Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter
Thirty-Three
Lucas hadn’t had a problem with his nine
o’clock curfew since he started working at the farm. Having to be
at work before sunrise made an early bedtime a necessity, not a
virtue. So he was already asleep when someone knocked on the door
of his room and then pushed it gently open.
“Luke? Hey, Luke, the phone’s for you.” It
was Chris, a former resident who’d graduated to being a night
supervisor.
Lucas pushed himself upright and tried to
clear the sleep from his brain. He looked at the glowing digital
clock on the dresser, then back at Chris.
Chris nodded, his head silhouetted against
the light coming in from the hall. “Yeah, it’s after hours. But the
guy said it was an emergency. He sounded like he meant it.”
Lucas swung his feet over the side of the bed
and reached for the phone Chris was holding out to him. Was it
Alex? Who else would call him in an emergency? “Hello?”
“Lukey.” It was Sean. “If you’re serious
about looking after that priest? You need to give him a head’s up.
The boys are going for him tonight.”
“Going for him?” That woke Lucas up pretty
fast. “How hard?”
There was a pause, then Sean said, “Pretty
hard. I wouldn’t have called you if they were going to egg his car
or something.”
“Fuck. Where? When?”
“They’re waiting for him outside his
apartment.”
Lucas checked his watch. It was nine thirty.
What time did priests go to bed? “He’s not home yet?”
“Not the last I heard. But, Lukey, I told
them I wasn’t going to be part of it. They got a bit pissed, so
they aren’t telling me much.”
“Yeah. Okay. Fuck.” Lucas’s mind was racing.
“Thanks. I’ve got to go.” He hit the hang up button on the phone
and tossed it toward Chris. “Call Father Mark. Tell him not to go
to his apartment.” He grabbed his jeans from the chair where he’d
left them.
Chris was already dialing, but he looked up
to say, “You’ve got a curfew, Lucas. You can’t go out.”
“I’m not allowed to go out. But I
can.” He looked at the phone pressed to Chris’s ear. “Is he
picking up?”
“No. Should I call the cops?”
The cops. Lucas hadn’t even considered the
possibility, but it made sense. Father Mark was an upstanding
citizen—the police would look after him. “Yeah. Call them, tell
them some guys are going to be waiting for Father Mark outside his
apartment.” He pulled his boots on, but there was no time for
socks.
“So the cops will handle it, Lucas. Respect
your curfew.” At least Chris was good at dialing while he
talked.
But Lucas wasn’t willing to take that chance.
Thinking of Father Mark, innocent and unsuspecting, walking into
Mikey and Tinker… No. “I’ll keep an eye until they get
there, make sure he’s safe inside, and then I’ll come back.” He
grabbed his keys from the dresser.
“Lucas—” Chris started, but he stopped
talking as Lucas brushed past him and headed down the stairs.
It was good that they lived in a small
town—Lucas was at the apartment in under five minutes. And good
that Father Mark had mentioned the building he lived in earlier
when he was telling Lucas about the vandalism. And good that Lucas
could see the plywood-covered window on the second floor facing the
street, with dark windows on both sides. Looked like Father Mark
wasn’t home yet. Lucas scanned the street for loiterers, or for
cops, and saw neither. Damn it. Where were the cops?
He didn’t pull over. If the police ever did
arrive, he didn’t need them thinking that he was the one lying in
wait. A slow cruise down the block, his eyes roaming, and then he
did a U-turn in the intersection and headed back down the road. Not
subtle—if anyone was watching for him, they’d see that move. But
that was fine. He wasn’t looking to hide.
That was when he saw Father Mark, walking
with his head down, heading for the front door of his building.
He’d parked down the block, for some reason. Lucas remembered him
saying that there were a lot of elderly people in the building, and
groaned. Were there really that many old folks coming home late at
night? Did they need five empty spots in front of the building?
He stopped thinking about that when he saw
the shadows move in the alley next to the building. Shit.
He pulled into one of the empty spaces and
jumped out of the car. Four big steps and he was on the sidewalk.
“Hey!” he yelled, and Father Mark finally looked up. “Get inside,
now!” He stepped forward, between the priest and the shadows, but
of course it wasn’t that easy.
“Lucas? What’s going on?”
But Lucas didn’t have time for conversation.
He was staring at the mouth of the alley and he could feel the hair
on the back of his neck standing up, like an animal sensing an
intruder. He felt feral, and more alive than he’d been in
years.
Tinker was the first to step out of the
darkness, with Mikey and some other guy right behind him. “Lukey.
We heard you were looking for more.” Tinker’s smile showed the same
fierce glee Lucas was feeling.
“Get inside,” Lucas said quietly to Father
Mark, but he didn’t look away from Tinker. Louder, he said, “I’m
not looking for anything. But if you are, I can help you out.”
The three men had been moving forward
steadily and now they formed a loose semi-circle just out of
Lucas’s range. Apparently they’d decided to ignore their original
target, at least for the time being. Mikey snorted and looked at
Tinker. He had his mouth open to say something, but he never got
the chance.
Lucas rocketed forward, all his weight and
strength and rage powering his fist into Mikey’s jaw. As Mikey
fell, Lucas caught his shoulders and guided him in just the right
direction for his face to connect with Lucas’s upswinging knee. The
pain in his hand was a symphony, the contact with his knee an
almost orgasmic explosion. He kept his body in motion, spun so his
elbow found Tinker’s temple, and tried to keep his balance as the
third guy tackled him. But he fell. He’d known he’d fall. He’d
known he couldn’t take on three fit men, even with surprise on his
side. This hadn’t been about winning, just about buying Father Mark
time to get away.
He turned his head as the first blow came and
took the hit on his skull instead of his eye. He heard the third
man’s howl of pain—broken hand. Even in defeat, Lucas would do as
much damage as he could.
Tinker was leaning dizzily against the wall
but Mikey had staggered to his feet, ignoring the blood all over
his face, and he was clearly getting ready to start kicking. The
third guy was cradling his broken hand but he was still on top of
Lucas, pinning him to the hard concrete. Lucas tried to twist
around and get loose because he wasn’t ready to give up, but he
knew it was over. Still, he’d given Father Mark enough time to get
inside.
Which made it pretty hard to understand why
there was a sudden blur of motion and the guy straddling Lucas was
toppling to the side, freeing Lucas. Father Mark sprawled over top
of the guy, punching enthusiastically if ineffectively at the
hunched shoulders beneath him. Fuck. He wasn’t inside, so Lucas’s
fight wasn’t over. He rolled to his feet just as Mikey sent a kick
in his direction. Mikey’s foot found empty air instead of Lucas’s
ribs and the big man lost his balance as his leg kept swinging.
Perfect. Lucas grabbed the waving foot and heaved Mikey over onto
his back. Then he seized Mark’s shoulder and pulled him away.
“Let’s go! Get your ass inside!”
Finally the priest was moving, but he had a
firm grip on Lucas’s wrist, dragging him up the stairs and away
from the recovering attackers. He let go of Lucas to fumble with
his keys and Lucas kept his eyes on the men below. Mikey was the
first to approach, but he was cautious, standing with one foot on
the bottom step but not coming any closer.
Mark had the door open now and was tugging on
the back of Lucas’s shirt. God, Lucas wanted to push him away,
wanted to charge back into the fight. He wasn’t afraid of losing,
wasn’t afraid of pain. He wasn’t even afraid of dying, not right
then. He just wanted to keep feeling alive, wanted the adrenaline
rush and fierce joy of battle.
“Lucas, come on,” Mark tugged at his wrist.
“The door will lock behind us. We’ll call the police. Come on.”
It was the voice of reason, and Lucas forced
himself to listen to it. He let Mark drag him into the building,
his gaze locked on Mikey’s as the glass door swung shut between
them. The lock clicked and finally Lucas took a few steps backward
before letting Mark turn him around and drag him up the stairs. The
energy flowing through his body was so intense he was almost
trembling and his attention was skittering from one stimuli to the
next, focusing like a laser for the split second it took to decide
whether something was a risk, then moving on. The sensation was
perfect. Addictive. Deadly.
But Mark didn’t seem to be enjoying the
situation. His fingers were shaking so much he struggled to get the
key into the lock. His voice was almost a shout as he demanded,
“Lucas, what was that? What just happened?”
No. Lucas didn’t want to talk about it. He
didn’t want to muddy it with words, didn’t want to think about what
it meant that he’d fallen into his old ways so easily. When the
door finally opened, he pushed Mark inside, and it was only then
that he realized how close their bodies were. Mark didn’t help,
turning without moving away and running his hands gently over
Lucas’s ribs. “He kicked you. Are you okay?”
Lucas was more than okay. He was alive. He
had conquered, or at least survived. He’d fought his battle, and
now it was time to claim his prize. Mark gasped as Lucas surged
forward, spinning their bodies and wedging his knee between Mark’s
thighs. Mark was surprised, but he didn’t push Lucas away, or even
say anything. He just stared, his eyes as wide as Lucas knew his
own must be.
There were no doubts in Lucas’s mind. No
thoughts, either. Just emotions and excitement. His body was
pulsing as he pinned Mark against the wall and it was the most
natural thing in the world to grab the back of Mark’s head and pull
their mouths together. Lucas’s kiss was fierce, teeth and tongue
and hard lips claiming and dominating the man before him. He wasn’t
fighting anymore, but he was still feral.
It only lasted a few moments before some part
of Lucas’s brain kicked back into gear. What the hell was he doing?
He jerked his head away and they stared at each other again. Mark’s
eyes were wide, his body rigid with shock. Lucas couldn’t breathe
properly as the enormity of his transgression sank onto his chest
and began to squeeze.
The knock on the door was like an explosion,
knocking Lucas away from Mark. The voice was almost as loud as the
knock. “Mr. Webber? It’s Constable Parker—can you open the door,
please?”
Parker. One of the cops from that first
night, outside the bar. Lucas’s excitement shifted from wild
triumph to something much different. He wanted to fight again, or
maybe to run away. There must be a fire escape somewhere. He didn’t
have to face this.
“Your parole,” Mark said in a hushed voice.
He was clearly just realizing the situation. “You’re out past
curfew. And…fighting? Would they call it fighting?”
“They’ll probably call it assault,” Lucas
said. The excitement was draining away.
“You saved me.”
“I hit first.”
“Because you needed the surprise! There were
three of them!”
It was nice to know that Mark understood
that. He didn’t think Lucas was just a goon looking for trouble.
But it wasn’t something the police were likely to appreciate.
The voice came through the door again, even
louder this time. “Mr. Webber? Police—please open the door.”
Mark looked wildly around the apartment. “You
could go in the bedroom. Stay in there until they leave! They don’t
have to know who helped me.”
Mark’s agitation had a strangely calming
effect on Lucas. Of course Mark would want to help. That was what
he did. Who he was. But of course Lucas couldn’t let him. Lucas had
made his choices and he’d accept the consequences, without doing
anything that would entangle Mark in a cover-up or make him some
sort of accessory to Lucas’s parole violations. He took a deep
breath and shook his head. “No. It’s okay.”
Mark looked doubtful but when the hammering
started on the door again, he responded to Lucas’s nod and pulled
the door open. “Constable Parker,” he said. “Come in.”