“DO what? No fucking way! You?” Cyrus maybe, but not Bo.
Bo stayed quiet for a while before answering. “I wasn’t always the way I am now. I’m the hotheaded kid who took a baseball bat after his dad, remember?”
Yeah, and it still didn’t fit with Lucky’s image of his lover.
“I came back home after I got out of the Marines, convinced my four years made me better than everyone else. Hell, half the people I know wouldn’t have made it two weeks in combat.”
For the first time in his life, Lucky shut up and simply listened.
“Anyway. We got into an argument, I don’t recall about what. Something stupid probably, some guy winked at him or some shit. Who knows? I got pissed, and the next thing I know, he’s huddled in a corner, screaming for me to stop.” Bo pulled his hand from Lucky’s. “I damned near killed him.”
Lucky squeezed his eyes shut. No images would come of his mild-mannered Bo beating a man. Fuck. PTSD. Right after they’d met, Bo mentioned Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, what set him on the path to prescription drug abuse and earned him a place on Walter’s team.
Here Lucky had hated Bo’s ex-boyfriend. Hating a stranger came easier than believing Bo capable of abuse. “The guy didn’t press charges?”
“No. Blamed the whole thing on a flashback. Even stayed with me, talked me into counseling. But from then on things weren’t the same. Darren walked on eggshells around me, and I avoided him. I couldn’t stand to see the bruises, the cuts, knowing I’d done that.” He let out a choked sob. “I worried that next time I wouldn’t be able to stop.”
“So he ended things.”
“No. I did. Last I heard he’d found himself a nice lawyer from Little Rock. He’s happy.” Bo’s voice slipped back to Cyrus’s gruff monotone.
Damn, that had to weigh on Bo’s mind. “You had a flashback. You weren’t responsible.”
Bo jerked back as far as the cave allowed. “It wasn’t a flashback. I’d finally turned into my fucking old man.”
“I’ve known you for two years, and you’ve never been violent.” A one-off. That’s what it was. Bo couldn’t hurt a fly.
“That’s where you’re wrong.”
Okay, time to lighten the mood. “Remember lesson number one? You hit me, I’ll kick your ass.”
“No, you won’t.”
“Yeah…”
“No. You. Won’t. Lucky. That time in the ring? I held back. You’d pissed me off so bad, it was all I could do not to just let go. But I was afraid if I did, I’d kill you.”
“You couldn’t…”
“Remember that night in the garage with the Cruisers?”
Bo had taken on several bikers and barely broke a sweat. “Yeah?”
“I was still holding back. If I really let loose, I wouldn’t even know what I did until the adrenaline faded. That’s why I wish you’d stop your ambushes. One of these days…”
Fuck. “Bo, listen to me. You won’t hurt me. You could try, but I’m wiry and I’m mean. I can hold my own. Trust me.”
“I do.” Bo sighed again. “That’s part of the reason I love you. When I went off, Darren took it. He didn’t even fight back. You would.”
“Damn right I would. But Bo?”
“Yeah?”
“It’s not going to happen. I promise.”
“I wish I could believe you. You don’t want to run now?”
“Just across the border to get you out of this shit.” Lucky reclaimed Bo’s hand.
“I try so hard now to control myself. After it happened, my aunt quoted some scripture about a man with self-control being more powerful than a warrior. I believe her now. It’s not easy. I want kids one day. I don’t want them afraid of me. I don’t want to live my life worried I’ll hurt them. I don’t want to be my father.”
“Bo, listen to me. We’re in this together. We’ll get through this. We’ll go to counseling. Now that I know I can help you.” Lucky paused a moment too long. Reality of where they were hit. “But first we need to get out of here.”
Bo pulled away from Lucky and snapped on his flashlight. “Slow, shallow breaths. We’ll be all right, but if it makes you feel better, I’ll check one more time.” He shuffled away, hunched over, toward the tunnel entrance.
“Okay, but watch out for…”
Bo stood upright one moment, the next he’d sprawled on the floor. The flashlight cracked against the wall and went dark.
“Bo! Bo? Are you okay?” Lucky scrambled on hands and knees toward the sound of moaning. He flipped on his light.
“Jesus H. Christ!” Bo lay curled up and clutching his shoulder by the outcrop Lucky had found earlier.
“Oh fuck!” Lucky sank to his knees—right into the goo. No, not Victor goo. Don’t think. Don’t breathe too deep. “What hurts?” Why hadn’t he paid more attention in first responder training? He shone the light on his huddled lover. Bo winced and turned away from the beam. No blood—a good sign.
“Shoulder.”
Lucky ran his fingers under Bo’s to find an egg-sized lump under the muscle that wasn’t there before. The egg moved under his hand. Breakfast hash browns tried to escape out his mouth. Bo’s bones should fit together, damn it! “We’ve got to get this back in.” Lucky had once dislocated a shoulder by falling out of an apple tree. Hurt like a motherfucker when Grandpa set it. What came next wouldn’t be pretty. He set the flashlight down.
“It’s gonna hurt.” The longer they waited, the worse the pain. And fuck. He didn’t want to hurt Bo.
Bo’s agonized groan ripped at Lucky’s heart. “I know. Do it.”
Lucky wasn’t qualified for doctoring. But without him…He had to fix this, right now. Gotta pull, gotta get that ball back into the socket before his muscles seize up. Fuck, he needed leverage. How? Bo was bigger and bulkier. What the fuck ever. Time to drag that joint back together.
If he pulled from this side, yeah, if he jammed his foot into Bo’s pit, he could haul a lot more than one bone over another bone that might as well be a mountain. He gripped Bo’s wrist and straightened his back. Teeth clenched, he sucked in a breath and prayed, “Lord, let me not hurt him too bad.”
Bone ground against bone, but it moved. Yeah, come on, a little farther, come to Daddy, just hop right over that ledge and back into your nice warm nest, you fucking piece of skeleton that should never have popped out.
“Mother-fuck!” Bo roared.
What if Lucky wound up hurting him worse? He pulled again, pushing at the lump with his other hand. “Moving, yeah, it’s moving, a little more, come on, damn you, get back where you belong.”
The sudden jolt of ball meeting socket made Lucky scream. Bo’s arm shortened with a crack.
Did it go in? Was that shit-eating piece of arm mated with the shoulder? Was Bo fixed? Lucky flexed Bo’s arm every direction; the damned thing swiveled like the joint had never been torn apart. “Bo? You okay? Bo?” No answer.
“Bo? Bo!” Lucky gave Bo’s good shoulder a shake. He grabbed up the flashlight and jammed two fingers against Bo’s neck. Erratic pulse. Shallow breaths. The lump on the shoulder was gone.
Okay. Just out for a moment. Maybe. Hopefully. Probably a blessing right now. What Lucky wouldn’t give for a couple of ice packs. But first, time to get outta here. Now.
He flopped down into something he didn’t want to dwell on, put his feet against the blocked entrance, and pushed.
How many times over the years had he counted himself a dead man? Too many to name. He’d claimed he wasn’t scared. But now he was. Because now he had something to lose.
He’d never see Charlotte again. He’d never see his nephews again. He’d never get to see Mom and Dad and find out once and for all why they’d finally given up on their oldest boy.
And he’d never spend Christmas with Bo in their own home. Or gaze at a small version of his man—the child Bo wanted one day.
Oh, hell no. They were not dying today.
They would have those kids, and the house, and the dog, damn it!
Or Lucky would fucking die trying.
“Unngggh!” He shoved with all his might. Tiny pebbles trickled to the ground. Hands braced, he gritted his teeth gritted, and kicked. I’m not lying in dead man ick. I’m not covered in gore. I am getting the fuck out of here!
“Move, you motherfucker! Move!” Nothing. He spread his arms further, sliding them across the slick tunnel floor to reach the walls. Something shifted under his hand. His fingers fit perfectly around a molded grip.
He raised his other hand, his fingers hitting a bit of broken blade. A screwdriver. A broken one, but hell, he had a tool.
He maneuvered around in the tunnel. “Bo. I’m gonna get us out of here. And God, if you’re listening, I could use a little help here.”
Hope in hand, he chiseled.
***
“Cy-rus!”
Lucky jolted upright. Bam! Ow! He grabbed his suddenly wet forehead.
“Cy-rus!” He shook his head to clear the cobwebs. After who knew how long, he’d only bored a hole the size of his fist in the plywood, beat the hell out of his knuckles, and dislodged one small rock. But the tiny opening let in a bit of air.
The yell didn’t sound like Cruz, but it sure the hell wasn’t Stephan Mangiardi either.
“In here!” He didn’t give a fuck who it was, as long as they got out. He grabbed Bo’s foot and shook. “Bo? Bo! Someone’s here!”
Not a sound answered him. Every drop of Lucky’s blood chilled in his veins. Oh, God, no! Especially not now when a thin ray of hope appeared. He squirmed around and lowered his head to Bo’s chest. A bit fast, but Bo’s heart beat steady.
“Cy-rus!”
“Here!” Lucky yelled. His voice sounded loud in the tiny chamber. Did any of it get out?
He felt his way along the floor. Something moved beneath his palm, and he slammed his shoulder against the wall. “Damn!” He found the errant object. His flashlight! He turned the gadget on and flicked the beam through the hole he’d made.
“Hey! Hey!” He pounded the broken screwdriver against the plywood.
Curses he’d heard many times in prison answered him. Footsteps scrambled away.
“No! Help! Come back!” Tears sprang unbidden to his eyes. “Lord, take me. I deserve it. But if you’re as merciful as Mama says you are, please save Bo. He’s got to be one of the best men you’ve ever made. Don’t let him die down here.”
No. Bo couldn’t die. Lucky wouldn’t let him.
More shouting, moving closer. Scraping, cursing, groaning. The plywood moved a fraction, enough to let in a breath of air before it fell back into place. Twice more it bowed, only to come back. More voices, a mighty heave, and rocks rolled away.
Lucky caught a face full of dust and backed away hacking. He flashed his light at the two faces peering into what might not be his grave. What a beautiful fucking sight. The Garcia brothers might as well have been angels in white. In a daze, he scrambled backwards to grab Bo by the foot and pull. Alejandro grabbed him by the wrist.
“No! I have to get…!”
The man jabbered in Spanish.
“No!” Lucky screamed.
He aimed his flashlight out of the hole. Cruz’s face appeared. “Stop fighting,” he said. “We won’t leave Cyrus. This I can promise.”
Lucky didn’t trust the guy—hell, he didn’t trust many people. While still trapped probably wasn’t the best time to say, “If you hurt him in any way, I’ll kill you,” Lucky said it anyway. “And watch his shoulder.”
Alejandro pulled him out of the hole. Something soft moved beneath Lucky’s knee and he grabbed at folded leather. The wallet he’d taken from the dead guy.
Once out of the hole, he glanced back. He and Bo hadn’t stood a chance at freeing themselves. Rocks lay in precise angles to seal them in. Stephan Mangiardi was going to die for this. Slowly, horribly. He’d gasp his last breath begging for the mercy he hadn’t shown Bo.
Held halfway up by his new best friend, Lucky staggered down the corridor. At last they came to the hydraulics. Jaime helped him. He collapsed on the floor of the warehouse. Someone handed him a cup. It could be poison for all he cared. He chased back a throat full of dust with a mouthful of lukewarm water.
There wasn’t enough water in the world to wash away the dead-body stink. He yanked his T off and threw the disgusting shirt away from him.
Rasping, the shuffle of several pairs of feet had him on alert. A moment later, Rafael staggered into view backwards, holding Bo beneath the armpits while Juan carried his feet. Cruz brought up the rear. The men set Bo down and Cruz dropped to one knee.
Lucky stumbled upright, and promptly fell. Damn, but he weighed a ton. He crawled on hands and knees to Bo’s side, dignity be damned.
Bo clutched Lucky’s fingers. His eyes fluttered open.
Bo! Oh My God! Lucky snatched Bo up and hugged him for all he was worth.
“Ow!”
Lucky laid Bo back down and patted his shoulder.
Three men crossed themselves. Rafael flumped down on the concrete. All the color had fled his face. If he weren’t already down, Lucky might be running to catch him before he fell.
Alejandro knelt beside Lucky and rattled away in Spanish. Tears spilled down his cheeks. He raised his watery eyes, then grabbed Lucky and held him tight.
Aaack! “What now?” Lucky mouthed to Cruz over the man’s shoulder.
“He’s happy you’re alive. But we need get Cyrus someplace safe and figure out what to do next.”
Lucky and Cruz loaded Bo into the back of one Jeep. The men stood solemnly to the side. Alejandro cleared his throat and spoke, words punctuated by sniffles. Cruz interpreted. “He says he’s glad your friend is okay. Cyrus is a good man.”
Lucky took Alejandro in, the sincerity in his eyes, the openness of his face. One day soon he’d have to arrest the man. Damn. How could Bo stand making friends with these guys, knowing what waited down the road?
And every one of them had risked their lives and Stephan’s wrath to save Bo.
Alejandro wasn’t a bad man. He merely did his job. And he did it well, with all his heart. “Don’t make me like you,” Lucky muttered. “Bad things always happen to the people I like.”
***
Lucky closed the door after the doctor left.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” He tried not to hover over Bo, what with Cruz in the tiny bedroom over the cantina, bearing silent witness, but he wanted to hover. He deserved to hover. Damn it! He tugged at the too-small T-shirt and too-short jeans Graciela had brought. Even after a twenty minute shower with some way-too-floral soap, Lucky couldn’t get the scent of death from his nose.
“Yes. I told you Cruz would show up, didn’t I? But it looks like game over for me.” Bo’s bittersweet smile couldn’t be more regretful if he tried. He’d loved the game, much as Lucky did during the rare moments of self-honesty.
Did that mean… “You’re going home?”
Bo exchanged a glance with Cruz. Sometime soon, those two had some explaining to do. One day Lucky might have to punch Cruz’s lights out. But he’d saved Bo and Lucky’s asses today. That didn’t make them friends, but when the shit hit the fan, Lucky might not shoot him first.
When bullets started flying, the first one belonged to Stephan.
While Lucky and Cruz sat in spindly chairs, Bo leaned back on the bed, arm wrapped in a sling. Voices from the cantina drifted up in undecipherable murmurings. “I’ll stay here and work behind the scenes. Everyone thinks I’m dead, and those who know better have a stake in keeping me alive.”
“Care to share details?”
Again with the eye contact and Cruz. “Not right now. Soon.”
Lucky glowered and gave Cruz the stink eye. He may owe the man one, but hitting didn’t count if the fuckwad deserved a good belting.
Damn, but Lucky hated being out of the loop. Anyone else would get a pounding for withholding information, but Lucky had done the same himself on occasion, and might be called upon to make creative use of the truth again. However, he wasn’t above using this moment in his next “remember when you…” argument.
He handed over the billfold he’d taken from the tunnel. “Now to find out who Stephan hated bad enough to cut off his supply route to hide the body.” He shot a warning glance at Bo and shifted his wary glare to Cruz.
“It’s okay, Lucky. He probably even knows the guy.”
“Whoever he was, he had on Victor’s old ring.” No way was Victor found in the cave. Lucky’s gut told him so.
And if it did turn out to be Victor? Denial was a beautiful thing.
Bo opened the wallet and checked the bill compartment and slots for credit cards. “Nothing. The son of a bitch robbed the guy, apparently.”
Yeah, surely a man roaming around so well dressed would carry money or credit cards with him.
Some tugging got the driver’s license out. Bo raised it up to the bedside lamp, squinting as he turned it over. He held the card out to Lucky.
The picture showed a familiar smiling face, specks of white in the man’s coal black hair.