when we’re fucking but needs to button himself down more and more outside of that, but it’s pretty clear he has some control issues.
I’m not here to push it. Except right now, because it’s time to really push my boundaries with him. For a good reason.
I steel myself with a deep breath before throwing him a fresh ice pack and finally showing him the package I picked up earlier.
“Suture shit. I think the wound is shallow enough you can probably ice it pretty numb, and then I’ll go as fast as I can.”
Fallow opens his mouth and I can already see the objection sitting on his tongue, so I cut him off.
“You need it. Like I said, it’s this, or a clinic. I’m not exactly medical but I do have experience of this very specific skill, and I’m pretty sure if I can just get it closed it’ll heal up quick, but if it’s open then it’s going to take forever, and the scar will be fucking huge.”
My goddamn useless heart pinches at the flicker of stress on his face when I say it, but I shove the feeling aside.
“Seriously,” I continue, pretending to be calmer than I am. “Ice it, I’ll do my best to barely touch you, and we’ll have it over with in like fifteen minutes tops. Let’s just get it done.”
His face is carefully neutral as he watches me, but he can’t completely hide his anxiety. I know him too well, at this point.
“Where did you even get that, anyway?” he indicates the kit in my hand.
“Honestly, you can just buy them. They’re labeled as being for practice for student doctors or whatever but it’s all the same shit and it’s sterile. I wouldn’t fuck with you on this.”
I take a second to look at him—really look at him—and see if my words are lasting.
“I mean it. Scouts’ honor.”
When I hold up my hand in some approximation of a scout salute, he almost smiles. Not quite, but close enough. And I swear I feel ten feet tall.
All this feeling is definitely becoming a problem.
Fallow holds the ice pack to his face and slowly lets a little of the tension slip from his body while we both wait for his face to get numb.
“There’s no way you were a scout,” he says eventually, breaking the silence.
I can’t help but laugh, because he has a point.
“True, I was not anything even resembling a scout. But some of the kids I went to elementary school with were, so it’s close enough. I can still have honor, right? Isn’t that what honor among thieves means?”
Fallow nods, his expression solemn, like I made an excellent point instead of saying anything I can say to keep him distracted.
“Are you a thief, then?” he asks. “Is this when you reveal your tragic Dickensian back story about how you rose from being an orphan pickpocket to the head of a criminal empire?”
Shaking my head, I try to get a read on whether he’s serious or not, but I honestly can’t tell.
“I’m pretty sure we’re the same age, so I don’t know why you’re making it sound like I grew up in the 1800s. But no, I wasn’t in a pickpocket street gang or anything.”
Fallow raises his eyebrows at me like I’m expected to continue but doesn’t speak.
“What, you wanna hear my sad criminal backstory?” I ask.
He nods but remains silent.
“Do I get to hear yours in exchange? I know there’s more to your whole history with Murph than a typical father-son situation. Are you going to slip me the juicy details?”
A hint of a smile hits him, but he shakes his head no, still silent.
I blow out a noisy breath like I’m working myself up to it, but it’s honestly not an interesting story. I know at least a dozen Banna guys with the same history, and it’s not even hard to talk about anymore. But whatever will keep him distracted.
“I’m sure this will be a blistering shock,” I drawl, my voice heavy with sarcasm, “but I grew up poor.”
“You don’t say.”
“Mm hmm. Shitty family, shitty neighborhood in Oklahoma, shitty education, et cetera, et cetera. My mom and dad were together, which I guess was kind of unusual among my friends, but they were both intravenous drug users, so that gave them something to bond over. We had a home, shitty though it was, but money went to drugs more than food or anything else. They shared needles, of course, because sharing is caring. So, they also shared HIV. And they didn’t exactly get treatment, so they both got real sick real fast.”
I study his face, searching for a hint of something. Disapproval? Pity? I’m not sure what, but he’s just watching me, waiting to hear more.
“My mom got sicker faster than my dad. I think she had a history of hepatitis or something. He was working still, but dealing on the side to raise a little extra money for treatment for her. I used to go with him, because I was young enough that I still looked innocent, and if I was caught holding, I would probably get off without doing real time.”
He’s still silent, and the room has settled into something quiet, and almost peaceful. It’s easy to talk to him when he’s like this. I’ve told this story a bunch of times, but this feels more real right now, for whatever reason.
“Anyway. We got picked up eventually, and I did get out pretty clean, but they got him for everything, including child endangerment. He got a real sentence, real time. I don’t remember how long it was supposed to be.
But Mom died pretty quickly after he went in.
I went under care of the state and never saw him again.
I heard he died in prison like eight years later. ”
I pause as a thought hits me.
“So, I guess technically I am an orphan. But I never picked anybody’s pocket.
My dad did very low-level street dealing.
No one would trust an addict with more than that.
But the Banna were who he ultimately worked for, and it was a small town.
The guys there kept an eye on me while I was in care.
I was a little messed up, so I kept ending up in group homes for behavioral kids instead of someplace nice.
I was eager to get out, and was already well and truly working for the Banna by the time I turned eighteen.
I met Sav back when we were teenagers and he was trying to prove himself as the son of one of the higher ups.
We were pretty tight, or as much as you can be in that situation.
It just seemed natural that this was where I would end up.
I never really thought about doing anything else. ”
Fallow doesn’t say anything, but he’s watching me closely, making me feel open and exposed all over again.
“And you? Did you always expect a glamorous life of crime?”
“We weren’t talking about me, remember. This isn’t a quid pro quo.”
He smiles a little as he says it, though, and I feel like the space between us is porous and soft, just waiting for me to move closer.
“Come on,” I beg. “Give me something.”
Fallow huffs a little, but I can tell he’s going to bend. I pick up my supplies and move over to sit on a chair in front of him while he perches on the bed, and get it all spread out beside him. It’s a brief silence, but I’m waiting for him to fill it.
“My story’s not that different, I suppose,” he says at last. “I was born here, actually. Well not here, but America. Also shitty parents, but in a different way. Lost them. Ended up with the Banna at first and they took me to Ireland. I was still young, so it feels like home, now. As much as anywhere does.”
“And?” I ask, gloved up and ready to go, but waiting for the rest of my answer.
“And what?”
“And did you give up some childhood dream to do this? Like were you going to be an astronaut or something?”
The smile he gives me this time can only be described as indulgent, and it makes me smile back at him, a little bigger than I should. He drops the ice pack away from his face.
“No,” he says, his voice whisper soft. “I always felt like I was born to violence. It fit me in a way nothing else did.”
I nod slowly, finding that I genuinely believe him.
“Could be worse,” I say, not able to think of anything more clever. “I’m gonna start. Try to hold still for me, and this’ll be over fast.”
He inhales sharply through his nose just once, but then he turns stock-still, and I take that as my permission to start.
There’s no flinch this time when I grab his chin. He barely even flinches the first time I bite into his skin with the needle, and by some miracle of self-control and willpower, Fallow manages to sit like a fucking rock for every single stitch.
I don’t think I’m exaggerating this time when I feel the atmosphere building between us.
Tension, yes, but something on top of that.
The intensity of the trust he’s putting in me right now.
The way his eyes track my movements, watching me with no expression but still so clearly, desperately turning to me for comfort, even if it’s in some unseen, unspoken way.
It takes all my self-control not to stroke his skin under my thumb or do something else to comfort him, but I guess that’s what he’s trusting me not to.
He’s breathing fast by the time I finish, but still and silent otherwise. I clean the wound gently before covering it with another bandage.
“You okay?” I ask, letting go of his chin reluctantly and standing up.
Fallow continues to watch me, tipping his head back a little so his dark hair falls out of his eyes.
In the dim lamplight he’s all tanned skin and high, shadowed cheekbones, dramatic angles and edges, and looks like that dark avenging angel I saw in him the first day we met.
Something so fierce I can never truly comprehend it.
Not being able to kiss him may be the death of me.
At last, Fallow nods.
“Thank you,” he says softly, still holding my gaze.
My fingers itch to push that hair back a little more, see if it’s long enough to tuck behind his ear, but I stop myself for the millionth time.
“Any time,” I say. “Really.”
Fallow nods, and it takes a long time before our gazes finally drop away, but as soon as they do, I feel cold.