Xavier
Matthew nervously steps out of the car. “Should I have something?” he asks quietly. “A g-gun or—or something?”
“No,” Miles says shortly. “You’d be more of a liability armed.”
Matthew frowns. “That’s kind of rude.”
“Have you ever shot a gun?” Miles double-checks his own as if reminded.
“No?”
“People who are armed and untrained are far more dangerous than ones that are trained.”
“That doesn’t make any sense.” He nervously clutches at his pants. “What happens if—”
“We’ll protect you,” Hunter says, opening his boot to pull out the insert that hides the weapons we’d stashed in there. Carrying them on the way there is just asking for trouble.
“You didn’t even know what I was going to say.”
Hunter clips his holster to his waist and slides the gun in. He turns to Matthew, crowding him against the side of the car. “It doesn’t matter. We’ll protect you. No matter what happens, you stay behind us. Don’t make a sound, don’t try to play hero, don’t do anything. Do you understand?”
“I came to help.”
Hunter cradles Matthew’s cheeks. He pulls Matthew forward, resting their foreheads together.
“You help me by staying safe. By listening. Help doesn’t have to be loud, or flashy, or be about taking direct action.
It can be subtle and still be important.
” His mouth hovers over Matthew’s, glancing without touching properly.
He exhales loudly and then steps back. “Later,” he promises.
Later. I’ll hold him to that.
Matthew nods unsteadily, remaining silent while we finish arming ourselves.
Miles only retrieves one gun, much preferring other methods. Enough to use if required, not something he relies on. “Let’s go.”
“What about Jericho? Didn’t you say he was coming?”
“He’s further away than us. We’ll scope the place out while we wait for him.”
Matthew looks around, eyes wide. Buildings beside us, a large strip of road beside the docks itself, and shipping containers as far as the eyes can see. “Uh, how far is the meeting?”
“I hope those shoes are comfortable,” Hunter says, corner of his mouth lifting briefly.
Matthew stares down at them as if trying to decide.
I grip his nape and pull him back, kissing his temple. “We don’t want the sound of the car to alert them to our presence. The element of surprise is our friend.”
He grabs the back of my shirt, always one step behind me.
Miles stays at the back, head on a swivel, with Hunter at the front, guiding us, using the internal map he’s memorised.
He’s always been a good navigator. Years of being chauffeured means that my directional skills aren’t as developed as other things I can do.
By the time we’re close to reaching our destination, Matthew’s breathing is ragged—more likely out of fear than fitness related, but the walk was a fair distance—and he’s clenching my shirt so tightly that it’s stretched across my chest like a second skin. I don’t ask him to let go.
Hunter stops, holding up a hand. “We’re almost there,” he says quietly. “Matthew, remember—”
“I know. Stay behind you, stay quiet.”
“We don’t know exactly what we’re going to run into. We’re not here to stop the drugs exchanging hands or to take them into custody. We’re after Lester. Once he’s done, and he goes to leave, we intercept.”
“We’re just going to let them go, and t-take their drugs into the city?” Matthew asks. “Shouldn’t we do something about it?”
“No,” Hunter says simply. “We have one priority. Authorities will have to deal with the rest of it. We can gather information for them to make it easier for them, but we’re not to engage. Understand?”
“I love it when you get bossy,” I say, leering at him.
Instead of getting annoyed or waving me off, he grasps my tie and pulls me into a wet, open-mouthed kiss that’s entirely inappropriate for the situation and also the best fucking thing in the world.
He goes to pull away, and I palm his cheek, keeping him for just a little longer, soaking in the taste of him.
“Ready?” Miles asks, eyebrow raised in what’s most definitely judgement.
“Mmm, think so,” I murmur.
Things go FUBAR far quicker than even I anticipated. One second, we’re walking through the stacks of shipping containers, counting as we go, and then Hunter steps around one and almost catches a bullet in the side.
He curses and moves back, pulling out his gun. Miles and I do the same, Matthew firmly between us.
“Did we miss a lookout?” Miles says, frowning. He taps Hunter’s shoulder, and they switch places, him on the outside. He peers around the corner. More shots. Coming from closer this time. “Careful, I think they’re surrounding us.” He leans his head back against the container. “Cover me.”
Hunter nods, and then Miles is darting to the container across the aisle, spreading us out.
“Oh my God,” Matthew whispers, hands clenched on his thighs. “What do we do?”
“Stay calm.” Panicking will only put us at a disadvantage.
“You know what I hate about technology?” Hunter says, cursing under his breath. “How small everything is getting. They could have put a half dozen cameras up everywhere, and we’d never see them.” He fires blindly around the corner.
“Is Lester there?” I press Matthew against the container, right in the middle, coax him to slide down until he’s huddled on the ground, and gesture for him to stay.
He looks terrified, but he nods. I pull the knife I have hidden on my ankle and flip it around, handing it to him, handle first. He’s shaking, but he takes it, holding firmly.
There’s so much more that I should do to help him through this, but there’s no time.
A quick kiss to his forehead, lingering as much as I reasonably can, is all I can do.
A man comes around behind us, trying to be a sneaky fuck. I put a bullet through his head before he can so much as breathe in our direction.
Matthew makes a horrified sound, and he hunches over himself, vomiting at his feet.
Hunter was right; we should never have let him come here. Comfort will have to be given later; the men trying to kill us are the immediate issue that can’t wait.
A bullet goes past my ear, and I curse, ducking back behind the container. “How many are there?” Being a sitting duck is one of my least-favourite things.
“At least six,” Hunter says, peering around and firing with calculated precision. A grunt of pain accompanies one of the shots. Good.
“Lester is getting away,” Miles remarks, almost casually. “Making a run for it.”
Like fucking hell, he is. We lose him now and we might not get another chance for too long. I won’t risk that. Darting out of cover, I bolt in the direction Miles is looking.
“Xavier!” Hunter yells. “What the fuck are you doing?”
I zigzag through the containers, shooting to my left whenever I’m in an open space and more vulnerable.
“Fuck,” Hunter curses behind me, voice travelling further than I’d expect. “Miles, stay with Matthew.” Then there are footsteps following me. I’ll never turn down having Hunter at my back. I’m never safer than when I’m with him or Miles.
Lester doesn’t get far before I’m on him. He’s fast; I’m faster. He half turns and shoots at me. A bullet grazes my cheek, pain bursting across my face. Instead of returning fire the way I want to, I tackle him to the ground.
Shoving his face against the concrete, I stomp on his wrist, forcing him to let go of his weapon. Hunter is there in an instant, moving it out of reach.
“You had one shot, Lester,” I whisper harshly, leaning down to speak in his ear. He struggles, and I hold tighter, keeping him in place. “And you missed.”
He grunts in pain as I drag him to his feet and ram him up against the nearest shipping container, forearm against his throat to keep him in place, gun pressed to his stomach to further encourage him to stay still.
Shots to the gut aren’t quick; they’re painful and messy and he’s well aware of that.
There are more footsteps behind us, two sets, with urgency. I don’t turn around; I trust that Hunter will handle it. When there are no shots fired, I know that it’s Miles and Matthew.
“Where is he?” I demand. When there’s no answer, I nudge the barrel further into him, hard enough to bruise. “Tell me now.”
Still nothing. “There’s nothing to be gained by being stubborn. I can make this nice and slow. Drag it out for days. You give me what I want? I’ll make it quick.” The only mercy he’ll get from me.
“You can’t kill him,” Matthew says, voice pitching high.
“Can’t I?” What did he think we were coming here for? Information, yes. First and foremost, I came for blood, and blood is what I’ll get.
“You’re better than that.”
I might have laughed if any part of this situation was funny. “Context matters, Matthew. In this? No, I’m not better than that.”
Lester laughs, raspy from how much pressure I have on his throat. “Are you seriously trying to help me?” he croaks out. “You little idiot. He won’t spare me because you look at him with those fuck-me eyes.”
Matthew blinks. “My what?”
“Enough,” I growl tersely. I don’t have time for Lester’s games. “Tell me where he is.” It entirely depends on what he chooses to tell me. “And don’t lie to me.” The warning doesn’t need more than that.
“Please don’t.”
My eyes close in an attempt to find patience.
“Matthew, I need you to step away.” Stop looking at me like I’m more than what I am.
Hunter and Miles know who I am, and they accept that.
I need him to as well. Except that he isn’t like us.
His hands aren’t stained with blood. He hasn’t been to Hell and come out the other side, baptised in the hottest of flames.
“I can’t. I’m trying to help.”