Boston Avant-Garde 6: Chiaroscuro (25 page)

A svelte blonde stepped inside the office from a rear door Mattie hadn’t noticed until now. She snuggled up to Jericho, nudging her way beneath his arm. The way his body curved immediately toward hers, the subtle drawing together, and the warmth that suffused his expression told Mattie this woman meant everything to Jericho.

“Suri, what are you doing in here?” he asked her.

“I was watching on the security camera.” She gazed up at him with a look of mild censure. “Can’t you tell the girl is desperate? The two of you know what that’s like. Don’t draw it out.”

Torres spun sideways in his chair to face her. “Princess, we can’t be everyone’s knights in shining armor.”

“No, you’re mine.” Suri stepped away from Jericho and plopped right down on Torres’s lap in a gesture of familiarity that made Mattie see him in a whole new light. “And if one of you was in trouble, I’m pretty sure she’d be willing to help us out.”

If Mattie had thought she’d be the only girl out there claiming two husbands, she’d been way off. It was readily apparent these three had a very serious bond. The body language alone was enough to make Mattie ache to find Owen so they could resolve the conflict from that morning. She wanted to feel that sense of completeness that came from being together as a triad.

She tightened her hold on Lars and nestled closer for comfort. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Dante, please. I know you’ve got an idea. It was obvious the minute Mattie asked you for help. No one will know the information came from you. We’ll leave out the back, and you can say we were here all night.”

Calling Torres by his first name added another layer of humanity to his persona. Mattie could see the war going on behind his dark eyes. When they finally softened, she knew they’d gained an ally.

Dante sighed and met Jericho’s gaze. Mattie could’ve sworn they held an entire conversation in that tiny slice of time. She’d seen that bond before with Demon and Malachi, and Owen and Lars. It’d made her feel shut out of the loop. Yet watching Suri’s expectant observation of the exchange made Mattie wonder if she’d been missing the whole point.

How many times had she lamented the fact that she couldn’t read Lars or Owen as well as she’d like? Suri obviously didn’t have all the pieces of the conversation going on between her lovers, but she knew what she wanted of them and figured they’d work each other around to her way of thinking given half a chance. It all boiled down to trust. She trusted their character and that they’d do the right thing.

It was like Mattie knowing that Lars was good-hearted and had a brilliant, analytical mind, though he was stubborn as a mule and tended to hide from his emotions when they made him uncomfortable. Or being certain that Owen understood human reason on a deep, intrinsic level and had insights into motive most people would never guess. Lars was as practical as the day was long but open-minded and willing to accept things at face value. Owen grasped the spirituality and mysticism in life but wasn’t judgmental of those who didn’t. They were a perfect blending of opposites.

Where do I fit in?

She thought of their shiftless existence up till that point. Lars had grown up overseas and now moved from city to city with each case. Owen had been forced to leave his home behind and had never settled anywhere else. Mattie was the living embodiment of the roots they both needed to put down in order to find a place to call home. Their relationship was like one of the ancient trees in her yard that had withstood years of weather and change. Lars represented the branches reaching outward, Owen the stout trunk holding them steady, and Mattie the roots anchoring them where they belonged.

It was Jericho who finally spoke, stepping forward to place his hands on Dante’s shoulders. Suri’s fingers tangled with Jericho’s, the three of them presenting a picture of unification. “About a block from here there’s an old factory. It’s been in the same hands for over a hundred years, but there hasn’t been any manufacturing going on there since the fifties, as far as we know. The owner is a member of some Indian tribe based down in Rhode Island.” Mattie inhaled sharply, and Jericho seemed to take it for skepticism. “As far as I know, the intel is good.”

“No, it’s got to be right,” Lars said quickly. “Owen is Narragansett. It would make sense.”

Mattie’s heart thumped against her ribs. “We should hurry.”

“Do you have a plan?” Dante asked, his expression giving nothing away.

Lars shrugged as he began to move toward the exit. “Get in, get Owen, get out, and don’t get killed.”

Jericho snorted. “Care to expand on that any?”

“No. I’m making this up as I go along.” Lars tugged Mattie toward the door, and though she’d been eager a moment ago, Dante’s and Jericho’s words had given her pause.

She looked from one man to the other. “Will you help us?”

“You can’t let them do this alone.” Suri’s tight expression didn’t quite agree with her calm rationalization. Mattie didn’t blame her one bit. Had someone suggested she send Lars and Owen on a dangerous errand for strangers, she’d have balked.

Dante met Jericho’s gaze over Suri’s head before looking at Lars. “We’ll meet you at the alley entrance to the building in thirty minutes. It’s down Adams, technically in Milton. If I were you, I’d call Malachi and have the two of them meet us there too. This isn’t going to be a walk in the park.”

Chapter Twenty-One

The sound of the crowd was deafening in the close space. Their voices ricocheted off the old bricks and rattled Owen’s bones. He didn’t focus on the faces or expressions of the people screaming for his blood. Instead, he let his gaze rest on the crappy construction of the cage crouched in the center of the cavernous room. It looked as if a toddler using a set of plastic tools had built it after drawing up plans with his crayons.

Owen was more apprehensive about trusting the platform inside to holding the combined weight of the fighters than the prowess of any potential opponents. He fidgeted on the rickety steps leading up to his corner of the haphazard structure, nonplussed by their squeakiness.

The minion named Phil picked up the tatty microphone, and his voice crackled over the speakers. “After three years away from the circuit, Bloodmoon is back!”

Owen didn’t flatter himself that the yells and catcalls were really for him. Between the liquor and the adrenaline, the crowd would’ve been equally welcoming to a forty-year-old guy with a paunch and a bald spot. Besides, he didn’t need their adoration. His ego was safe with Lars and Mattie. Every last person in the building could’ve booed Owen back to his holding cell, and he wouldn’t have cared. His lovers’ regard was the only thing that mattered.

His brother’s other cohort, Tony, approached. “Time to earn your keep.”

Tony grabbed Owen’s T-shirt and ripped it off. Owen wasn’t particularly fond of the shirt, but it had provided a certain amount of distance between Owen and his circumstances. With that distance gone, Tony was the first to take advantage.

Tony splayed his palms on Owen’s chest. “I think I’m disappointed it’s your girlfriend and not you I’ll be fucking tomorrow night.”

Owen clamped his jaw shut, refusing to rise to the bait. The subtle jingle of his cuffs was the only hint that he was affected by Tony’s words.

“Maybe I’ll just close my eyes and imagine it’s your tight ass I’m plowing into.” Tony’s fingers dipped dangerously low to Owen’s waistband.

Owen’s skin crawled at the contact. He’d never experienced such a visceral reaction to that sort of taunt before. It was new and terrifying to find himself vulnerable in situations such as this. On the other hand it was exhilarating to know he was committed body and soul to his lovers in a way that utterly changed the way he viewed the world.

“In you go.” Tony opened the cage and shoved Owen inside.

Owen inhaled deeply to find his center. “When I get out of here, Tony, you’d do well to run as far and as fast as you can. There will be no cage between us when I see you next time.”

Tony’s face paled several shades, his dark complexion going chalky as he processed Owen’s threat.

Phil got back on the microphone. “That’s right, folks, this is the main event! I’ll say it again, the main event. I hoped you placed your bets, because they close now!”

Owen rolled his neck, knowing what was coming. He could see a shadowy mass waiting to enter the door in the opposite corner of the cage. It wouldn’t be long now.

He formed an image in his mind of Mattie with her dark hair and blue-gray eyes, and Lars with his tousled hair and overt masculinity. Owen thought of the way they’d been that morning, the three of them in the bed together. Nothing but arms, legs tangled together, spiced by smiles and blended with the humor that always sustained them. Or the night before, when Mattie had come apart with Lars’s hot cock lodged in her tight ass and Owen’s seated deep in her pussy. He thought of how it felt to know beyond doubt that these two people walked in his soul.

Phil gave a gleeful shout when the other door opened. “It’s the Terminator!”

Owen couldn’t help it. He snorted at hearing the ridiculous moniker. What kind of idiot called himself by that kind of name?

A gargantuan man squeezed through the doorway. Owen gawped at the sheer size of him. He was well over six and a half feet tall and probably had more than a hundred and fifty pounds on Owen. He wore nothing but a dingy white wifebeater, black cargos, and giant-size biker boots. His face was all jowls and broad nose, and his hair had been shaved close to his scalp.

Owen sighed and reached up to secure his long hair into a single ponytail. If he were lucky, his ham-fisted opponent wouldn’t rip it out with one yank. The guy had gorilla arms and legs like tree trunks. Worse, there was a generous amount of intelligence gleaming in his beady black eyes. With a guy this size, Owen tended to hope he was as dumb as he was big. This time it didn’t seem like that was true at all.

A bell rang somewhere, the sound like gunfire in the echoing space. The Terminator lumbered forward with purpose. Owen balanced on the balls of his feet, knowing it was all over if the Terminator got his arms around his much leaner frame.

The knife strapped to Owen’s calf burned. It would have been so simple to wrap his hand around the hilt and end this before it even began. Still, there was a certain lack of sportsmanship in such a move, and Owen’s opponent hadn’t attempted to cheat…yet.

Owen waited until the Terminator was almost upon him before leaping out of the way. The man swiped with one huge fist. Owen ducked the blow and followed up with two left punches to the man’s ribs. It was like hitting a brick wall. Bringing this bastard down was going to take some doing.

The Terminator swung around much faster than a man his size should’ve been able to. One huge hand connected with Owen’s shoulder, causing instant numbness coupled with a stumble that nearly had Owen on the ground.

He steadied on his feet and gauged the distance from the ground to the chain link draped over the top of the cage. His brain was working at a furious pace, soaked in adrenaline and anger that had been simmering since he’d heard what Hyde had planned for Mattie.

Owen’s opponent changed direction and charged. Swapping tactics, Owen ran right at him. He could see the surprise register on the man’s broad face just before Owen leaped in the air and used the Terminator for a step. Owen latched on to the fence overhead and wrapped his legs around his opponent’s meaty neck.

The crowd surged against the exterior of the cage, screaming for blood. Owen could have ended it right there. It was within his abilities to break the man’s neck and be done. He didn’t want to take that step. It wasn’t in him. Maybe once, but not now, not anymore.

The Terminator wrapped his iron fingers around Owen’s calves and dug in. The bruises were going to be colossal, but Owen tried like hell to keep squeezing. He used his abs to lift his body toward the ceiling of the cage. The idea was to increase the pressure, but the cage itself started to give way. The Terminator’s grip on Owen intensified. He lurched, throwing his body weight against Owen’s hold.

Owen braced for impact as his hands were ripped from the links, and he was thrown to the floor. He managed to tuck and roll at the last minute, his already numb right shoulder taking most of the force. There was no time to lose. His instincts blared a warning as the big man advanced, but Owen couldn’t move fast enough. Still on his back, he threw himself sideways to avoid an anvil-like knee aimed at his midsection. His luck didn’t last, though, and the Terminator flopped down onto Owen like a spider trapping a fly.

Owen’s joints creaked in protest when the big man grabbed his wrists and wrenched them over his head before pinning him to the floor. The blood rushing in Owen’s ears nearly drowned out the sounds of the crowd that had turned on him and was now calling for his annihilation. The Terminator held Owen’s wrists in one meaty paw and drew a knife. He held the blade to Owen’s throat.

Time seemed to slow, but it wasn’t Owen’s life that flashed before his eyes. In that moment he had only one regret: he’d never told Mattie and Lars that he loved them. It wasn’t acceptable. Mattie had all but admitted her feelings, and while he hadn’t shut her down, he’d been too much of a coward to say what was in his heart. And Lars… There were so many things they had never said. Owen didn’t want to die like that.

I don’t want to die.

Resolve sent renewed vigor through his body. Owen gathered his legs and planted the soles of his boots square on the floor. Bucking upward, he jerked his hips until he felt the Terminator’s hold falter.

Owen ripped his hands free and used them to push his opponent’s head back. It shifted the man’s considerable bulk to the perfect angle. Owen freed his left leg and brought it up, locking it around the Terminator’s neck and managing a textbook reversal that rolled the bigger man onto his back and placed Owen on top.

Without thought, Owen reached into his boot and unsheathed his blade. He pressed the razor-sharp edge to the big man’s throat. Blood welled to the surface. The crowd went wild, urging him to finish it. Owen’s hand was steady. He pressed harder, gazing into the beady black eyes and seeing fear replace the earlier bravado.