Fortune's Favor (A Power Up! Story) (17 page)

He gripped the handle and flinched as psychic overload blasted him. It was indeed the same knife he’d used on his uncle—father…

* * * *

Avery swore as a knife pricked his throat. He lay in bed but had the gun he kept close at all times pointed at Malcolm, ready to fire.

Malcolm shook his head. “If you want James Foreman’s body to be found, you’ll put that away.”

Avery lowered the gun and placed it in Malcolm’s hand, and Malcolm turned the weapon on Avery.

“Very good. Now sit up, slowly. Let’s see what little Nathan considers so precious, hmm?”

Avery’s expression didn’t change. “I’m going to kill you.” The even way he said it must have impressed Malcolm, because Nathan’s father smiled.

To Nathan’s horror, he noted a resemblance he’d never seen before.

“I think I like you, Major Holton. Your association with that bastard fuck of mine notwithstanding, you’ll make an admirable foe. I look forward to our dance, my young friend. Now quickly. Get dressed.”

Avery put on jeans, a sweater, and his shoes. Before he could reach for his jacket, Malcolm stepped behind him and shoved the blade deep into his side.

Avery grunted but didn’t flinch, and Malcolm tucked the gun into the back of his pants while his other hand held tight to the knife inside Avery.

“Such poise. You’re an old hand at this. And won’t that be fun?” Malcolm’s smile turned mean, his eyes narrowed, and he shoved Avery away, onto his hands and knees.

The dark blue of Avery’s sweater hid his wound, but Nathan saw him clutch his side. Saw his fingers stained red.

“Nothing life threatening for you, not yet.” Malcolm leaned down and stabbed Avery again, this time in the meat of his shoulder. His precise movements indicated a graceful skill, one that had only grown keener with time. “That’s going to stiffen up on you later. Be harder to fight back with that.” Malcolm spoke in a kind of clinical commentary. He grabbed a towel by his side. “Now stanch that blood. Out to the truck and get in.”

They walked, Avery in front of Malcolm, to a dark green SUV. Once there, Malcolm nodded to the back. “Open it and get in.”

Avery exploded in motion. He punched Malcolm in the face twice and tackled him to the ground. They wrestled for a bit before Avery suddenly slumped and stopped moving…

* * * *

Nathan’s heart seemed to stop beating.

* * * *

Then Malcolm shoved Avery off him, and Nathan saw the needle stuck in Avery’s neck.

“You fight well for a slut.” Malcolm’s grin showed bloody teeth. “Nathan is a screwup, but he at least chose someone who can handle himself. Mostly.”

Malcolm heaved Avery into the truck with some effort, but the strength in the older man was shocking. He wiped his mouth and nose free of blood and smoothed down his coat. Then he picked up the gun that had fallen and tucked it back into his jacket.

He shut the back hatch of the vehicle, disappeared once more into the house, and returned. When he entered the car, he looked down at the blade Nathan and Avery had been directed to bring back.

But when he spoke, he directed his words to Nathan. “Come to me, Nathan. Come to Daddy. You know where. And come alone, or your ass fucker dies.”

* * * *

The vision cut off, as if willed away by the man at the center of it.

Nathan’s rage was so great it took him a few moments to realize Keegan and James had joined him. James looked like he’d been hit by a bus. He had a goose egg on his temple, a few cuts on his face, and he cradled his wrist.

“I have to take him in. His head wound is bad.” Keegan looked angrier than shit, but Nathan knew most of it was worry. “No sign of Avery?”

“No. Take him to Doc Cannon. She’ll make him right in no time.”

Keegan nodded. “Let’s go.”

“I can’t. I have things to do.”

“Dammit, Nathan. I can’t leave you here.” He looked panicked when he glanced down at his partner, lover, and unofficial husband. “We can’t wait. We need to leave, now.”

“So go. Trust me on this. I have to handle it my way.” Nathan paused. “Keegan, if I don’t do this, Avery’s going to die.” He let the other man see what that meant to him, his heart in his eyes. “I can’t let that happen.”

“Fuck. I know that look.” Keegan sighed. “Better hurry. I’ll give you an hour. But soon as I send out word, Jack is gonna have every available body on your ass. Take my truck; it’ll buy you some time. I’ll take yours.”

They swapped keys. “Good luck,” Nathan offered. “I’m sorry, James.”

Foreman tried to wave at him, then lost consciousness. Keegan raced away with James and called over his shoulder, “Don’t let down your guard. Avery’s depending on you.”

Nathan gripped the keys, grabbed the KA-BAR, and hurried into Keegan’s SUV. Thankfully they’d gassed up after shopping before heading back. He’d drive as far as he could, then continue as long as he had to. With any luck, he’d reach Malcolm in Bloomville sooner than the fucker anticipated. Back to the place where his personal hell had come to a brief, satisfying conclusion. One he hoped to have once again.

* * * *

Avery moaned when his shoulder hit something hard. Then his side burned. Another bump in the dark. He blinked but saw nothing but a hazy black.

Movement stopped, he heard the sound of a car door opening, and light blinded him.

“Not yet, Sleeping Beauty. Back to bed.” Something pinched his hip, and he lost consciousness.

He didn’t know how long he’d been out, but when he next woke, he felt sore all over. His throat was parched, his eyes hurt, and his shoulder and side throbbed like a raw wound. His hands had been bound behind him, tied to the same chair as his ankles. He had to piss, and he felt feverish. All in all, he’d had better days.

Water splashed into his face and had him gasping for breath.

“Oh, good. You’re back.”

Avery blinked up at an older version of Nathan. The same shaped eyes, the sandy brown brows and hair. Even the way the guy tilted his head as he looked at Avery was the same. It was eerie as hell. The man had Nathan’s height and extra brawn, what Nathan might look like in another two decades after heapings of steroids. Avery wanted to see some gray in the man’s hair, or at the least some sign of age. But ignoring the slight crow’s feet at his eyes, there was little to show Malcolm Dixon had aged past forty.

“Why?” Avery asked.

“Why?” Malcolm laughed, his disbelief obvious. “Is this where I waste precious minutes talking to give Nathan time to arrive? Where my soliloquy tells all so that the hero has time to vanquish the villain?”

“That’s what you are. A psychotic villain who killed his wife and nearly killed his son.”

Malcolm’s eyes flared. He didn’t like the reminder, apparently, though why the truth should hurt, Avery had no idea.

“The woman I killed was not the sweet woman I married.” Malcolm sat down in a chair directly across from Avery. “But then, you know all about that. My
son
no doubt told you about his horrible upbringing,” Malcolm sneered.

“Said you abused him, that you were jealous of the love Danielle had for him. And that you had no idea how to hold on to a woman.”

Malcolm slapped him with the quick, vicious speed of a snake striking. Avery hadn’t seen the blow coming and knew he’d stepped into some serious shit when Malcolm waved that wicked blade in his face. The word
Sangre
on the blade glowed under the dim lighting with a peculiar luminescence that didn’t seem natural.

“Do you see this, Major?”

“Hold on while my vision clears.”

Malcolm chuckled. His moods ran hot and cold. Avery had to remember he dealt with someone not quite sane.

“Yeah. Espada de Sangre, right?”

“Correct.” Malcolm sounded pleased. “This is the weapon Owen Stallbridge hired your boss to retrieve. Yes, I know all about Jack Keiser and you people, his psychic puppets. I have contacts in a lot of places.”

“So I gathered.” Avery’s mind raced. They worked for Stallbridge? The multimillionaire investor who owned half of Bend? And Malcolm knew about it. Knew about Jack, about all of them. “How is it you never joined the PWP?”

Malcolm shrugged. “I would have if I hadn’t already been working for the government. My time in the army brought me to the attention of the Agency two decades ago. The rest is history.” Malcolm brought the blade to Avery’s forehead and dug into his skin.

The pain should have been light compared to the pressure on his wounded shoulder. At first, blood dripped into his eyes and made it hard to see. But then darkness seemed to lick at the wound, drawing more pain than he would have thought possible for such a superficial cut.

“Don’t you like my new toy? It surely likes you.” Malcolm tittered, and Avery shivered. The madness there couldn’t be missed. “I found it at a black market near Oaxaca, close to home. It’s like we were meant for each other.” His lips thinned. “Like Danielle and I were once paired…before she’d turned into a whore.”

“How was she a whore?”

“She was only supposed to be mine. She kept me bright, full. With her, I was real.”

Like a real boy, eh, Pinocchio
? Avery wanted badly to make a comment, but he didn’t have a death wish.

“When she left me, when she was gone, I was so empty. All the days spent away from my beautiful wife were hell. And then
he
showed up…” Malcolm trailed off, into his own little world.

Thinking about Nathan—the same man Avery couldn’t get out of his mind. Nathan must have been worried sick. Hell, the asshole was probably coming here right now, wherever here was.

Avery took a good look around and saw nothing but crumbling wallpaper, lone lightbulbs dangling from cords overhead, and debris everywhere. The musty smell of mold and the chill of cement warned him he wasn’t going to like what he learned.

“Where are we?”

Malcolm blinked and turned his gaze toward Avery once more. “We’re home. If you belong to Nathan, it’s more than appropriate you share in his fondest memories.”

“Oh hell. We’re in Bloomville. The basement, right?”

Avery wanted nothing more than to kill this bastard. The sick fuck planned to torment Nathan to the end. If Avery succumbed to the wounds and darkness pulling him to sleep, his lover would never get over the guilt. No, Avery had to find a way to escape, to stay alive to somehow warn Nathan away.

“Now, now. Pay attention.” Malcolm gave him a disdainful once-over. “You know what we called women in the service? Split tails. To fuck one, you split her right up the middle. So is that what I should call you and your sick boyfriend?”

Ironic, this twisted fuck calling anyone else
sick.

“Actually, I call myself a Marine.” He should have stopped there, but the injustice of what Malcolm had done to Nathan and still intended to do to him wouldn’t leave his mind. “Not like you pussy army fags with nothing better to do than compare dick sizes. And that’s no slam on being gay, but on you not being good enough to have made it into the
right
service.” Avery had done his fair share of insulting the other, more inferior branches of the military. In his experience, nothing bothered militant pukes more than being thought of as less than a U.S. Marine.

Malcolm’s cheeks flushed. He stared at Avery for a good minute, then shoved Sangre into the tender flesh of Avery’s inner thigh.

The blade shrieked with pleasure, and darkness invaded his mind, pulling him toward a black pit of despair and death, as if the sword fed off his misery. He hissed and sucked in a breath but refused to give Dixon the satisfaction of hearing him scream.

Stay awake and alive. And shut your trap so you can find a way to save Nathan, his subconscious warned. When Malcolm pulled the blade away, the respite was fleeting. He then dug into Avery’s belly, peeling away the skin by the wound he’d caused earlier with that fucking knife he’d left for Nathan to find.

Avery concentrated on staying aware and ignoring the pain.
Nathan, please don’t be a hero. You show up by yourself, and I will personally kick your ass.

“I’m Delta Force, son. Show some respect.”

Avery hung his head, not in shame, but because he no longer possessed the strength to hold it upright. “S-sorry, s-sir. Just a jarhead being m-mouthy.”

“Much better.” Malcolm withdrew that cursed blade, and Avery bit back a groan of relief. The thing freaked him out more than Malcolm did. And damn if the thing wasn’t hungry for more of him.

* * * *

Nathan pulled into the driveway of the old house, not surprised to see a vehicle there. He gripped the wheel tight, sure of what he had to do. He hadn’t rested in two days and was on edge. He knew some agents were close behind, probably no more than a few hours away. But he had to hurry. Malcolm probably wouldn’t kill Avery until Nathan had arrived, to make sure Nathan didn’t miss the big finale. But he couldn’t be certain.

He downed another cup of coffee and slammed some caffeine pills. To beat the devil, he’d need a clear head. And two straight days of driving on top of all his worry had kicked his ass.

But now he felt ready. He gripped the KA-BAR tight, its warmth a comfort as well as a reminder. The energy in the knife revived him, and he accepted it, needing to draw on every little thing he could. He’d beaten Malcolm back once. He’d do it again. He just had to open himself up to more than the energy of the objects he touched. If he wanted to win, he had to allow himself to feel the hum of violence as well.

Somehow he needed to get his hands on Sangre and turn the fucking thing against Malcolm. He left the vehicle and climbed the steps to the porch, not trying to hide. Malcolm knew he was coming. So it was no surprise when the older man opened the door, holding Espada de Sangre by his side.

He looked different than he had the last time Nathan had seen him, some seventeen years ago. This Malcolm looked a little bit older, meaner, and devoid of any semblance of sanity. The blade in his hand seemed to purr, as if it recognized Nathan in some way. Suddenly his notion to use it against Malcolm didn’t seem like a good idea.

“Welcome home, Nathan.”