Everything in Time

Автор: Ravenschild

“Okay?”

Connor nodded.

“Taking a ride; Jack will run shotgun and draw them off. Hold on to me.” Connor moved forward and laid his head against Peter’s back; the violent trembling continued. “Ten minutes, love; we’ll be safe in ten minutes. Can you hold on that long?”

“Yes,” Connor choked out as the bikes pulled away from the curb, just as Ray’s van blocked the main street entrance, and they took off in the opposite direction.

***

Boston’s streets passed in a blur and, unable to do more than cling to his friend, Connor continued to shake. Withdrawn from the real world, he finally gave up his trust to the man who, so far, had protected him; and that he instinctively knew would when no other could. This man would die to protect him and, as another violent shudder wracked the slender body, Peter frowned.

A black van dogged their movements, but the bike was faster and able to hide; taking back alleys Connor barely knew existed, Peter pushed the machine until the engine screamed its discord.

Jack’s Harley circled behind them, cutting in front of the van when it got too close, leading them by sound down false alleys as the ten minutes crawled to fifteen and Connor remembered how to pray.

Another ten minutes and they skidded to an abrupt stop in a side alley; Jack’s bike screamed passed them and continued, the black van in hot pursuit as Peter turned off the bike and walked it silently to a double grilled door.

Connor assessed the area as much as he could. He smelt the docks and felt the fresh air against his tortured flesh, and his senses reeled. The door opened as they approached; and, without stopping, Peter ducked inside, Connor still keeping his death-like grip on the other man until the door rang shut. A bright light lit the underground car parking lot.

A man approached and Connor felt the bile rising in his throat again. Seeing the stricken look, Peter pulled off his helmet and spoke softly.

“It’s okay, its only Macey. We’re safe, Connor, it’s all right,” Peter crooned as he got off the bike and helped Connor do the same, drawing him against his chest and soothing down the line of taut muscles.

Macey was, well, he was Macey, Richard Charles Mace, or Macey as he was lovingly called. He was mid to late forties, tall, strong and of African descent. Lashes laden with dark mascara highlighted his finely chiseled features, and Peter smiled.

“He okay?” Macey drawled; a gentle southern accent echoed in the hollow space.

“No, I need to get him warm and into bed. Been a rough night,” Peter admitted ruefully as he kept his hold on Connor and led the way through to a plushly appointed hallway. Connor frowned. The exterior was dilapidated, the interior that of the Ritz, and he looked up. “Few years ago a group of very wealthy gay businessmen put a private club together; it’s very exclusive and known to only a few,” Peter spoke.

“You a member?” Connor finally asked, though the shivering had not died down.

“Me?” Peter laughed as he hugged the trembling man closer. “I don’t rate, Connor. Macey’s an old friend.”

“As in he hauled my ass out of trouble and kept me out of jail,” Mace added as they got out of the lift on the second floor and were led to a double door. “You must be Connor.” Macey finally stopped as he slipped the card through the electronic lock and the door clicked open.

“Sorry. Connor Doyle.” Connor extended a hand; and, surprised, Macey shook it and smiled gently.

“No one will get to you here; you know the drill, Peter, state of the art surveillance, emergency switch by the bed for security and police. Scrambled phone line and secure uplink if you need it.”

“Thanks. I don’t suppose the kitchen is still open?”

“Hmm, yeah, of course.” Macey smiled. “And my boy has chicken soup with crackers. I’ll send some food up.” He patted Peter on the rump and headed off as Axon pulled Connor into the room with him.

He slipped the card into the slot by the door and the lights came up. Elegantly appointed, the two-room suite had a king size bed and lounge with all the modern conveniences. Peter led Connor to the bed and disappeared for a second, the sound of water heralded his return.

“Okay, bath is on; I can actually attest to the quality of it.” Peter smiled as he sat on the floor in front of his friend and removed Connor’s shoes. Connor looked blankly around him, getting his bearings, and within seconds was up on the move. Sounds of retching echoed in the room as Peter shook his head and followed him into the bathroom. He cupped his forehead in his hand as Connor leaned over the porcelain and rubbed his back.

Connor slid to the seat and dropped his head in his hands as Peter squatted in front of him.

“Okay, talk to me,” Peter said gently.

Connor shook his head and refused to look up.

“Not a request; I’ll phone Anton and get a retrieval team in to get us out.” Peter stood as Connor grasped him by the hand and pulled him back down.

“I’m assuming you don’t want me to leave you alone?” Peter asked, quietly tilting the dark head up as shudders wracked his body.

“No.” Connor gritted his teeth as the trembling got worse.

Возврат к списку