Winter's Knight (19 page)

“Kill you,” Gary gargled, bloody drool falling to the ground. “FUCKING KILL YOU!” He thrashed with sudden violence, and Kris threw up an arm in front of Lucian, indicatingLucianshould wait. Lucianeyed Kris’ calm demeanor while Gary succumbed to a hysteria inspired by the fight or flight mechanism. Gary’s brain suspected the end was nigh, and they waited until the very last of Gary’s energy was expended. When Gary passed out, Kris woke him up with smacks and water to the face.
“The evidence, Gary,” Lucian said, voice a solid steelintonation. “Now.”
It took a few tries to understand the answers through the inevitable sobbing, but Clark relayed the information to Daniel and the mobile unit. Lucian studied Gary while they waited. A fleshy man somewhere north of thirty-five, Gary hung broken on the table where, perhaps, Shea’s arms had been ripped fromtheir sockets, probably returned roughly into place despite Shea’s reflexive howls. Disgust and rage poured into the places where sympathy tried to grow, crushed the sentiment beneathboot heels made heavybyhatred. Lucian clung to that anger, let it buoy him on a dark tide, untilClark shifted to stand taller.
“Sir? They found the stash at the bus station, locker twenty-eight. DNA evidence, more files, plenty there. We won’t be able to get into the bank’s location without a warrant, though I’m told that can be secured duringdaylight hours.”
“Excellent. And Gary’s friends?”
“Recoveryis inprogress as we speak.”
Lucian nodded, happy that the guards in the Caddy’s trunk were being taken into custody. They’d make fine witnesses who would probably be more than happy to cough up information when given an avenue out of co-conspirator to murder charges. “Very good.” Lucianpaced closer to Gary. “Mythanks, Mr. Boehler, for your cooperation. It’s beenterriblyuseful.”
Eyes rolled in their swollen sockets. “D-deal... you said...”
Lucian hummed. “Oh yes, I did say, didn’t I? Well, it wouldn’t do to leave you unclear. We’re going to clean you up and prepare you for transport, Mr. Boehler.”
“Transport?”
Lucian ignored the interjection. “I confess, I’d dearly love to engage in an example of Hamurabi’s Code.” Lucian let his emotions taint his words, allowed himself to snarl. “Dislocate your shoulders. Cut fresh scars. Maybe inspire a slice of terror unsuppressed by drugs to allow you to understand what you’ve done. But, alas...” Lucian waved one arm, smiling. “That would earn you a trip to a hospitalbefore you landed in the city jail, and that just, if you’ll pardon my crude turn ofphrase, chaps myass.”
“Jail!” Gary’s voice broke, cracked. “W-we had a deal! Manofyour word, yousaid. Y-youpromised--”
Lucian hissed an inarticulate curse, pulled his weapon, and leveled it to Gary’s forehead. Clark took a step forward, and Lucian left the safety on to show Clark that Lucian’s long-termgoals were stillin control. “Yes, Mr. Boehler. A deal. You live long enough to bring down Haze, the entire demonic ring which you created and perpetuated with the other players, and I don’t join my associate Mr. Fawkes in the refreshing task ofcarvingyouinto tinyslices.”
Gary trembled, and it was satisfying, but exhaustion was on Lucian’s horizon. He held the barrel steady, however, gazing into the eyes of the worst kind of monster to fillanynightmare:a mere humanbeing.
“Whores ‘n fuckin’ kids... who... who the fuck were they to... why...” The question was almost inaudible, and Lucianlowered his gun.
“Perhaps, Mr. Boehler,” Lucian answered, quiet now while Clark and Kris watched and waited. “In your next life, you should consider making sure that the souls you dispatch do not belong to the loved ones of men far more dangerous and reckless than you could ever imagine.”Lucianturned, nodded to Clark.
“Didn’t know!” Gary caterwauled, and Clark retrieved a syringe froma pouch in his vest, tossed it to Kris, who uncapped it withteeth. “We didn’t know!”
“And in your ignorance,” Lucian whispered, hearing the grunt and the hysterical begging that accompanied Kris injecting Gary with more sedative. “You will never find mymercy.”
Lucianrapped the all-clear code onthe inside ofthe vault, cranked open the door, and left the dungeon behind.
***
It was five a.m., and the world was silent. The windows on the Rover were cracked, and Lucian tossed his half-smoked cigarette out the window, breathing the crisp, fresh air of the countryside surrounding the Ollivander Farm. The cattle were sleeping, the moon shone low on the distant horizon, and the sleet had finallystopped falling.
After an anonymous tip, the police had found Gary Boehler, the illusive and well-defended crime lord, fully clothed and unconscious, at the base of the stairs in his home. Several members of Mr. Boehler’s security team were also found, restrained and returning to reality. Their story would be simple when they were finally questioned: men had broken into the house, knocked them out, and they couldn’t remember anything else. The traces of powerful surgical sedative in their veins explained the dark spots in their memory, though it was unfortunate that the security cameras on site had been deactivated and gave no clue as to whom the perpetrators might have been.
The same sedative would, eventually, be detected in Mr. Boehler’s personal body guards, who were removed from the trunk of a Cadillac and arrested earlier that morning based on the evidence found in neat baggies, folders, and envelopes with Mr. Boehler. The information would be more than enough to level indictments against at least a dozenindividuals knownto be involved in the murky waters of the city’s underground but previously untouchable due to lack of legal leverage. The DA was going to have a very busy few months.
While it would be suspected that a man named Kris Fawkes, also well-known for his involvement in crime circles, was connected to the incidents, Mr. Fawkes would claim an air-tight alibi in one Lucian Gray. Mr. Fawkes had spent the entire night in the BDSM club, Break, and there was security footage to prove it. Nobody would be able to detect the tampering with the time stamp, as that sort of thing was impossible to discover when it was done with professional skill, and Kris had enjoyed his private tour of Lucian’s club earlier that week.
No one would ever say the obvious: that Lucian and Kris were working together, that people with no authority or badges to protect them were assisting the unofficial case, and that obviously the criminals had been brought in through less than legitimate means. There were no witnesses or anyone to contest the good guys’ story, the evidence of murder and foul play was undeniable, would hold up in any court of law, and would be a landmark event in the history of the war against crime.
And Kris Fawkes was evidentlystillholed up inone of the Crypts at Club Break, sleeping off a no doubt tiringeveningoffetishdelight.
Lucian sighed, shivered in the chill of the truck, and turned onto Shea’s driveway. He loved the efficiency that could happen when he and his men slashed through red tape. The capture, gathering, and handing over to authorities had happened in the space of hours, not months, and Lucian could scarcely believe it was over. Years of trying to bring down Haze, months of trying to find an angle to crack the mystery on the murders, weeks of setting the final scene in motion, and days of sleeplessness prompted by the worry over details and the vigilance to safetyhad finallyallpaid off.
Raquelle’s memorywas honored, and at last Lucian could let go of his first and biggest mistake in life. Lucian hadn’t been able to save the boy whose eyes still haunted his dreams, but Lucian had brought down an organization that harmed men and women whose smiles would, no doubt, remind Lucian ofRaquelle, had he ever gottenthe chance to see them.
The real prize of the night, the true achievement, was that Shea was avenged. Shea, who had never failed Lucian but whom Lucian had, by sheer absence, failed to protect. Much like with Raquelle, Lucian couldn’t fix what he’d done or not done, but he could use the faith that Shea represented and the details Shea had given him to decimate evils past and to stop a few fromhappening. Maybe it would even be enough to let Lucian’s guilt dissolve, blow awaylike ashona summer breeze. Luciancould hope. Shea was alive and welland safe, and so, Luciancould hope.
As always, Lucian’s efforts had not been solitary. He smiled to himself, content that the worry he felt for his people was turning into the pride that came after a job well done. Lucian had done his city a service with the assistance of his own private army, his modern Round Table men, and the next steps were up to more honorable individuals than he. Lucian had driven home after he’d seen all his people safely off to their own ports of refuge, and he’d showered, scrubbing the layer of guilt and justice off his skin. He’d put on heavy pajamas, cold for no good reason, and he’d stood staring at his wide, empty bed for a solid ten minutes before findingshoes, coat, and car keys.
Killing his car’s engine, Lucian stared at the shed, Shea’s bike covered by a weather tarp. He fastened his coat over his night wear, climbed out of the Rover, the beep of the alarmsystemstirring the still, early morning. A single guard was visible, positioned on the porch while the others were invisible among the woods, and Luciannodded politely, usinga keyonShea’s locks.
The inside of the cabin brought a comfort to Lucian that his own home couldn’t conjure. Cinnamon, chocolate, fire, and books, the scents of Shea, made Lucian lean heavily on the wall. He shucked his coat and shoes, rubbed his arms despite the heated interior, and his eyes adjusted to the low gloom. Lucian staggered and caught himselfonthe stair rail, quiet as he forced his knees to bend and legs to carry him to the bedroom. Each step closer to Shea was a relief; each footfallshed memory, soothed fears, stirred hope.
Shea was safe. Shea’s family was safe. Shea was here, and his, and sound asleep, and Lucian paused at the banister, content for a moment to listen to deep breathing and to wonder at the burn in his eyes, at the dampness on his cheeks. He didn’t wipe his face because he didn’t want to discover the sensation was merely imagined, and when the mound of quilt and sunset blanket shifted, Lucian crept closer and climbed beneath the covers. Warmth blasted his skin, made him shiver and sigh.
“Mm...?” Shea questioned over the rustle of sheets. The serenity in the single syllable, the safety inherent in it, forced a fresh wave of emotion from the corners of Lucian’s eyes.
“Oh, good. Luke.” Shea’s voice was heavy with sleep, and one big hand wrapped around Lucian’s arm and tugged. “Come here.”
Without comment, Lucian went to Shea, pressed his face into cleanskin, and got anarmaround the body twice the size ofhis own. The peace was overwhelming, and Luciancould onlysighand give inwithout a fight.
Shea shifted to accommodate, his legs tangling with Lucian’s and his feet rubbing gently against numb toes. Ahand stroked Lucian’s back and a soft inhalation was all the warning Shea gave before lips slowly pressed along tear tracks, and kisses erased their passage. “Your feet are freezing.”
“You’re warming me up,” Lucian whispered. He found Shea’s mouth for a chaste taste, and the last thing he felt before falling asleep was Shea’s fingers stroking his hair.
Chapter 9
It was thirty minutes to eight o’clock on a Saturday night, and Lucian was wearing new ruts in the floors as he paced the lower level of his home. In his hands he held a portable security panel, and the monitor showed a view of the front of the house, driveway and porch, but thoughts of imminent threat, ongoing trials, or criminalactivitycouldn’t be further fromLucian’s mind.
Lucian was waiting on his beloved to join him for their very first night of negotiated play. He checked the clock and snarled at the measly minute that had passed since his last look. He marched through the family room and checked the setup he had arranged for himself and Shea for the hundredth time. Lucian never played in his home, but he wasn’t about to engage in a scene with his Shea in anything approaching public for the first encounter. The very thought was appalling. So, Lucian had transported the equipment fromwhere he kept it in his Crypt at Break. Everything passed muster, and Lucian walked up the three steps into the hallway that led past the diningroomand into the entryway. He took a deep breathand studied his reflectioninthe mirror.
The outfit had been difficult to choose because of the standards it had to meet. The colors couldn’t be threatening, so Lucian had avoided red and black and chosen cream-colored leather pants with dark gray buckles on the sides, instead. The fabric hugged his formlike a second skin, flexible with the bend of joints, and he’d tucked the cuffs into a pair ofsilver boots with low heels. Because Lucian’s clothing also had to be suitable for a night of leisure as well as kink, Lucian wore a snug, lavender dress shirt, tails untucked.
The purpose ofwhat Lucianwore and the course of the evening all had to do with timeliness and Shea’s choices. If Shea arrived before or exactly at eight, then they would proceed with the play. If Shea was even a moment late, however, Lucian would meet his lover at the door and take Shea upstairs to watch a movie. They’d bypass the makeshift rig that wasn’t in line of sight fromthe entryway or stairs, and they would try the evening again at a later date. Lucian had been very firm on that point during their discussion. He had no interest in playing if Shea wasn’t one hundred percent willing and sure, and there would be exactly no reprimand or negative repercussion for delaying their games until Shea was ready.
Truth be told, Lucian wasn’t sure he was ready. He adjusted his hair, which was pulled back into the clasp Shea had made him for his birthday, and he tried to untwist the knots forming in his intestines. Shea wanted painand had beenveryupfront about how muchLucian should give, how much Shea could take, what was required for Shea to reach the kind of subspace desired. Lucian had listened, sickened at the idea of his beloved discoveringsuchlimits at the hands ofmenwho didn’t treat Shea with care, but he had prepared accordingly, as he never wanted to seem oblivious or ignorant ofShea’s desires.
However... Lucian knew his strengths, his abilities. He prided himself on being able to put people under without taking a beating of epic proportions, even when his partner thought it necessary. Especially when he or she thought it necessary, actually. He was dying to get the opportunity to show Shea that playing could and would be different with him. Lucian ached for it, and Lucian hoped with the fervor of a madman that he was right.