Mr. Real (Code of Shadows #1) (35 page)

Paul exchanged glances with Alix. He said, “We won’t say anything if you tell me who this guy is. I have no interest in screwing up your career, but I really do need to know.”

Alix raised her eyebrows at him, playing with her bracelets, which made a soft jingle sound. He loved having her there.

“You promise you won’t tell,” Avon said. “I’ll lose that job.”

“I won’t tell if you’re honest.”

“You can’t.”

“Who is it?” Paul asked.

An angry sigh sounded over the phone. “Fine. That’s a badass by the name of Hyko.”

Fuck,
Alix mouthed.

“Hyko?” he repeated.

“Hyko’s this character from
Derangerous
, a comic I put out. Hyko’s like, this very extreme villain.”

Paul swallowed. “Does Hyko have any superpowers?”

Alix clamped a hand over her mouth, eyes wide.

“Besides being a badass?” Avon laughed. “My friend, when you’re as badass as Hyko, that’s a superpower in a class of its own. Hyko’s into chaos and extreme crime. Like extreme sports, but for the criminal. That’s the concept. And he has a dirty-talking assassin friend named Brutus.”

“Is there a way to get the comic? Cause I’d like to read it.”

“We’ve got four issues up right now online at Derangerous dot com—that’s the name of the series. Hyko’s like, about to launch these sunspot machine things that erase all computer information and destroy all electricity and will plunge the entire world back into the Dark Ages. Then he’s gonna release some shit into the water supply.”

“But that weapon, that’s not in your video backdrop, right? His sunspot weapon? Or whatever he’s releasing?”

“No. Just Hyko.”

“Why put him in?”

“I know it sounds weird, but it’s sort of an ongoing dare with a bunch of us artists—we hide Easter eggs to make the commercial work funner. Hyko’s kind of my Easter egg.” Avon lowered her voice. “Hyko’s been in the background of ads for aspirin and diapers. In a picture on the wall in a home in an interior design magazine. I can’t believe you randomly found him.”

“Derangerous dot com?”

“Don’t forget to make a PayPal donation.”

“Does he have any enemies?”

“Hyko?”

“Yeah.”

“Interpol, CIA, basically, all agencies hate Hyko. One of his enemies even cut off his thumbs.”

“What enemy?”

“Just some nameless agent. It’s backstory.”

Alix waved her hand. “Ask her when she invented Hyko.
When
.”

Paul asked. Two years ago during the Burning Man festival, as it turned out.

Paul hung up the phone. “Into chaos and extreme crime. That’s nice.”

“I don’t get it,” Alix said. “Your stepbrothers, however many years ago, invented Sir Kendall. But, they would never have known about Hyko. Avon invented Hyko two years ago. So how does Sir Kendall know about Hyko? He told me once that he cut off the thumbs of some guy—”

“That didn’t make him seem at all dangerous to you?” Paul asked. “Because, personally? When a person tells me that they’ve cut off the thumbs of a guy—”

“Stop!” She made to hit him.

He caught her hands. He wanted to kiss her. Everything was insane, and he wanted to kiss her.

“It was
fictional
,” she protested. “Not real life.”

“Oh,
fictional
.” He drew her to where he sat.

She smiled, dimples blossoming. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Something real.” He kissed her. His heart smashed into his ribs as she moved to straddle his lap. She draped her arms around his neck, elbows on his shoulders. He held her lightly, fingertips on her tank top.

Quick, warm and soft, she kissed his cheek, his nose, his lips. It took all his restraint not to roar onto her like a freight train, crushing, probing, devouring. He was vaguely aware that he was shaking.

“Hyko’s out there,” she whispered into the kiss. “We have to think.”

Thinking was the last thing Paul wanted to do. “He hasn’t bothered us so far.”

Alix pulled away. Her eyes looked bright, lips pinkened. “So where has Hyko been all this time? I mean, I have to handle this. I brought two guys to life. And what about the thumbs thing?”

“Who cares,” he said, kissing her neck.

“I’ve been thinking about what my friend Karen would say. I think she’d say that if they came to life together, maybe their stories merged, somehow. Maybe it’s like the big bang, where everything changes state together. Forever interconnected.”

He traced his fingertips along the silky skin on the back of her arms. “That’s what you’ve been thinking about?”

She snaked her fingers into his hair.

He wanted to consume her, and he couldn’t decide where to start. It was like being caught in a sexual rapids, swept from one lusty hunger to another.

“That’s not the
only
thing,” she said. “I still have duty to Sir Kendall.”

He drew his hands up her thighs to the edge of her shorts. He was sick of Sir Kendall. He wanted to stop talking about Sir Kendall.

She pulled away. “Hyko’s out there,” she said. “I have to warn Sir Kendall.”

“Apparently he thought Hyko was out there this whole time, so what’s different?”

“Hyko might be supernatural. Supernaturally badass. I think we should find Sir Kendall and warn him.”

Just then, a roar sounded, growing louder, coming up the driveway.

Sir Kendall.

“You’ll be telling Sir Kendall that
he’s
supernatural,” Paul said. “It could make him dangerous.”

“His enemy, Hyko, is into extreme crime and chaos,” she said. “What is that old saying? The enemy of our enemy is our friend?”

A car door sound. Footsteps on the porch.

“He’s not my people.”

“Say what you will, at least Sir Kendall’s not into extreme crime. And he needs to know about the timetable. He has until Friday at 7:46 pm. He might be able to use that against Hyko.”

“You think spies aren’t as twisted and dangerous as the people they hunt?”

The front door shut.

“You want Hyko to win?” she asked. “You hate Sir Kendall that much?”

He didn’t answer. Yes, he hated him that much.

She looked so sad, suddenly. She got off him in a huff and headed downstairs.

“Alix!” He went after her.

The sound of a kitchen drawer. Silverware. They got into the kitchen and there was Sir Kendall, standing at the counter with a row of knives laid out in front of him. Wearing Paul’s clothes.

Alarm shot through Paul. He grabbed for Alix, but in a flash, Sir Kendall had her with a gun shoved under her chin.

“Sorry, my pet,” he said.

“Let her go,” Paul warned, loosening his robe belt. If it came to a fight he’d have more mobility in his underwear.

“Not my plan, clone. Here’s what’s going to happen. You’ll open that drawer next to the stove.”

“Don’t hurt her.” Paul pulled open the drawer.

“Pull it out.”

He yanked out the drawer and set it on the stove. A box-like hiding place was built into the back of it.

“Now slide the panel and retrieve the key ring inside.” He looked down at Alix. “You thought I wouldn’t find that?”

“I didn’t know it was there,” she said, frantic. “We’re not your enemies, Nick.”

“She’s right,” Paul said.

“You’ll excuse me if I’ve had enough of her games,” Sir Kendall said. “Now we’re all three of us going to take a walk outside. Out back to the carriage house.”

“Sir Kendall, we’re on the same side. We all might be in danger from Hyko,” Alix said. “He might be unusually powerful.”

“You think to warn me about Hyko? March,” Sir Kendall said to Paul, “or do I have to shoot off her ear?”

Paul raised his hands and backed out of the mudroom, breathing deeply, keeping an eye on Sir Kendall and Alix, who followed as a unit. “Turn
around
and march,” Sir Kendall said.

Paul turned and walked, working on his focus. He had a good idea of where they were headed—out to the big cage behind the carriage house. Sir Kendall would put one of them in there—probably him, since he seemed to think Alix had the answers. That’s what the knives would be for.

“Lindy, stay!” Alix said. The door clacked behind them.

They went down the stoop and across the gravel drive to the carriage house. Paul had two thoughts—one, Sir Kendall was bluffing. He wouldn’t shoot Alix. He thought she had the answers; he’d always seemed to think she was the one in charge. And two, he could use the corner to surprise Sir Kendall. If, indeed they were going around and not in. Paul headed in, just to show he wasn’t thinking.

“Around the side.”

So it was true. Paul went around the corner, but they followed too close behind. He walked in bare feet along the gravelly side to the next corner, where he widened his gait, creating distance without seeming to speed up. He rounded the corner and instantly spun to a crouch, shedding the robe.

Sir Kendall came around and in the split-second confusion caused by Paul’s drop, Sir Kendall moved the gun off Alix—just enough for Paul to lunge up and seize Sir Kendall’s arm. He whaled a knee into Sir Kendall’s elbow and the gun clattered to the stones.

Alix twisted away.

Sir Kendall got Paul with an uppercut—the strength of it stunned Paul, but he came back with an elbow.

They hit and kicked and elbowed each other, then fell to wrestling. Sir Kendall seemed to have grown in strength, but Paul was fighting for his life—and
hers
. Nothing else touched his mind.

They were on the ground now, in the grass near the cage, each going for pain and soft targets: eyes, throats, groin.

Sir Kendall got him into a painful contortion at one point, fingers digging into Paul’s windpipe. “You are done for, old chap,” Sir Kendall bit out.

Paul coughed and sputtered, tasting blood, writhing against the other man.

The sound of a gunshot—Alix stood over them, pointing the gun at them. “Stop it or I start shooting feet!”

The shot caused Sir Kendall to lose his focus long enough for Paul to wrench out of his hold and slam an elbow into Sir Kendall’s eye.

“Stop it!” Alix yelled. “Paul! He’s your people!”

Paul slammed a fist into Sir Kendall’s jaw, inured to the blows Sir Kendall returned. He couldn’t stop hitting Sir Kendall, the man who embodied all the misery of his existence. He wanted to break him, kill him. With limbs like lethal snakes, he clamped and twisted around Sir Kendall, forcing Sir Kendall into a shoulder lock, harsh pressure where the joint was weakest—a little bit more and it would pop out. Sir Kendall made a little sound and ceased to struggle.

“He’s not your enemy,” Alix said. “Jesus, Paul!”

“It’s okay,” Sir Kendall returned. “The trick is not minding that it hurts.”

Paul froze. “What did you say?”

Sir Kendall swallowed laboriously. “A line I’ve rather taken to heart, old chap.” He spit out a tooth. “One can never avoid the hurt, you know.”

Yes, Paul knew.

She was right. She’d seen it.
Sir Kendall was his people.

It was like being hit by a tidal wave. He stared into Sir Kendall’s blue eyes - his
own
blue eyes.

I know you.

It was like looking back, back to years and years before, when he was that helpless, unwanted boy. The boy who couldn’t defend himself, clinging to that stupid line, pretending to be unaffected. Paul knew every contour of feeling inside Sir Kendall. They were part of each other. Sir Kendall had taken those beatings with him.

Sir Kendall was his helper. He’d helped him. Sir Kendall was his people.

Everything felt different, suddenly. Missing pieces clicked together.

“Oh, God.” Paul shifted, loosened, mind reeling. There was nowhere to hide from those eyes,
his
eyes, staring back with resolve, defiance. Paul knew the misery and despair concealed behind that bright gaze.

You’re just like them now.

“No,” Paul said, clutching Sir Kendall, wishing he could take back the blows. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t see.”
You’re me. You’re him. I need you.
Paul pulled him close, half-crazy with tenderness.

Everything inside him felt new. Sir Kendall was his own wounded, hidden heart—a missing part of him. Paul understood this with the same instinct he understood fire.

All these years he’d rejected him, but he’d only had to do this, to pull him close. They needed each other.

“What’s going on?” Alix asked.

“It’s okay,” Paul whispered, dizzy with the recognition.

In a flash, Sir Kendall surged from his grip; Paul felt a sharp blade at his throat, Sir Kendall’s knuckles at his scalp, hair pulled taut.

“Shit!” she screamed.

“You don’t have to do this,” Paul croaked. “We’re okay now.”

“Please,” Alix begged. “You can’t hurt him. Don’t hurt him.”

And then there was the sound of feet crunching across the gravel.

They all looked at the same time.

A tall blond man wearing a floppy brown hat and a long brown coat strolled out from the corner, leveling two large double-barreled guns in their direction.

Hyko.

Paul felt Sir Kendall move the knife a titch off his throat.

Hyko’s guns were more like short, fat rifles—the word
pistoleros
came to mind—and a large knife sheath was shoved haphazardly into his belt, pirate fashion. His hair fell over his shoulders in messy blond tangles, and his oversized features had a carven quality, as though a sculptor somewhere had been trying to make a point about rough and excessive men.

Hyko smiled at the two of them, all majesty and menace. “Sir Kendalls, I presume.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Hyko strolled up to Alix, pointing one of his guns at her chest. “Drop it.”

She could barely make sense of the command; her entire being was focused on the knife at Paul’s throat.

“Drop it, Alix,” Paul said softly.

Hyko raised his eyebrows. “Somebody’s been working on their American accent.”

Paul said, “Alix, do it.”

Paul’s eyes looked so blue in the pink of his newly battered face. All she could think was to run to him, hold him.