Fracture (The Machinists) (3 page)

What the hell?
He searched his bed for the call button but couldn’t find it. “Hey!” he yelled. “Hey, I need some help in here!”
And some clothes
.

Silence.

“Hello?” Still no answer. “Hello?” He screamed with more urgency.

The door opened, and a short, slender woman entered. She was roughly his age, with porcelain skin and silver hair. Instead of nurse scrubs, she wore a black compression shirt and matching pants.

Allyn pulled the blanket higher, covering himself.

“You’re awake,” she said, her voice as cold as her eyes. “How are you feeling?”

“Where am I?”

“You’re safe. You were in an accident.” She took his wrist firmly, feeling his pulse with her fingers.

He stirred uncomfortably as a tingle shot down his legs. “I remember,” he said, trying to focus on something other than the tingling. “A man broke into my condo and attacked me. It’s not an easy thing to forget.”

“I suppose it’s not.” She looked at him skeptically but let go of his hand. “I’m going to press against your arms and legs and back to check your muscular response. If it’s painful, I want you to say something, okay?”

He nodded.

She started with his feet, squeezing the arch of his foot. Then after he nodded, telling her that he was pain free, she moved on to his heel, then his ankle and calf.

“What’s your name?” Allyn asked.

“Nyla.”

“How am I doing, Nyla?”

“How do you feel?”

“Honestly? I feel great, considering I was shoved out a second-story window.”

She looked at him in a cold, clinical, businesslike manner. “You’re lucky to be alive.”

“I don’t think luck had anything to do with it,” Allyn said.

“Oh?” She stopped at his thigh, her eyebrow raised.

“I’m sure you’re very good at your job.”

She started probing again, moving up to his chest, wincing as she pushed down on his lower rib cage.

Allyn stiffened in pain.

“Sorry,” she said. “You’ve got some bruising.”

Allyn exhaled deeply. “It’s okay.” His eyes drifted down her neck as she leaned over him to check the other side of his chest. He winced but was prepared for the pain that time. A small necklace dragged across his bare chest as she pulled back, rubbing her hands together.

“You’re suffering from a minor concussion and have extensive bruising along your chest and upper torso, probably from the impact.”

The simple design—a series of intertwined shapes of red, blue, and white—reminded him of something. The red piece looked like fire, and the blue piece could have been a water droplet.

“Your back is worse. The pain in your chest and torso is an impact wound, so to speak, a shock from the impact. The injury on your back is the exit wound, and that’s where your most serious bruising is located.”

Kendyl liked vintage jewelry and would probably wear something like Nyla’s necklace.
Was she wearing something like that during dinner?

“With some rest and some anti-inflammatory medication, you should be just fine.”

No, it wasn’t Kendyl.
She had been wearing her usual assortment of mismatched rings and bracelets, but Allyn couldn’t remember her wearing a necklace.
Then what the hell does it remind me of?

“We should have you on your way home soon,” she said with a lifeless smile. Without waiting for a response, she turned for the door. Her necklace reflected the sunlight, sending small circles of gold dancing across his chest like a tattoo that had come to life.

Tattoos.

The man who’d attacked Allyn had the same symbols tattooed on his neck.

Allyn looked around the room with a renewed interest. It was empty and bland, but not clinical. Where were the white sheets? Where were the railings on the bed? Where was the wash station or his medical chart? Where were the trashcans and hazardous waste buckets? Monitors? Sterile medical equipment?

Where the hell am I?
Where was the doctor? Where were the police to take his statement? Nyla had only told him he was safe, not where he was. Something was wrong.

I haven’t been saved
.
I’ve been abducted.

Allyn sat up and swung his legs to the side of the bed. Touching his bare feet to the cold floor, he slowly put weight on his legs. They strained, shaking with fatigue, but not painfully.

Why didn’t I ask how long I’ve been here?
He pulled the top sheet off the bed and wrapped it around his naked body. He held it around himself like a towel as he walked silently toward the door.

He placed his ear against the door. Outside the room, it was quiet. If this were a hospital he would hear patients, nurses, and doctors. Beds would be rolling past, taking people to and from surgery or recovery. There would be commotion, not silence.

Allyn opened the door to a dark hallway. Other doors, identical to his own, lined the walls on either side. Lamps burned softly, like candles, next to each one. The hall ended in a T to his left. To his right, the hall opened into a sitting room partially furnished with high-backed chairs and a brick fireplace.

Faint voices came from the sitting room, but they were too quiet for Allyn to make out. Reckless curiosity overtook him. He slipped out of his room and inched down the hallway toward the voices, and using the corner of the wall as a barrier, he peeked around.

Nyla sat in one of the chairs, engaged in a conversation with another person whose back was to Allyn. The person leaned forward to pat Nyla on the knee. It was a man, older, and clean-shaven with gray peppering his dark-brown hair.

Allyn leaned forward, straining to hear what they were saying, when his ankle popped. Nyla’s eyes flashed to him. He ducked behind the corner. “Shit.”

“Why don’t you come on out, Allyn,” the man said, his voice deep and slow. The voice of authority. “This might be a more worthwhile conversation if you take part instead of eavesdropping.”

Allyn turned to flee down the hall and ran directly into a wall. No, not a wall—a
man
. Allyn’s face hit his chest. The man was a full foot taller than he was, with large round eyes, cropped hair, and charcoal skin. His sleeveless black leather shirt exposed his powerful arms. His expressionless face was hidden behind a closely trimmed beard.

Allyn staggered back, retreating into the sitting room. The man followed him, never breaking eye contract. Allyn’s heel caught on a rug, and he tumbled onto his back. Still, the mountain of a man crept toward him like a predator in human skin.

Looming over Allyn, the man reached down with an open hand and waited.

He’s helping me up
. With a shaking hand, Allyn took the man’s arm and was pulled to his feet.

“I’m sorry,” the large man said, his voice deep, but warm. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Why don’t you help him to a chair, Jaxon,” the older man said. He smiled at Allyn, though it did little to calm his nerves.

Jaxon led him to the high-backed chair beside Nyla then stood beside the older man, his arms crossed. The older man sat back down, watching Allyn, and traced his lips with his finger.

“I assume you probably have a lot of questions,” the older man began. “But first, let me welcome you to my home. My name is Graeme. You’ve already met Nyla and Jaxon. We were hoping you could answer a few questions for us.”

“If I answer your questions, can I go?”

“That depends.”

“On what?”

Graeme smiled. “On your answers.”

Is he serious?
Allyn licked his lips. “I don’t know.”
I don’t know if I can trust you.

“It’s only a few questions.”

“I need to know that I won’t be harmed.”

“You have my word.” The old man seemed amused.

Allyn looked at Nyla and Jaxon. They both leaned forward slightly, their faces expressionless, eager to hear what he had to say. They didn’t strike him as dangerous—well, not immediately dangerous. And both had been kind to him, even if Nyla had been cold. “What do you want to know?”

“What do you remember about your attack?”

How did they know it was an attack and not a burglary?
“I came home and found a man in my condo. He attacked me and threw me out the window.”

“Did he ask you anything?”

“No.”

“Take anything?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Was there anything… unusual about the attack?” Graeme leaned forward even farther. If he moved too much farther, he would fall off the chair.

“Not that I remember.”
What about the invisible force that held your feet to the ground? Or the way he threw you against the wall and across the room without ever touching you?

“You said he threw you…” Jaxon said.

“I didn’t jump, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Are you sure?” Jaxon pressed.

Of course I’m sure
. He didn’t remember the man
physically
picking him up and throwing him out the window, but he had no other explanation for it. He had to have been thrown. But a small voice in the back of his mind said otherwise. The last thing Allyn remembered seeing before he busted through the window was the man standing in the center of the living room. The man couldn’t have thrown him.
But that has to be a symptom of the concussion, right?
Just because he couldn’t remember it happening didn’t mean it didn’t.

“Did he have anything like these?” Graeme asked, rolling up his sleeve. Three evenly spaced scars ran from his shoulder to his elbow.
Not scars,
Allyn decided. They were more like tattoos
that rose from the skin.
Brands.
Graeme rolled up his other sleeve, exposing a matching set of brands on his other arm, then looked at Jaxon. He had a similar set on his arms, though instead of the pink like Graeme’s, Jaxon’s brands looked white against his dark skin. The top one ran across his upper arm and looked like a crude symbol for water, with four wavy horizontal lines stacked on top of each other. The jagged lines of the bottom brand near his elbow looked like fire. Allyn couldn’t make out the other.
Air?

Allyn looked at Nyla. The embellishments on her necklace matched the brands on the men’s arms. “I don’t know, but he did have tattoos on his neck that looked something like those.”

Graeme leaned back, disapproval on his face. He rubbed his chin. “His name is Lukas.”

“Who is he?”

“He’s dangerous,” Graeme said. “To both of us.”

“What does he want?”

“I don’t know.” Graeme stood and walked to the fireplace, clasping his hands behind his back. “You’ve been thrust into something you don’t understand, Allyn. A world you never knew existed. I don’t know what Lukas wants with you, but I’m going to find out. Will you help me?”

“Why would I do that?”

“Because we saved you.” Graeme’s words echoed off the coffered ceiling. “You’re a man of the law, Allyn, and I suppose you require proof, but the only proof I have is your own body. You were cast out a second-story window onto pavement, and yet here you sit, talking to me, alive and without any serious injuries. Explain this to me.”

Had this man actually saved him? Graeme was right—he should be dead, and Allyn didn’t have an answer for that. But he didn’t know these people or what they were capable of, and they were somehow connected to his attacker. And that made him nervous. It could all be a ploy to earn his trust. They would act as the savior while really being the opposite.

“I can’t explain it,” Allyn said, “but that doesn’t change the fact that I don’t know who you are, either. How do I know if I can trust
you
?”

“We
saved
you, Allyn.”

“So you keep saying,” Allyn said, “but I don’t do business when I don’t know all the facts, and you’re obviously hiding something.”

“What happens when Lukas returns to finish the job?” Jaxon asked.

Allyn didn’t have an answer for that. “I’ll figure it out.” He didn’t believe the attacker would come back anyway.

Graeme nodded to Nyla. She got to her feet and placed a hand on Allyn’s shoulder.

“If this is business, Allyn, then it’s the business of life and death, and you just made a bad investment.” Graeme nodded to Nyla again and strode out of the room, Jaxon at his shoulder.

Allyn felt a pinch on his shoulder, and the room went dark.

Chapter 3

A
sharp jolt brought Allyn back to consciousness. A door slammed, an engine roared, and tires squealed. The hot, muggy air had a dull odor. Sweat beaded on his forehead. He licked his dry lips, his tongue brushing against something rough.

A hood covered his head.

Allyn pulled the hood off, catching sight of a black sedan screeching through a stop sign. He was sitting on the sidewalk of a private street. Mid-level BMWs, Mercedes, Lexus, and Acuras were parked along the curb and in the driveways of condos and apartments. A tractor was parked in the field across the street, ready to continue construction the following morning.

He was home.

Suddenly self-conscious, Allyn looked down at himself. He was fully clothed. At least his abductors—or saviors—had the decency to return him fully dressed. The clothes weren’t his, though. They had replaced his black business suit with a pair of loose-fitting trousers and a thin, neutral-colored three-quarter-sleeve shirt. He looked like a hipster, and he hated to admit it was comfortable. More importantly, he found his keys and wallet, complete with all his credit cards, in his pocket.

The garage door to his left opened, and his neighbor wheeled out a green garbage can. Others already lined the street. That meant it was still Sunday. Only a day had passed since the attack.

One day.

It felt so much longer than that. He’d spent most of the time unconscious and the rest of it confused. It felt good to be home, somewhere familiar, where things made sense. Allyn nodded to the neighbor and walked up the driveway to his condo.

It was cold inside. The sliding glass door was open—no, it was broken. Shattered glass covered the floor. He would have to get a tarp or something to cover the door until he could get someone out to fix it.

Memory of the attack flooded back to him: seeing him on the stairs, being unable to move, feeling powerless, and the intruder’s apology. What kind of person apologized before trying to kill someone? It didn’t make sense, but what did? He was alive, and that was all that mattered. Alive and alone. Or was he? Could the intruder be waiting for him?

Allyn’s breathing quickened. Shadows seemed to grow longer and darker, providing an intruder with ample space to hide. What was that dark mass behind the couch? There was a creak on the stairs. Was that someone breathing?

You’re paranoid
, Allyn told himself.
You’re alone. The condo is empty.

The stairs were empty. Allyn took them two at a time and rounded the corner into his bedroom. The bed was made, and the room was clean—the way the downstairs should have been. The blinds were closed, shrouding the room in darkness. He sat on the foot of the bed and exhaled a long, slow, stress-erasing breath. His head dipped in exhaustion.
How could I still be tired?
He yawned. It felt good to be home.

The room around him disappeared.

Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep!

Monday. Time for work.
When did I fall asleep?

For the first time in a long time, Allyn thought about calling in sick. The world had changed, and it was too much to take in. The thought of dwelling on someone else’s problems when his own were so much more complicated was frustrating.
Who cares about dog custody agreements or bickering ex-spouses? I just got thrown out a window and was saved by a shadowy group of strangers who hint at being able to do things the rest of us think impossible.