Chapter 2
Sinclair
Weston reaches for Saint’s face and grips his nose, "Ready?"
Saint nods.
"It’s going to hurt like a bitch."
Saint says something that emerges garbled. Still holding Saint’s nose, Weston glances around at us, then jerks his chin. Baron and I head for them; we each grab one of Saint’s shoulders.
"Here goes," Weston focusses on Saint’s face, "3... 2... 1... "
I grasp his unhurt shoulder as Baron grips the bicep of his other arm.
Weston flicks his wrist. Saint yells; his body jerks.
Weston steps back and Saint straightens, his chest rising up and down rapidly.
"Fuck, me," he growls, then twists his torso out of our grasp.
He turns to stare at himself in the mirror.
"Fuck me," he repeats, but now his tone holds a hint of wonderment.
I peer at his reflection to find his nose is no longer crooked—whoa! Also, the bleed has slowed to a trickle from one nostril.
Weston grabs a few paper towels from the sink. He hands them over to Saint, "May as well wad them and stuff them up your nostrils."
"I don’t think so," Saint mutters.
Weston holds up his hands, "Have it your way, douchebag. You should probably go to the hospital and get that looked at."
"Fuck that," he growls, then wads up a paper towel and stuffs it up his nostrils anyway. "You really going to med school then?"
Weston shuffles his feet, glances between the rest of us, then back at Saint. "We-l-l." He rubs the back of his neck. "It’s something I’d been planning on telling you guys for a while now…but," he raises his shoulders, "it never seemed to be the right time—"
"What’s it not the right time for?" Damian strolls in, his guitar slung over his back. He glances around, takes in our faces. "Why do you all look like someone just got kidnapped?"
Weston grimaces, "Seriously, you’re gonna use that on us?"
Damian blows out a breath, "You’re right, that was a bad joke. Just trying to make light of the matter at hand… Which seems rather serious, but you still haven’t told me about, by the way."
He takes in our faces, the way we have our gazes directed at Weston.
"What did you do now?" he asks.
"Me?" Weston rolls his shoulders. "Who said I did anything?"
"He’s off to med school," Baron drawls, as Arpad walks in.
"Who’s off to med school?" he asks.
I jerk my chin in Weston’s direction, "He is."
Arpad blinks, then bursts out laughing. "Mr. Scion-to-an-industrialist, being groomed to take over from his father, deciding to become a doctor?" He snorts, "Now I’ve heard everything."
"Shut up, you shitstain," Weston snaps. "You think I can’t go to med school? And that’s my brother you’re describing, you asshole. He’s the one taking over the family business. Not me."
Arpad smirks, "Oh, I think you can attend med school, all right. Completing the courses and becoming a doctor, though?" He shakes his head, "We’ll see how that works out."
"Not all of us want to take off on our yachts and chase storms," Weston grumbles. "Some of us feel a little more responsibility toward our families."
"Yeah, right, mama’s boy. Don’t go crying back home when the studies get too much for you."
"Don’t talk about my mother, you wanker." Weston holds up his fists and walks forward.
"Wanna fight?" Arpad pushes up the sleeves of his sweat shirt. He advances and Edward steps between them.
"Stop it, you guys."
"Keep out of it, Ed." Arpad glowers. "Let me teach that piece of shit that he can’t threaten without following through on his promises."
"It’s you who needs to watch out, pretty boy." Weston swipes around Edward. Arpad ducks, and Weston stumbles forward.
Edward jumps aside as Weston topples to the floor. Arpad reaches down to haul Weston up by his collar, his fist poised in front of Weston’s face, when Edward declares, "I’m joining the seminary."
"What?" Baron turns to him, "What did you—?"
Weston’s fist crashes into Arpad’s cheek. His head snaps back. The next second, he jumps forward, throws himself at Weston. The two crash, going down in a tangle of arms and legs.
"Timberrrr!" Saint runs forward and jumps on them.
There’s a yell from someone. Arpad? Someone else groans, probably Wes, as he currently constitutes the base of the human pyramid.
"Enough." Edward places his fingers to his mouth and whistles. The sound pierces through the space, and silence descends again. This time, broken only by the groans and grunts of the three imbeciles on the ground.
Baron and I exchange glances, then march toward the knobheads. I grab Saint by his collar, haul him up and shove him aside.
Baron grabs Arpad and throws him the other way. Arpad stumbles over and collapses onto the couch as Weston turns on his back and groans. "Jesus." He frowns, "What the fuck is wrong with you guys?"
"What’s wrong with you, that you started a fight? You… The most easygoing of all of us."
He sits up, rubs his chin. He holds out his hand and I grasp it and haul him to his feet. "Seriously, though, Wes, the hell is up with you?"
"Nothing," he mumbles. "It wasn’t easy coming to this decision, and it certainly didn’t help when Arpad, asshole, decided to shit all over it either."
The skin tightens across his cheeks. I take in his tense features, his flared nostrils, the dilated eyes. "Jesus, you’re scared, huh?’
"Of course, not."
"Don’t shit me, man," I growl. "You’re worried you won’t make it through the courses."
"I have to." He squeezes his eyes shut. "When my father died of a heart attack, I swore I’d never be that helpless again. He collapsed right in front of my eyes, and I couldn’t do anything to help him. I tried to help, you know. Gave him CPR and stuff…but it didn’t help.
I couldn’t do anything but watch as he choked in front of my eyes.
By the time the first responders had arrived, he was gone. "
"Shit," I grab his shoulder and squeeze, "you can’t blame yourself for what happened. It was as much of a twist of fate as…as…"
"The Seven of us being kidnapped."
My heart begins to thud. The taste of the rag that had been stuffed into my mouth, the ropes that had been tied around my arms and ankles, which had cut into my skin every time I had moved—it all returns in a rush of sensation.
They’d blindfolded me so I wouldn’t know where I was.
Days… Weeks… I had spent in the darkness, with only my thoughts for company. Shit.
I play with the clasp of my watch—click-click-click—and the sound reaches me, steadies me, grounds me. I draw in one breath, then another, open my eyes to find the rest watching me.
"You okay, Sinner?" Saint asks.
"Why wouldn’t I be?" I snap. "Unlike Edward here, who’s decided he’s going to run away and join a monastery—"
"A seminary, you prick."
"Shouldn’t you stop swearing now that you are on your way to becoming a man of God?"
"I am still here, aren’t I?" Edward remarks.
"For how long, though?" Baron growls. "And when did you come to this awesome decision of running away?"
"I decided yesterday." He runs his fingers under the collar of his shirt. Huh? If I’m not mistaken Ed seems nervous. And Ed’s never nervous. He’s the most collected of us. So why the hell is there a sheen of sweat on his forehead?
"So, your mind’s made up then?" Baron tilts his head. "Nothing I—" he pauses, "nothing we say can dissuade you from it?"
"Are you—" Edward sets his jaw, "I mean, is anyone here going to stop me from pursuing what’s clearly my calling?"
"Calling, huh?" A nerve throbs at Baron’s temple. "Or is it simply a way of escaping coming to terms with what those asshole kidnappers did to each of us?"
Edward chuckles, "Is that what you think? That I am running away?"
"Aren’t you?"
"No." Edward lowers his chin. "It’s the most difficult decision I have ever made." The two glare at each other as something unsaid seems to tremble in the air between them. The hair on the back of my neck rises. Shit, what the hell is happening to us?
After the incident, we’d fought a lot, but hell, if we hadn’t always managed to come to some kind of understanding… But this. This is different. There is a tension in the air between the two of them which I’ve never noticed before.
"What the hell is wrong with the two of you?" I stare between them. "Why the hell are you two fighting when today could possibly be the last time that we are all together in one room?"
The tension increases, stretches, then Baron yawns, "Oh, what-bloody-ever. The future Father, here, is clearly on a mission to help the world. I understand the attraction in that."
"You do?" Edward frowns.
"Of course." Baron grins. "It’s easier to preach to strangers than stand your ground and face your own demons."
Edward pales. Then color flushes his cheeks, a nerve throbs at his temple, and he takes a step forward.
Shit, this isn’t good. The only other time I’ve seen Edward this upset was when we were kidnapped.
Our captors had drugged us, then blindfolded us and bound us.
When we’d come to in the room that they’d thrown us into, we had all been too weak to move.
My blindfold had slipped enough for me to make out the prone figures in the room.
Except Edward. He’d grappled with his restraints, and managed to break free.
He'd taken off his blindfold, lurched to his feet.
He'd even managed to loosen my restraints, but then our kidnappers had returned.
They’d wrestled him back to the ground, and he’d fought them every step of the way. His features then had the same determined look that he has now. And that was the last I’d seen of any of my friends for the next month.
Blindfolded... Gagged… And separated... My heart begins to thud.
Adrenaline laces my blood, and a bead of sweat runs down my back.
Darkness thrums at the edges of my vision.
Shit, hell, this is not good. I am not going to lose it.
Not now. I need to get ahold of myself. Focus, focus.
I toy with the clasp of my watch—click-click-click—and the sound penetrates through the noise in my head.
I draw in a breath, another. My vision clears.
I march over to stand between Baron and Edward. "Cut it out, you guys," I growl. "It’s time we start acting a little more mature, don’t you think?"
"Actually let’s not hurry it yet," Damian calls from his perch on the lone stool in the corner. "After all, you do want to have fun at my first concert, don’t you?"