24. GUILT
24
GUILT
Blair leaned heavily on the bar. He heard the squeaking of Spencer polishing a glass behind him; the same one he’d been polishing since they walked in. It was as though the bar had been gutted and they all stood there in the rubble, even though the hardwoods shone with the same luster as always, the stickers still in the corners of the windows where they had been replaced after the shootout. The smell of cigarette smoke still clung to every porous surface in the room.
The silence was as palpable as a human presence. When it was broken, it felt like an attack on the fragile peace of mind they had found in not acknowledging the situation out loud.
“I should have done somethi—” Blair started.
“Don’t you dare be so submerged in your own guilt to believe that you’re the only one who failed him,” Reymond said sharply, turning from the window.
“Doc,” Spencer said. He finally put the glass he’d been polishing down on the bar. “Come on, now.”
Reymond’s shoulders sunk. He rubbed his eyes under his glasses, ringed as they were with dark circles from exhaustion. “You’re right. I apologize. I’m just… tired.”
“I get it. Believe me, I do.” Blair offered him the closest thing he could get to a smile at the moment. “It’s fine.”
“I’m sorry, Kennedy,” Spencer said, tapping a cigarette out of his pack. The Incindious logo on his Zippo blazed in the fading light of the day. “But he’s gone, and he’s not coming back.”
24 Hours Earlier
Blair watched Julian get into the passenger seat of Spencer’s car, and Marie do the same with Felix. He had been leaning against his bike with his thumb hovering over a contact for the last ten minutes, but seeing how close they were to leaving finally forced him to tap the phone icon while he still had time.
It rang until Blair thought it would go to voicemail, but finally his mom answered. “Hey, sweetie.”
“Hey, Mom.” Blair was glad he was too exhausted and empty for his voice to betray him, because he knew if she asked him if he was okay, he would just break down all over again. “Are Hope and Tristan with you?”
“Yeah, they’re here. Want me to put you on speaker?”
“Please.”
He heard her say something that he couldn’t understand, then his siblings chorused, “Blair!”
Tristan’s voice made Blair’s chest hurt. It took him back to a strange night, when a beautiful man showed up on his doorstep and asked, “Where did the iguana come from?”
“Hey guys. I was just thinking about you and wanted to tell the three of you that I love you,” Blair said.
Blair had wanted the next time he talked to his mother to be when he told her about Wren. He guessed that wasn’t an option anymore.
His siblings said they loved him, too, but his mother was intuitive, too much so to make this easy. Her voice sharpened with concern as she started to ask, “Blair, are you—”
Blair hung up.
He knew the others were waiting for him. It was time to go. He pocketed his phone, straddled his bike, and started a drive he didn’t know if he would return from.
The rain had stopped by the time they got to College Point and though it was still overcast, the first rays of sun were starting to illuminate the dark clouds. The streets were quiet. Or at least, there was none of the noise that they would be listening for. There were young kids coming and going. People going back and forth to school or their jobs, not double checking the spare mags in their pockets or making sure their weapons were snug in their waistbands. Just people. Just people who weren’t going to war.
They drove through the main drag and kept going until downtown receded into the residential areas. The deeper they sunk into enemy territory, the more he anticipated a gunshot to ring out, a sniper round to take out his tire or go through Felix’s windshield. It wouldn’t be the first time Phantom knew they were coming. Them taking Wren almost guaranteed that Incidindious’ arrival would be expected. What riddled Blair with anxiety was not knowing if Wren was a hostage or a taunt—depending on which it was, Wren would be kept alive.
The alternative was unfathomable.
Wren was alive. He had to be.
The Mustang slowed in front of him and Blair matched pace. Spencer fell to the side and stopped at the edge of the sidewalk. Blair leaned to the left and brought the bike to a stop. He put the kickstand down, and Felix got out, leaving his car parked right there in the lane. It worried Blair that much more that Felix would leave the car which he treasured so much in the middle of the road, as if he didn’t care if it got hit. Or as if he didn’t expect to return to it. Spencer and Julian got out, and Marie took the long rifle case out of the Mustang’s trunk. Felix walked a few paces down the road. A wind picked up between the row of industrial buildings to their right and the houses to their left. It blew his coat around his body, his red boots as bright and shocking against the asphalt as a bloodstain.
“They’re in the office building. Spence, Kennedy, work your way up and cut down any of Isaac’s people you find along the way. Isaac should be at the very top. Julian, try to find their security and take it out. Marie, get somewhere high on the neighboring building and take care of anyone who tries to flee.”
Blair stood up from the bike a little too quick. “We’re splitting up? Where are you going?”
“Blair,” Felix said, and looked over his shoulder. “I’ll see ya on the other side. Alright?”
Blair swallowed. It would have probably been audible if not for the whistle of the wind. Felix had never used his name. “See you, Boss,” Blair said, his anger with Felix briefly forgotten.
Felix didn’t look back. He just started walking. Blair saw him reach into his coat, and then a plume of smoke rose above his head but for a moment before getting blown away. He looked to his right but the others were just as fixated on Felix’s retreating back as he had been.
Spencer was the first to break the silence. “You heard him. Let’s move.”
Wren’s captor was a restless one. They got up to pace a lot. Every time they did, their steps echoed in the small room, and Wren timed the movements of his hands with them. If he was keeping track correctly, he should be over halfway through the zip tie. One more round of pacing and he should be through it. His throat hurt like a bitch.
“There sure wasn’t a lot of information about you online,” Jinx said, rotating on a shiny heel to come back towards him.
“I’m not one for social media.”
“We have access to a lot more than social media, honey.” Jinx crouched in front of him again and Wren could see the darkness under their eyes that wasn’t quite hidden by their makeup. They looked exhausted. “It almost looks like you dropped out of the sky three years ago and landed in Manhattan with an apartment and tuition paid for by a bank account overseas. So, what are you doing hanging around Incindious?”
Irritation flared in his chest. “Fuck Incindious.”
Jinx raised their eyebrows. “Well, I’m with you there. But you can’t tell me with a background like yours that you didn’t have an angle.”
“Why would I tell you if I did?” Also, Wren had no background to speak of, unless coming from an obscene amount of money counted.
Jinx laughed. Like their voice, it was disturbingly pleasant, almost soft. They raised a hand and struck him across the face. Wren grimaced; they were wearing a ring and it must have had a decent sized stone in it. The prongs of the setting scratched him, leaving hot trails of blood across his cheek.
Jinx patted Wren’s uninjured cheek. “Because I asked nicely.”
What had he been doing around Incindious? Surely his dislike of them should have been enough to discourage him from pursuing Blair, and yet the pain from their conversation still lanced deep in his heart and he could still feel the pendant against his chest that he hadn’t been able to take off. Green eyes and tan skin and touches too gentle for someone like him raced through his mind.
“If you went to the trouble of bringing me here, you already know I’m with one of their people.” I’m not telling you he broke up with me so you can decide I’m no longer useful and slit my throat.
“And I’m sure a man with seemingly no identity for the beginning of his life just met a handsome gangster at the coffee shop and the sparks flew? Don’t mock me. We know better than anyone that if a ghost is walking among men they have a purpose.”
Wren wasn’t surprised his father had wiped their records when they left Los Angeles, with his damned paranoia. “If you want to question a ghost, call Eli Masters and ask why I don’t have any records. I don’t have any secrets, you damn lunatic.”
No sooner than the words left his mouth did he see his error, and that it had the potential to be a fatal one. Jinx’s eyes widened. At first he thought he had finally antagonized his captor past the limits of their patience, but the look in their eyes was one of recognition.
“I heard the Masters line of assassins died out years ago. How about that,” Jinx said, grabbing his chin. “Isaac will have to forgive me.”
Wren met dark, deranged eyes. There was a new aggression to them, two of their long nails digging into Wren’s jaw. Whoever Jinx thought he was, or thought his father was, put him in significantly more danger than he was in before. His brain processed his next thoughts faster than it should have been able to but he attributed it to the fact his life depended on it.
His value as a target had just outweighed his value as a negotiating tool.
The next time Jinx moved, it would be to kill him.
He had to get out of this fucking chair.
They moved at the same time. Jinx drew a blade from under their coat, and Wren pulled his hands apart with enough force to break his restraints. His feet were still tied to the chair so if he dodged he wouldn’t be able to move far enough to get out of striking range. If he tried to block Jinx’s blade with his own he would lose, as he had no doubt this person was stronger than him.
Wren spun the throwing knife into a position that would allow him a better grip, and lashed out at Jinx’s eye.
Jinx was committed to their own attack, so Wren still felt the cold bite of their blade sinking into his arm. His only salvation was that his own attack had thrown Jinx’s slightly off course, so the knife didn’t nick an artery. Wren’s strike hadn’t reached its target, either. He could see now that he had connected just above Jinx’s eye, but it bled profusely and he took advantage of their temporary blindness and to cut his legs free. Wren threw himself as far to the side as he could and no sooner than he rolled up onto his feet did he see a blade sticking in the chair where he had just been. There was a pile of black hair— his hair—on the ground from where that blade had cut through it, barely missing Wren’s face. Jinx yanked it out of the chair and faced him.
“He taught you well,” Jinx said, voice lower and harsher without its fake sweetness.
“Fuck you,” Wren said, flicking his knife and leaving an arc of blood on the floor. “And him.”
Their blades clashed and Wren’s arm shook with the effort of keeping Jinx at bay. And that’s with the arm that isn’t wounded , Wren noted with concern. He saw a metallic flash from the corner of his eye and leapt back when a second knife came into play. Jinx spun them with unsettling confidence. They were probably just playing with their food, at this point. Could he use that to his advantage? His mind raced, muddled by pain both emotional and physical, and possibly by blood loss. He needed to slow the circulation to his arm before he started getting lightheaded.
I can’t beat them in a fight of weapons , he realized. The gap in their experience and strength was tremendous. Wren took a step back and Jinx chased the opening, which he’d expected, and he kicked high towards Jinx’s wrist. A blade clattered across the floor. Thank god . He would rather fight one knife than two, at the very least. He continued the movement of his kick with his torso, following the downward motion of his leg to hopefully evade the strike he knew was coming from Jinx’s other hand. Jinx had followed through with their attack after being wounded before, so Wren had no doubt they would do the same now.
Then there was a sudden grip around his leg and he instantly regretted his assumption.
Jinx followed Wren’s change in position with ease, closing his leg between two deceptively nimble, incredibly strong arms and ripped the floor out from under him. The weight of my body is nothing to this person… they’re a fucking monster. Jinx used his own momentum against him and sent him flying. He collided with the desk across the room and he hoped it was the furniture and not his back that he heard cracking. His shoulder didn’t feel right at all. His shirt was torn halfway off his arm and the air stung every inch of the exposed flesh. Jinx was already back in front of him, standing over him, and shoved a boot onto Wren’s twisted shoulder.
“That was a good try. You might have been trained by some of the best, but while you’ve been playing doctor and shacking up with a gangster, I’ve been killing people for a living.”
“Did you talk their ears off too or am I getting the special treatment?” Wren asked around the coppery taste in his mouth. That was one hell of a throw.
Jinx ground their foot down into Wren’s shoulder. Pain shot all the way down his arm and he gritted his teeth but his lips spread into grin at the white-hot sensation. For years, pain had been his only solace from the numbness. It was practically an old friend. He grabbed Jinx’s boot and looked up at them. Jinx stiffened, likely preparing for Wren to try to dislodge him, but their composure faltered as Wren only pulled it down harder.
“Are you trying to hurt me?” Wren asked, spots dancing at the edges of his vision as he increased the pressure on his shoulder—which he was almost sure was dislocated. The pain brought involuntary tears to his eyes and he started to laugh. He twisted his hand and knew he had hit his mark when he saw Jinx’s face contort, and blood began to soak his fingers. “You’ll have to do better than that.” Wren’s knife had slid through the expensive leather of their boot effortlessly, just past where the cap of the steel toe ended and right into Jinx’s foot, giving Wren the leverage he needed. He lurched forward against Jinx’s boot and he could just barely hear the awful sound of his shoulder being relocated against it over the ringing in his ears.
Wren let go of the knife and left it right where it was, embedded in Jinx’s foot. He heaved himself up to stand, sending Jinx stumbling backward. The longer strands of his bangs were stuck to his face with sweat or blood or maybe both. He was hypersensitive to the knives between his fingers. Adrenaline. It had to be, it was the only thing that could be keeping him alert through the growing list of injuries he was obtaining.
Then, over both of their heavy breathing in the small room and the whir of computers still left operational after his collision with the desk, he heard a gunshot. No, two. Almost simultaneous.
Jinx’s head jerked toward the sound and Wren knew this was the best chance he would get to escape this room alive. Jinx didn’t lock the door when they came into the room. At least not that he’d seen and he had to hope he was right. He threw the door open and staggered into the hallway that was twisting from side to side like the illusion tunnels in a fun house. Was he still bleeding or was the dampness he felt only from sweat? He didn’t know, didn’t have time to investigate. He had to run.
His brain made a hurried assessment of what he saw. One door to his left with a plain doorknob, two more to his right that were the same. One additional door to the left with a metal handle. That one, it had to be that one. No sooner than he grabbed the handle and pushed it open did he hear boots crunching through the aftermath of their fight in the computer room. Fuck. He’d known that even the hole he put in their foot wouldn’t deter Jinx for long but he had hoped for a little more time than this. The door he chose let him into a stairwell and climbed the stairs as fast as his aching body would allow. The gunshots had come from below so that was the last place he needed to be.
He had barely reached the next landing when he heard the door he had just used crash open. Well, he thought, pulling himself up another flight of stairs, maybe not the last place, but it’s probably not ideal.
The gap between them was closing too fast. Every time he heard Jinx’s footsteps they sounded closer, so he pushed through the next door he reached. Wren gasped as wind blew around his body and stung his wounds. He pressed his back against the door. The roof. He was on the motherfucking roof. He hadn’t even realized there were no more stairs to ascend even if he’d wanted to. He heard Jinx reach the other side of the door. I won’t be able to hold it. Jinx is too strong. Of course he had managed to get away, only to end up at the deadest of all dead ends. He looked up at the day bleeding out of the sky, the ruby colored sunset stretching out before him as though it meant to see him off.
The door flew open and knocked him forward, onto his knees. He was barely able to roll onto his back before Jinx snatched him up. His head lolled back in their grip and he laughed softly; what a ridiculous way to die. Jinx was talking but their voice was a distant hum and their face swam in and out of focus. The pain in Wren’s body had ebbed to numbness.
Wren couldn’t die yet, he still had too many questions. What the hell was Jinx talking about with my family?
And Blair. The blurry image of Jinx before him faded into green eyes and lightly calloused hands, soft lips against his and making him ask more questions than he ever had before. The biggest question of them all was still unanswered and it was the only pain he could still feel at the moment. Blair, he thought, why did you leave? You said you couldn’t be distracted, but—
Jinx was walking them both forward and Wren thought they might have been approaching the edge but he was already being held off the ground, so he couldn’t tell. Plus, his vision was too blurred to make sense of his surroundings.
But—
He could feel Blair’s fingers, capable of so much violence and destruction, clasping the necklace that still sat against his skin among blood and tattered clothes. Blair’s eyes looking at him with such terrifying and unfamiliar things reflected in them.
I don’t believe you.
Jinx shook him and briefly jarred his vision back into place. They were still talking but Wren didn’t hear a word of it. Also, there was now a second Jinx, the mirror images occasionally joining before blurring apart again. Wren knew he wouldn’t be conscious much longer. He stood on his tiptoes, trying to breathe, but Jinx’s grip under his jaw only tightened further.
Blair, loopy on morphine, smiled at Wren from his memories. “You are my sunshine, my only sunshine? You know, from the song?”
Then it all went dark.
Blair squeezed the trigger and the man before him crumpled to the ground. Another lunged at him from the side and Blair struck them in the temple with the butt of his other gun without looking. He just kept moving forward. They had parted ways with Felix on the ground floor but his confusion and concern over Felix’s absence was a distant thought in the back of his mind now. Blair’s sole focus was his ascent of the building, clearing one floor at a time, searching it for Wren before moving to the next one. Spencer had his back but Blair’s rampage left little room for assistance.
On each floor, Blair left the last one alive long enough to shove the barrel of his 92 under their chin and ask, “Where is Wren Masters?”
None of them had been able to answer him. None of them were alive anymore.
There were two people in the last room of the tenth floor. Blair held a gun out to either side and shot them both in the head. The interrogations clearly weren’t working anyway. He turned and walked out of the room, kicking the twin empty shell casings aside as he went. Spencer fell in step with him as they made for the next floor.
Blair heard a crashing sound from above them. He jerked open the door to the stairwell and raced up the stairs. It could have been anything, but he had an undeniable feeling in his gut.
Wren .