32. It'll Dry

“Y ou don’t know anything?”

Darkness. A disorienting type of darkness. Cold, damp, the smell of mold.

“Nothing at all? Not an address, not a description of the car?” Slow, calm, every word pronounced with grave weight.

There was a small streak of yellow light leaking out from behind a door. Something metal sounded through the silence, like a chain dragging across a concrete floor. Blood. The nauseating scent of blood in the air, stronger than the mold.

“Tell me what the fuck, ”—a slam, something hitting a metal table—“ Do you fucking know about him?”

There was another sound. A quiet, breathless whimper—as if escaping a clenched throat. Then water. Water striking and scattering across the hard floor. A whole bucket’s worth of it dumped out. Dripping and running.

Then quiet.

“You fucked him.” Calm again. “Like the little fucking whore you are. You got all up in his pants and all up in his business. And you can’t tell me where he fucking lives or what kind of fucking car he drives?”

One second. Two. Three.

Loud popping snapped the silence like a gunshot. Something that sounded like an electrical malfunction.

A gagged scream cut through the sound. Breathless, choked.

“No, he’s just a goddamn ghost , isn’t he? Just a fucking ghost. Like he never fucking existed, because he’s just that good. ”

Another cry, this one weaker, like an aftershock from the pain inflicted, equally deprived of air. Faint, broken gasps.

“You know I can fucking kill you, right? You’re mine. Your status, your protection, your previous owner—it’s all gone, Eros. Your life is in my goddamn hands.”

Kellen shot upright. Adrenaline felt like it had replaced his blood as he sat there, shuddering in the darkness, wide eyes pinned on the pure blackness in front of him, heart pounding like a fully automatic rifle.

Something brushed past him in the pitch darkness, and he suddenly became aware of a person there. Threateningly close. Breathing. Nothing registered in Kellen’s mind but the shape of his Glock 34 in his hand, slipped out from under the pillow where something in the back of his mind recalled it was. In the span of a single breath, the weapon was racked and aimed.

“Kellen—!”

That voice in the dark. The hand that immediately found Kellen’s shoulder. Brushed it, then hesitantly settled.

“Alexei?” Kellen breathed. He waited for a response.

“Kellen, it’s me. It’s just me.”

Still shaking, Kellen lowered the weapon in his hands. “It’s just you? You’re alone? We’re alone?”

“Yes, Kellen, it’s just us and June in the apartment.”

Kellen’s finger lifted slowly off the trigger. His other hand ventured out a little, touched the mattress, the blanket, then the wall he had fallen asleep beside. “Why the hell is it so dark?”

“I turned the light off when I came in,” Alexei responded. “There aren’t any windows.” There was a quiet sound. Movement on the mattress. Alexei stood up in the darkness.

“Where are you going?” Kellen gasped. His hand shot out, falling short of where Alexei was. “Lex—Alexei—Alexei―” His voice died in his throat, overridden by the sudden need for oxygen. And then he was gasping breathlessly for it. Like he hadn’t inhaled in entire minutes. Like his head had been under water.

Light flooded the room. Alexei stood by the doorway, his hand lingering on the light switch.

Kellen’s fingers slipped several centimeters on the gun in his hand. He looked down at it. Then at his arm. Sweat. Completely slick with sweat. His shirt was clinging to his chest. There were wet strands of hair streaking his vision. The locket was hanging out of his shirt.

Kellen drew a slower breath, weak in his chest, and silently tucked the locket back under his shirt. He scraped a hand through his loose hair and slid the clip out of his Glock, then knocked the round out of the chamber. Fingers trembling a little, he pressed the loose round in at the bottom of the clip.

Alexei joined him on the bed again. There was a moment of quiet. Then, slowly, Alexei reached out and touched Kellen’s arm. “Kellen?”

He flinched, arm jerking out of contact. “Don’t touch me.” The words came out low, unsteady. He flipped the dismantled gun in his hand, eyes blurring on the weapon.

“Why?” Alexei whispered.

Kellen flinched a second time. Like an aftershock. “I’m fucking sweaty.” He brushed his empty hand stiffly across his chin, wiping off gathering liquid before it could drip.

“It’ll dry.” His voice. Quiet. So incredibly steadying.

Kellen swallowed on sudden tightness in his throat. Suddenly, it felt like he was holding back tears. He frowned, eyes shutting. “‘It’ll dry’?” He swept his hand down the side of his slick face and looked up at Alexei. “The fuck kind of response is that?”

A faltering smile touched Alexei’s lips.

A weak breath escaped Kellen’s throat. He shifted, blinked, looked away and smiled faintly at the wall.

Alexei leaned in a few inches and sniffed the air. “You don’t smell bad,” he whispered.

Kellen looked over at him again. He said nothing.

“Do you want me to leave the light on?” Alexei asked quietly.

“No, do whatever you want.” Kellen lifted out an arm and pushed the blanket back. “I should head out. I have a meeting today―”

“You didn’t sleep even an hour,” Alexei whispered. The way his blindfolded face was lifted toward Kellen. The uncertain rhythm of his breathing. The concern in his voice.

Kellen’s eyes sank unintentionally across the portion of Alexei’s neckline left exposed by the tank top he was wearing. That barcode tattoo. Kellen lowered his gaze to the blanket. All at once, the cold of the air around him seemed to sink into his skin. He started shivering.

“Rest a few more hours,” Alexei said softly. He reached out again, his fingers lightly contacting Kellen’s upper arm. Then, his grip on Kellen’s bicep. Gentle, persuading. His fingers followed Kellen’s arm down to the gun in his hand. Wordlessly, Alexei took the weapon from Kellen’s loose fingers, then the clip, snapped the two together, and placed the handgun on the nightstand. “Light or no light?” he whispered.

Kellen released an unsteady exhale. “Light,” he whispered as he lay back.

“Done already,” Alexei said quietly. His lips lifted with a small smile. He felt out the edge of the blanket and pulled it over Kellen’s shoulders. Then he moved back to the other side of the bed and lay down, facing away.

Silence.

Kellen slipped his arm under his head and turned onto his side to face the wall.

“You are a seer. A predictor of death.”

Shut up. Kellen’s eyes slowly closed.

“You have a gift from God that you are morally obliged to use.”

No, I don’t. Just shut up.

“Kellen, your father was not right. He was very, very wrong.” Lila’s voice.

Kellen’s eyes opened again, vision fixing on the painted dry wall in front of him. “You’re sleep deprived,” the practitioner at the Urgent Care clinic had said.

“Remember the penance.”

And suddenly, Kellen knew he couldn’t sleep anymore. Burning, bleeding desperation cracked through his core. The need to get up and do something—rid his mind of all the uninvited thoughts in it.

But seconds before Kellen could sit up, something touched his back. He flinched. Warmth. The shape of a hand. Kellen flinched a second time when the hand shifted lower, to his waist. Gripped softly into his side.

There was movement on the bed. And then, deeply comforting warmth pressed into Kellen’s back. It seeped through his clothing, feathered across his skin. Gentle pressure. Alexei.

Alexei slipped his arms around Kellen, one sliding under his side. His hands traced up Kellen’s midline, stopped just below his chest and gently folded there.

It was wrong. It was wrong, and yet, Kellen lay motionless in it.

Fuck, this feels really good. He finally allowed the realization. His arm shifted a little across the mattress. Damn, why does this feel so good?

Alexei’s warmth. The slow, steady rhythm of his breathing. His gentle grip; soft, comforting pressure.

Kellen let his eyes slowly close.