Infinity (4 page)

"Hi there," the woman said to him, smiling.

"Hi." Nick returned the expression. But his smile died an instant later when Alan leapt out of the shadows to grab the woman while Tyree knocked the man into a wall.

Nick was stunned. "What are you doing?"

"Shut up!" Alan snarled, pulling out a gun. "All right, grandpa. Give us your money or the old ho gets it right between her eyes."

Nick felt the color drain from his face. This couldn't be happening. They were mugging two tourists?
And I'm helping____

For a full minute he couldn't breathe as he watched the woman cry and the man beg them not to hurt her.

Before he even realized what he was doing, he grabbed Alan's hand that held the gun and knocked it away. "Run!" he shouted at the couple.

They did.

Tyree started after them, but Nick tackled him to the ground.

Alan caught him by the collar of his shirt and jerked him back. "Man, what are you doing?"

Nick shoved him. "I can't let you mug someone. That wasn't the deal."

"You stupid ." Alan hit him in the face with the gun.

Pain exploded in Nick's skull as he tasted blood.

"You're going to pay for that, Gautier."

The three of them descended on him so fast and furious that he couldn't even see to fight back. One minute he was standing and the next he was on the ground with his arms wrapped around his head to protect it from the gun Alan was beating him with. They stomped and beat on him until he lost all feeling in his legs and one arm.

Alan stepped back and angled the gun on him. "Say your prayers, Gautier. You're about to become a statistic."

Nick wanted to lash out so badly he could taste it.
I won't die like this. Not beaten in a gutter by people whore supposed to be my friends. Guys IVe known and played with my whole life. I won't.

Yet here he lay.

Helpless. Weak.

Defeated.

Not only were his taste buds drenched with blood, he felt like he was suffocating on it. His mind ached to fight until they were begging him for mercy--it wanted him to get up and make them eat their teeth, but his body refused to cooperate. Nothing was listening to him. Heck, he couldn't even keep them from hitting him.

Unable to do anything at all, he glared his hatred at Alan and hoped that the look alone would haunt the rat for the rest of eternity.

Alan laughed as he squeezed the trigger. Holding his breath, Nick waited for the sound that would end his life.

Out of the darkness, a blur rushed in at the same instant Alan fired the gun. One moment, Tyree, Alan, and Mike were laughing at his pain while they insulted him. In the next, they were flying through the air and hitting the ground near him hard enough to break bones.

Nick froze as he tried to figure out where he'd been shot, but his body hurt so much that he couldn't tell.
Maybe it

missed me. . . .

Lying on the street, he caught a flash of blond hair and black clothes as someone attacked his ex-friends.

Alan cried out and the gun landed on the ground beside him.

The blond man tsked. "Shame you're too young to kill. But in two years, I catch you doing this crap again, you won't live long enough to rethink it." With one hand, he threw Alan into the street like a rag doll.

In a swirl of black and a flash of silver, the man turned to face Nick. He didn't know why, but the guy reminded him more of a rich stockbroker than someone able to take down street-hardened gangbangers. And he wasn't all that old either. Maybe his late twenties.

Maybe.

Nick could barely draw his breath as the man came forward with the walk of a vicious predator. He was dressed all in black. An expensive leather coat draped around a body that was lethal. But it was the flash of silver on a pair of black boots that caught his attention.

One of them had a knife protruding from the toe. A knife that retracted as he came closer. The man knelt down, his brow furrowed into a deep frown. "They made a mess of you, kid. Can you stand?"

Nick slapped at his hand as the man reached out to touch him. He didn't need help from anyone. Especially not a stranger.

He tried to push himself to his feet, then everything went black.

Kyrian Hunter barely caught the skinny kid dressed in a foully orange Hawaiian shirt before he hit the street. That hideous thing had saved his life. So bright it practically glowed, it'd called out to him as he'd been walking by and had alerted him to the fight.

From what he'd seen, the kid was a tough little scrapper. He'd give him that. And the boy could take a vicious beating without begging for mercy. There weren't many adults who could have gone through what he had without crying.

That alone made him respect the kid.

He glared at the other punks, who were running down the street as fast as they could. The ancient warrior and predator inside him wanted to hunt them down and kill them for what they'd done.

But the man in him knew this one, the one who'd put his life on the line to save the elderly couple, wouldn't live if he did. The cowards could unfortunately wait for another butt-whipping.

He tilted the kid's face so that he could see his features. The short brown hair was saturated with blood, and a huge cut would most likely leave a scar right above his left eyebrow. His nose was broken and by the looks of it, his jaw might be too. If not broken, they'd pounded it real good. Blood poured from his shoulder where he'd been shot.

Poor kid.

Picking him up, Kyrian carried him to his car so that he could get him to the hospital before he bled out and died.

Kyrian paced the waiting room, where several dozen other people sat in various states of agitation and illness. It'd been almost two hours since he'd handed the teenager over to the staff and still no word about the kid he'd found. Was he even still alive?

Checking his watch, he growled. He really didn't have the time to stay here, waiting. ...

He had important duties to attend to and, with luck, more lives to save before dawn.

"What are you doing here, General?"

He froze at the deep, thickly accented voice. Since Acheron was an eleven-thousand-year-old omnipotent immortal, he was the last person Kyrian had expected to find in a hospital. Not like the man could ever break a bone or get sick.

He turned around slowly to find Acheron just inside the doorway. At six foot eight with dark green hair and dressed in black Goth gear complete with a spiked leather motorcycle jacket, he was an impressive sight that made everyone who saw him swallow in fear. But it wasn't just his height that gave people pause. It was the lethal aura of I'll-kick-your-butt-so-hard-your-ancestors'-ears-will-ring. Anyone who came near him could feel the unearthly power that bled from the pores of this particular .

Being.

"What are
you
doing here?" Kyrian asked.

His eyes completely shielded by a pair of opaque Predator sunglasses even though it was almost midnight, Acheron cut loose with a lopsided grin that antagonized him. "I asked
you
first."

If it'd been anyone other than Acheron making that smart-aleck comment, Kyrian would give him a higher dose of attitude. But attitude didn't work on Acheron. It just pissed him off, which was never a good thing. "I found a kid getting a major ass-whipping on the street. I don't know who he is but I don't want to leave him here without an adult to watch over him. He was pretty badly mangled in the fight and not old enough to be left alone."

Acheron tilted his head as if he was listening to voices only he could hear. Kyrian hated whenever he did that. It creeped him out to think what all whispered to the ancient being. Most of all, it creeped him out to think what all the man knew about him that Kyrian had never told him. ...

"Name's Gautier. Nick Gautier. He's a fourteen-year-old student at St. Richard's High School on Chartres who lives in the Lower Ninth on Claiborne Ave."

Kyrian was impressed. "You know him?"

There was no hint of emotion from Acheron. "Never seen him before."

"Yet you know his name?"

That cocky grin returned to irritate Kyrian. "I know lots of things, General." Acheron held his hand up and a piece of paper appeared out of nowhere between his fingers. He held it out to him. "His mother's an exotic dancer named Cherise Gautier. You can reach her here. But be warned. She has a sharp tongue where her son's concerned and if she thinks you've hurt him or caused him to be hurt ... she's going for blood."

Kyrian took the paper from his hand. "I'd ask you about those Jedi mind tricks of yours, but I know you won't answer."

Acheron tucked his hands into the pockets of his scuffed jacket that had two chains wrapped around the shoulder of it. "No comment, but I will say this." He paused before he spoke again. "Nick isn't Jason. It's a different time and place, General. Don't let the past ruin your future."

"Meaning what, oh great Yoda?"

Acheron didn't elaborate. "You take care of the kid. I'll take care of your patrol tonight. I could use the target practice."

"Thanks for understanding." After all, Acheron was his boss and could have easily reamed him for not doing his duties.

Acheron inclined his head before he made his way out of the room and through the double doors that led to the parking lot. And with him went that powerful charge in the air.

Yeah, Acheron was one scary SOB. But Kyrian wasn't exactly comforting himself. Acheron had trained him and he'd been a master pupil, especially when it came to killing things that shouldn't be living in the first place.

Glancing at the number in his hand, he pulled his phone out and called Nick's mother.

Nick groaned as he blinked open his . Eye.

Uh, gah, what happened?
His head was throbbing and one eye had something over it that prevented him from opening it.
Please dont tell me IVe put out an eye.
His mom would flip sideways. It was her biggest fear.

Dont play with that fill-in-the-blank, Nick. You could lose an eye.
It was her favorite rant no matter what object he touched, and she'd kill him if he was now a cyclops.

God, Ill never get a girlfriend now/ Women dont date freaks.

"Careful, kid."

Nick paused as he realized he was in a hospital room. He tried to sit up, but someone stopped him. His panic increased as he recognized the blond man from the fight. "Where am I?"

"Hospital."

"Really? No kidding? And here I thought I was at McDonald's." Nick glared at the stupid answer. "I can't be here. We can't afford it."

The man ignored his rampant sarcasm, keeping his features completely impassive. "Don't worry about the price. It's on me."

Yeah, right. "We don't take charity." Nick winced as pain tore through his skull and he realized his arm was in a sling.
Dont you dare break a bone, Nicky. I cant afford no doctor bill like that. Whatever you do, dont get hurt.

Nick felt ill over everything that'd happened. "My mom's going to kill me."

"I doubt it."

If the stranger only knew ... "Yeah, well, I don't. I happen to have known the woman since the day I was born and she's going to beat me until I bleed." He looked up at the stranger who'd saved his life.

He was huge. Probably around six-four with short blond hair, he was dressed all in black. High-end black. Nice pants, Ferragamo boots and, unless Nick missed his guess, the button-down shirt was silk with leather cuffs and collar--not that fake stuff they sold at the Dollar Store where he and his mother bought clothes. As for his coat, the leather was so soft, it didn't even make that crackling leather sound.

This guy was definitely loaded.

"Why can't I move my arm?" Nick was starting to panic.

"You were shot."

"Where?"

"Your shoulder."

Before Nick could say another word, he heard his mother's distressed cry. From the side where his vision was blocked, she appeared and wrapped her arms around him.

"Oh my God, baby. Are you all right?" She bawled as she saw the bandage on his head and over his eye. "What did they do to you? Why weren't you at home like I told you? Dammit, Nicky, why don't you ever listen to me? Just once in your life!" "It wasn't his fault."

His mother released him instantly. She turned toward the stranger, who was still in the far corner of the room. "Who are you and why are you here?"

He held his hand out to her. "Kyrian Hunter. I'm the one who called you."

She shook his hand. There was a stark contrast between her tan secondhand frayed wool coat, cheap white vinyl boots, and the red sequined polyester skirt Nick knew belonged to one of her dancing outfits. His tiny mom was a beautiful woman, but the heavy, overdone stage makeup made her look a lot older than her twenty-eight years and he hated when she teased her blond hair out for shows. It made her look cheap and his mom was anything but. "Thank you for that, Mr. Hunter. Where did you find him again?"

Nick panicked. If Kyrian told her where he was when he'd been shot, she'd shoot him again just for good measure.