Fortune's Favor

Chapter Eleven

Having left Avery a message on his cell phone and knowing James Foreman stood watch outside, Nathan felt free to shop. He picked up groceries Avery refused to buy. Doughnuts, some sodas, and candy bars. Nathan had a sweet tooth, and he admitted it. When he worried, it grew worse. But the health nut he currently lived with refused to cater to his needs. Health, schmealth. Nathan needed comfort food.

Then he decided to pick up a few pairs of jeans. His had holes. And on the way, he spotted a shirt and a sweater that would look perfect on Avery. More time to give Malcolm a shot at him gave Nathan a sense of purpose, and he threw himself into shopping. When Keegan bitched about it, Nathan told him the why of it, leaving out how much he actually enjoyed clothes shopping. So the gruff man could do nothing but wait around while he looked for bargains.

Three hours later, he figured he’d given Malcolm enough time to spot him while letting Avery get some much-needed rest. He needed to talk things over with Jack too. Sitting on his hands waiting wasn’t working. Nathan needed action. He intended to draw Malcolm to him. Dear Daddy would come if lured with the right bait—Nathan on a silver platter.

He returned to the house with Keegan bitching every other step.

“Damn shoe stores. You’re a frickin’ dude, act like it.”

“Get over yourself, Texas. Even cowboys wear boots.”

“Boots and jeans and flannel. One-stop shoppin’. But today…that was pure torture. Even Rory doesn’t put me through that.”

“No, she takes James with her.” Keegan’s partner was a clotheshorse and looked good in just about everything he wore. Nathan grinned. “Want me to grab James the next time I need help in the dressing room?”

Keegan growled something uncomplimentary under his breath. Nathan unlocked the door and released the alarm that flashed. Once he’d resecured the house, he called out for Avery. And got no response.

He and Keegan exchanged a glance.

“Go get him.” Keegan drew a weapon from behind his back, and Nathan could feel the psychic energy flare. No doubt the tall Texan readied telekinetic power to kick some ass if needed.

Nathan hurried into the bedroom, but he found nothing. No sign of a struggle, no sign of Avery.

“Huh.” He looked around and saw the jeans and shoes Avery had stacked on a side table were now missing.

Keegan entered, his eyes narrowed, wearing his game face. Huge and mean, Keegan invited trouble, and Nathan was happy to have him on the same team. The man held a gun in one hand and his cell in the other.

“James isn’t answering.”

Nathan’s heart raced. “Go find him. I’ll look around in here.”

“Rest of the house is clear,” Keegan offered, then handed Nathan his gun. “But take this just in case. You see anything wrong, yell for me.” Then he left to find his partner.

Nathan searched the house from top to bottom but saw nothing of Avery, only more to make him worry. Avery’s wallet, cell phone, and truck keys remained on the dresser. His gun was missing, and for some reason that made Nathan feel worse.

In looking for a clue to explain his lover’s disappearance, he tossed the bed.

What he saw under Avery’s pillow drained the blood from his head.

A black KA-BAR, the same type of knife he’d used to stab Malcolm, lay on the bed, a touch of red at the tip of the knife. The blade had been meticulously cleaned, the blood on the end a purposeful touch.

Nathan was afraid to handle it, scared to see his lover dead, killed at the hands of a madman. But he had to know.

He gripped the handle and flinched as psychic overload blasted him. It was indeed the same knife he’d used on his uncle—father…

Avery swore as a knife pricked his throat. He lay in bed but had the gun he kept close at all times pointed at Malcolm, ready to fire.

Malcolm shook his head. “If you want James Foreman’s body to be found, you’ll put that away.”

Avery lowered the gun and placed it in Malcolm’s hand, and Malcolm turned the weapon on Avery.

“Very good. Now sit up, slowly. Let’s see what little Nathan considers so precious, hmm?”

Avery’s expression didn’t change. “I’m going to kill you.” The even way he said it must have impressed Malcolm, because Nathan’s father smiled.

To Nathan’s horror, he noted a resemblance he’d never seen before.

“I think I like you, Major Holton. Your association with that bastard fuck of mine notwithstanding, you’ll make an admirable foe. I look forward to our dance, my young friend. Now quickly. Get dressed.”

Avery put on jeans, a sweater, and his shoes. Before he could reach for his jacket, Malcolm stepped behind him and shoved the blade deep into his side.

Avery grunted but didn’t flinch, and Malcolm tucked the gun into the back of his pants while his other hand held tight to the knife inside Avery.

“Such poise. You’re an old hand at this. And won’t that be fun?” Malcolm’s smile turned mean, his eyes narrowed, and he shoved Avery away, onto his hands and knees.

The dark blue of Avery’s sweater hid his wound, but Nathan saw him clutch his side. Saw his fingers stained red.

“Nothing life threatening for you, not yet.” Malcolm leaned down and stabbed Avery again, this time in the meat of his shoulder. His precise movements indicated a graceful skill, one that had only grown keener with time. “That’s going to stiffen up on you later. Be harder to fight back with that.” Malcolm spoke in a kind of clinical commentary. He grabbed a towel by his side. “Now stanch that blood. Out to the truck and get in.”

They walked, Avery in front of Malcolm, to a dark green SUV. Once there, Malcolm nodded to the back. “Open it and get in.”

Avery exploded in motion. He punched Malcolm in the face twice and tackled him to the ground. They wrestled for a bit before Avery suddenly slumped and stopped moving…

Nathan’s heart seemed to stop beating.

Then Malcolm shoved Avery off him, and Nathan saw the needle stuck in Avery’s neck.

“You fight well for a slut.” Malcolm’s grin showed bloody teeth. “Nathan is a screwup, but he at least chose someone who can handle himself. Mostly.”

Malcolm heaved Avery into the truck with some effort, but the strength in the older man was shocking. He wiped his mouth and nose free of blood and smoothed down his coat. Then he picked up the gun that had fallen and tucked it back into his jacket.

He shut the back hatch of the vehicle, disappeared once more into the house, and returned. When he entered the car, he looked down at the blade Nathan and Avery had been directed to bring back.

But when he spoke, he directed his words to Nathan. “Come to me, Nathan. Come to Daddy. You know where. And come alone, or your ass fucker dies.”

The vision cut off, as if willed away by the man at the center of it.

Nathan’s rage was so great it took him a few moments to realize Keegan and James had joined him. James looked like he’d been hit by a bus. He had a goose egg on his temple, a few cuts on his face, and he cradled his wrist.

“I have to take him in. His head wound is bad.” Keegan looked angrier than shit, but Nathan knew most of it was worry. “No sign of Avery?”

“No. Take him to Doc Cannon. She’ll make him right in no time.”

Keegan nodded. “Let’s go.”

“I can’t. I have things to do.”

“Dammit, Nathan. I can’t leave you here.” He looked panicked when he glanced down at his partner, lover, and unofficial husband. “We can’t wait. We need to leave, now.”

“So go. Trust me on this. I have to handle it my way.” Nathan paused. “Keegan, if I don’t do this, Avery’s going to die.” He let the other man see what that meant to him, his heart in his eyes. “I can’t let that happen.”

“Fuck. I know that look.” Keegan sighed. “Better hurry. I’ll give you an hour. But soon as I send out word, Jack is gonna have every available body on your ass. Take my truck; it’ll buy you some time. I’ll take yours.”

They swapped keys. “Good luck,” Nathan offered. “I’m sorry, James.”

Foreman tried to wave at him, then lost consciousness. Keegan raced away with James and called over his shoulder, “Don’t let down your guard. Avery’s depending on you.”

Nathan gripped the keys, grabbed the KA-BAR, and hurried into Keegan’s SUV. Thankfully they’d gassed up after shopping before heading back. He’d drive as far as he could, then continue as long as he had to. With any luck, he’d reach Malcolm in Bloomville sooner than the fucker anticipated. Back to the place where his personal hell had come to a brief, satisfying conclusion. One he hoped to have once again.

Avery moaned when his shoulder hit something hard. Then his side burned. Another bump in the dark. He blinked but saw nothing but a hazy black.

Movement stopped, he heard the sound of a car door opening, and light blinded him.

“Not yet, Sleeping Beauty. Back to bed.” Something pinched his hip, and he lost consciousness.

He didn’t know how long he’d been out, but when he next woke, he felt sore all over. His throat was parched, his eyes hurt, and his shoulder and side throbbed like a raw wound. His hands had been bound behind him, tied to the same chair as his ankles. He had to piss, and he felt feverish. All in all, he’d had better days.

Water splashed into his face and had him gasping for breath.

“Oh, good. You’re back.”

Avery blinked up at an older version of Nathan. The same shaped eyes, the sandy brown brows and hair. Even the way the guy tilted his head as he looked at Avery was the same. It was eerie as hell. The man had Nathan’s height and extra brawn, what Nathan might look like in another two decades after heapings of steroids. Avery wanted to see some gray in the man’s hair, or at the least some sign of age. But ignoring the slight crow’s feet at his eyes, there was little to show Malcolm Dixon had aged past forty.

“Why?” Avery asked.

“Why?” Malcolm laughed, his disbelief obvious. “Is this where I waste precious minutes talking to give Nathan time to arrive? Where my soliloquy tells all so that the hero has time to vanquish the villain?”

“That’s what you are. A psychotic villain who killed his wife and nearly killed his son.”

Malcolm’s eyes flared. He didn’t like the reminder, apparently, though why the truth should hurt, Avery had no idea.

“The woman I killed was not the sweet woman I married.” Malcolm sat down in a chair directly across from Avery. “But then, you know all about that. My son no doubt told you about his horrible upbringing,” Malcolm sneered.

“Said you abused him, that you were jealous of the love Danielle had for him. And that you had no idea how to hold on to a woman.”

Malcolm slapped him with the quick, vicious speed of a snake striking. Avery hadn’t seen the blow coming and knew he’d stepped into some serious shit when Malcolm waved that wicked blade in his face. The word Sangre on the blade glowed under the dim lighting with a peculiar luminescence that didn’t seem natural.

“Do you see this, Major?”

“Hold on while my vision clears.”

Malcolm chuckled. His moods ran hot and cold. Avery had to remember he dealt with someone not quite sane.

“Yeah. Espada de Sangre, right?”

“Correct.” Malcolm sounded pleased. “This is the weapon Owen Stallbridge hired your boss to retrieve. Yes, I know all about Jack Keiser and you people, his psychic puppets. I have contacts in a lot of places.”

“So I gathered.” Avery’s mind raced. They worked for Stallbridge? The multimillionaire investor who owned half of Bend? And Malcolm knew about it. Knew about Jack, about all of them. “How is it you never joined the PWP?”

Malcolm shrugged. “I would have if I hadn’t already been working for the government. My time in the army brought me to the attention of the Agency two decades ago. The rest is history.” Malcolm brought the blade to Avery’s forehead and dug into his skin.

The pain should have been light compared to the pressure on his wounded shoulder. At first, blood dripped into his eyes and made it hard to see. But then darkness seemed to lick at the wound, drawing more pain than he would have thought possible for such a superficial cut.

“Don’t you like my new toy? It surely likes you.” Malcolm tittered, and Avery shivered. The madness there couldn’t be missed. “I found it at a black market near Oaxaca, close to home. It’s like we were meant for each other.” His lips thinned. “Like Danielle and I were once paired…before she’d turned into a whore.”

“How was she a whore?”

“She was only supposed to be mine. She kept me bright, full. With her, I was real.”

Like a real boy, eh, Pinocchio? Avery wanted badly to make a comment, but he didn’t have a death wish.

“When she left me, when she was gone, I was so empty. All the days spent away from my beautiful wife were hell. And then he showed up…” Malcolm trailed off, into his own little world.

Thinking about Nathan—the same man Avery couldn’t get out of his mind. Nathan must have been worried sick. Hell, the asshole was probably coming here right now, wherever here was.

Avery took a good look around and saw nothing but crumbling wallpaper, lone lightbulbs dangling from cords overhead, and debris everywhere. The musty smell of mold and the chill of cement warned him he wasn’t going to like what he learned.

“Where are we?”

Malcolm blinked and turned his gaze toward Avery once more. “We’re home. If you belong to Nathan, it’s more than appropriate you share in his fondest memories.”

“Oh hell. We’re in Bloomville. The basement, right?”

Avery wanted nothing more than to kill this bastard. The sick fuck planned to torment Nathan to the end. If Avery succumbed to the wounds and darkness pulling him to sleep, his lover would never get over the guilt. No, Avery had to find a way to escape, to stay alive to somehow warn Nathan away.

“Now, now. Pay attention.” Malcolm gave him a disdainful once-over. “You know what we called women in the service? Split tails. To fuck one, you split her right up the middle. So is that what I should call you and your sick boyfriend?”

Ironic, this twisted fuck calling anyone else sick.

“Actually, I call myself a Marine.” He should have stopped there, but the injustice of what Malcolm had done to Nathan and still intended to do to him wouldn’t leave his mind. “Not like you pussy army fags with nothing better to do than compare dick sizes. And that’s no slam on being gay, but on you not being good enough to have made it into the right service.” Avery had done his fair share of insulting the other, more inferior branches of the military. In his experience, nothing bothered militant pukes more than being thought of as less than a U.S. Marine.

Malcolm’s cheeks flushed. He stared at Avery for a good minute, then shoved Sangre into the tender flesh of Avery’s inner thigh.

The blade shrieked with pleasure, and darkness invaded his mind, pulling him toward a black pit of despair and death, as if the sword fed off his misery. He hissed and sucked in a breath but refused to give Dixon the satisfaction of hearing him scream.

Stay awake and alive. And shut your trap so you can find a way to save Nathan, his subconscious warned. When Malcolm pulled the blade away, the respite was fleeting. He then dug into Avery’s belly, peeling away the skin by the wound he’d caused earlier with that fucking knife he’d left for Nathan to find.

Avery concentrated on staying aware and ignoring the pain. Nathan, please don’t be a hero. You show up by yourself, and I will personally kick your ass.

“I’m Delta Force, son. Show some respect.”

Avery hung his head, not in shame, but because he no longer possessed the strength to hold it upright. “S-sorry, s-sir. Just a jarhead being m-mouthy.”

“Much better.” Malcolm withdrew that cursed blade, and Avery bit back a groan of relief. The thing freaked him out more than Malcolm did. And damn if the thing wasn’t hungry for more of him.

Nathan pulled into the driveway of the old house, not surprised to see a vehicle there. He gripped the wheel tight, sure of what he had to do. He hadn’t rested in two days and was on edge. He knew some agents were close behind, probably no more than a few hours away. But he had to hurry. Malcolm probably wouldn’t kill Avery until Nathan had arrived, to make sure Nathan didn’t miss the big finale. But he couldn’t be certain.

He downed another cup of coffee and slammed some caffeine pills. To beat the devil, he’d need a clear head. And two straight days of driving on top of all his worry had kicked his ass.

But now he felt ready. He gripped the KA-BAR tight, its warmth a comfort as well as a reminder. The energy in the knife revived him, and he accepted it, needing to draw on every little thing he could. He’d beaten Malcolm back once. He’d do it again. He just had to open himself up to more than the energy of the objects he touched. If he wanted to win, he had to allow himself to feel the hum of violence as well.

Somehow he needed to get his hands on Sangre and turn the fucking thing against Malcolm. He left the vehicle and climbed the steps to the porch, not trying to hide. Malcolm knew he was coming. So it was no surprise when the older man opened the door, holding Espada de Sangre by his side.

He looked different than he had the last time Nathan had seen him, some seventeen years ago. This Malcolm looked a little bit older, meaner, and devoid of any semblance of sanity. The blade in his hand seemed to purr, as if it recognized Nathan in some way. Suddenly his notion to use it against Malcolm didn’t seem like a good idea.

“Welcome home, Nathan.”

Home. What a joke.

Malcolm turned and walked into the house, expecting Nathan to follow.

And what else could he do, since the bastard had kidnapped Avery? Nathan had spent over forty-eight hours envisioning the worst. Avery tortured, bleeding, dying. Nathan’s imaginings had been nightmares; he’d envisioned his lover in pieces, his hands reaching out for Nathan, who was too far away.

Then he thought about what Avery might think of his anxiety. Avery would call him a pussy, knock him on his ass, then berate him for not having the balls to face his fears and push past them. No doubt the arrogant jerk expected a full-out rescue.

God, he loved that man.

Nathan didn’t allow himself to flinch at his worry. Instead he called on his ability and let his fingers brush everything he passed by, hoping to get a hit on Avery while he followed Malcolm deeper into the house. The walls didn’t speak, nor did the furniture. But the blood on the door frame of the kitchen showed Malcolm dragging Avery by one arm. Bloodied and semiconscious, Avery trailed Malcolm and slurred insults, calling Malcolm every name in the book before he’d passed out. Before Malcolm dragged him to the basement door and pulled his ass downstairs.

Nathan knew he couldn’t avoid it forever. Memories rushed back, the terror of not knowing what lay in the dark no longer resonating as it once did. Maybe because he still had a psychic hand on his surroundings, or maybe because the KA-BAR he carried reminded him he’d beaten the bastard before.

He caught sight once more of the blood-covered sword in Malcolm’s hand. It pointed toward the ground, angling in the direction of the blood smear that disappeared in the doorway to the cellar.

“Downstairs, I take it?” Nathan said with a calm he’d started to feel.

Malcolm’s eyes narrowed. “Yes. You first.”

Nathan shrugged. He walked by Malcolm with ease, content that his father wouldn’t stab him unless he could look Nathan in the eyes as he attacked. Face-to-face, horror to horror. The way he’d attempted to kill Danielle over twenty years ago. Nathan glanced over his shoulder before he stepped into the cellar doorway.

“Like old times, eh?” Malcolm’s smile held real malice. “Hurry now, boy. Your friend is downstairs waiting for you.”

Nathan squared his shoulders and walked down into the gloom. The nightmare of his past came roiling back, and he wiped the sweat from his forehead with a quick swipe of his forearm and shoved the memories back where they belonged. They were dead and buried, like his youth. He didn’t fear the dark, and he wouldn’t let Malcolm terrorize him any longer.

Malcolm’s voice echoed in the darkness. “The KA-BAR was a nice touch, wasn’t it? I thought you’d like that.”

Nathan left the last step into the cellar and put his back to the wall while he waited for Malcolm to join him. A dim light was the only illumination in the large basement. The corridor into which he’d walked twisted around to an open area, lined with hardy shelving holding all manner of things. At one point Malcolm had used the basement as a work space. He apparently continued to work down here…doing God knew what.

Nathan followed his father around the corner and froze. Avery sat tied to a chair, a small pool of blood beneath him. He sat so still, his head hanging low, that for a moment Nathan feared he was dead.

Then Avery groaned.

He forced himself not to react. “Well, Malcolm? Now what?” He paused. “Or should I call you Dad?”

Malcolm turned to face him, still standing between Nathan and Avery. He raised the bloody blade in his hand. “Say what you want, but I won’t be rushed. I’m going to slice you up like a turkey, boy. The way I worked your mother. But I won’t kill you. Not until I let you watch me carve up your fuck buddy, piece by piece.”

Avery moved, distracting Nathan from the anger building. “Hey. I have to piss.”

Nathan snorted. “Hold on. I need to take care of this windbag. Then I’ll untie you.”

Malcolm didn’t like being ignored. He frowned and took a step closer to Nathan. Away from Avery.

“Don’t you want to know how it went, boy? How she begged for her life, begged me to leave you alone?”

“Not really.” Nathan did his best to sound bored. “I realize you’re older now, and you’re probably starved for attention. But I’m tired, and I have things to do. Playing with an old man isn’t one of them.”

He heard Avery suck in a breath. Okay, so that might be pushing things, but he was tired of letting Malcolm call the shots.

He wasn’t prepared for the older man’s burst of speed. The blade bit into his shoulder in a flash, the burn of psychic pain one he felt to his bones.