Sinner's Gin (19 page)

“I’m going to sue! Your damned dog bit me!” The scream was lost in the blizzard of shouts and cameras whirring for the perfect shot.

“Talk to that asshole.” Miki jerked his chin toward the photographer who lost his camera to Kane’s temper. “You guys can go in on a lawyer. Now get the fuck off my property. All of you.”

It was hard going, much more difficult than most of the paparazzi crowds he’d dealt with before. Not for the first time in his life, Miki wished Damien was around. The guitarist seemed to have snake-charming ability to fend off the packs of photographers who stalked them. With Kane’s arm around his shoulders, Miki held the terrier as firmly as he could while the cop led him back into the house.

The crowd was reluctant to let them escape, blocking the front door. The press of bodies grew too hot for Miki to stand, and he gulped in large pulls of air, hoping to escape the claustrophobic walls of people. Kane shoved hard, pushing through the mass to give Miki room to walk.

It took Miki some time. The dog squirmed, eager to catch another bite of someone’s face or arm. Dude’s teeth came dangerously close to a woman’s nose, and she jerked back, toppling a cameraman behind her. They scattered and fell, human dominoes stacked too tightly together for comfort, taking Miki down with them.

He felt himself falling forward, his foot catching on someone’s leg or ankle. Miki twisted, holding Dude close to his belly when he went down. He hit the pavement and choked on the air rushing out of his chest. Something gave in his leg, a tearing heat spreading out from his knee to hook into his balls before twisting a snarling pain through his body.

Gasping, he let go of the dog and rolled over, covering his head to protect himself from the stampede of people around him. Dude jumped free, landing gracefully on the grass. Waves of pain hit Miki’s spine, and he let his stomach have its way, puking out what little he had left in him. Miki heard Dude barking and snapping at the people around him, but he couldn’t focus on the furry blond blur long enough to yell at the terrier to stop.

Strong hands grabbed Miki’s upper arms, hoisting him up. The world tilted, brightening when he was lifted up over the bodies around him. Slung across Kane’s shoulders, Miki hissed when another wave of pain hit him, and he horked, dry heaving over Kane’s chest.

“Shit, you sound like my mom’s cat. Hold on.” Kane turned, shoving people aside with his bulk. Miki was precariously balanced across his back in a half-assed piggy back. Hands were grabbing at his sweats, threatening to pull them down off his slender hips. Bodies jostled them, and Kane pushed back as much as he could. “Dude! Get in the house! Now!”

The dog took one last look at the throng, gave a final defiant bark, and trotted back into the house, tail up high in insult.

“Put me down,” Miki growled. “I can walk.”

For a second, Miki thought Kane was ready to dump him onto his feet on the sidewalk, but the cop was only shifting his hold on Miki’s arms. Draped down Kane’s spine, he had to duck his head when the man plowed through the last of the crowd. A brush of cold air kissed Miki’s bare hip, and he made a grab for his sweats, tugging them back up over his leg.

The press of warm bodies followed them to the threshold. Kane gently put Miki down, his eyes narrowing when Miki yelped in agony. His knee buckled, and he grabbed at Kane to keep his balance. Clutching the man’s arms, he bent his head down and panted, forcing himself to work past the crippling pain. He let go of Kane suddenly and pushed against the man’s broad chest.

“Close the door,” Miki spat out. “If they stick their fingers in, just slam it harder.”

Someone snagged Miki’s arm through the opening of the door, and Kane pushed back. Shoving at the man holding Miki, Kane balled his hand into a fist and let fly. His knuckles connected with the reporter’s nose, crunching it to the side. Wedging himself into the doorframe, Kane stood his ground, keeping his body between the horde and Miki.

“Get inside, Miki,” Kane growled. “We need to get somebody down here to get these assholes off your property.”

A camera stuck through the opening clattered to the floor as its owner’s wrist was caught against the door. From the resistance against Kane’s shove, Miki guessed the man caught more than one person’s fingers. The door bounced slightly as Kane gave the reporters space to pull out their various body parts. Then he shoved it closed again, snapping the door tightly against the jamb.

Miki hobbled over to the couch and grabbed at the back for support. His left leg hurt from taking all of his weight, and the twinge in his right ankle was a warning he’d injured more than his knee. Sitting on the far end of the couch, Dude lolled a smile at him, clearly pleased at the battle he waged against the people outside.

Kane stood by the door and stared at Miki, stiff, furious, and brimming with energy. The man’s deep blue eyes were snapping with anger, and Miki almost winced under the intensity of Kane’s stare. As calmly as he could, he edged around the arm of the couch and tried to ease into the cushions without making too much noise.

He failed miserably.

The pain was intolerable, jerking his nerves up his spine and tingling shockwaves into his teeth. His mouth thickened with viscous spit, and Miki gulped, choking on the sudden mouthful of liquid moving across his tongue. Grabbing at the sofa with both hands, Miki tilted forward and panted, riding out the scorching heat traveling up his leg.

“Come here,” Kane murmured, stepping up behind Miki.

He tried shoving the cop away, but Kane’s arms were already around his waist, lifting him up to ease the pressure against his joints. Kane ducked his head, nudging Miki’s arm up over his shoulder.

“Hold on to me. Let’s get you into the bathroom.” Kane hitched his stride short, gently easing Miki to the bathroom. “I’ll grab some ice for your knee, and you can sit in there with your leg up while I hunt you down some drugs.”

“I’ve got some Jack on the fridge,” Miki grumbled. “God, this fucking hurts.”

“Whiskey isn’t the answer,” Kane sighed. “As much as I’d like to get stinking drunk with you, I think it’s time to give some of the crap the doctors pushed on you a try.”

“Don’t want to get addicted to that shit,” Miki said, shaking his head. “I’ve got to watch for that. They think I had some shit in my system when they found me.”

“You were like, what? Two? Three?” Kane stopped walking and peered down at Miki. “Jesus Christ.”

He shrugged. It wasn’t anything he thought much about, not after so many years of not knowing where he came from or even really giving a shit about the people who let him wander out into the street covered only in a dirty diaper.

“Doesn’t matter.” Miki sucked in a mouthful of air, and Kane lifted him up again. “Old news. No one gives a shit about it now, especially me. Don’t get your panties up in a twist.”

“It’s still not fair.” Kane grimaced. “Yeah, I know. I’m a cop. Life isn’t fucking fair, but shit, sometimes I hate people.”

“Yeah, me too,” Miki admitted. “Especially the ones banging down my door right now.”

“Bathroom first.” Kane’s voice dropped an octave, a grumbling roar that tantalized Miki’s cock more than he’d like. “I’ll call the station and get someone out there to chase them away. Hell, I might not even wait for someone to show up ’cause I’m serious about going out there and shooting them for doing this to you.”

“Yeah, just don’t go do that before you get me the ice.” He grunted when Kane eased him onto the long bench next to the whirlpool. “And if you really fucking loved me, you’d make sure that ice has some whiskey around it.”

Chapter 12

I promised to take you, take you to the stars.

Way past Pluto, once we clear Mars.

We’ll dance in the black, and I will right all my wrongs,

And before our fall from Heaven, we’ll sing our old songs.

So long that we’ve danced, we’ll forget how they go,

Mumble a few words, then bask in our glow.

I’ll teach you to fly, And you’ll teach me to win.

Made me survive, and taught me to sin.

—Letters D and S

H
E
LEFT
Miki asleep in his bed. The afternoon had been filled with cops, questions, and curious looks that made Miki shuffle his feet and retreat behind an icy mask of cynicism and aloofness. It’d gotten to the point where Miki couldn’t even put together the timeline of events, and he stumbled when trying to get his thoughts together. His body grew tense, tightening with stress as each minute passed, and Kane finally broke off the questioning, secreting Miki back in the warehouse where he could collapse on the bed.

A call to the station ensured the presence of a patrol car in front of Miki’s warehouse, but Kane still scanned the main street as he drove away, memorizing the cars clustered near Miki’s driveway in case they needed to be rousted when he came back.

In a city whose lifeblood was tourism, finding a quiet spot was still relatively easy. Driving from Miki’s place, he slid into Chinatown’s busy traffic, heading toward Mission street. The spiced aroma of sizzling meats wafted through the district, and locals fought for space on the sidewalks alongside visitors, heading to favorite hole-in-the-wall places for a late lunch.

He pulled into a space near St. Patrick’s and strolled to the tall brick building, stopping on the sidewalk to let a pair of wind-burnt women in floppy hats finish taking pictures of the church. Kane mounted the short flight of cement steps, entered the church where he’d spent his childhood Sunday mornings, and took a deep breath, inhaling the sweet scent of ancient wood, candle wax, and old paper. After dipping his fingers into the font, Kane crossed himself, dabbing the water on his body. Dipping his head toward the central altar, he continued to walk along the back aisle, then slid into a pew at the rear of the left conclave.

It was an old church with a history that stretched back decades before the Great Quake. Originally built to serve the area’s Irish community, the congregation grew to embrace the Latino and Filipino families that moved into the area. The ornate altar and stained glass windows were framed by arched ceilings and slender marble columns, the cream interior softened by years of burning candles and seasoned stone. The building continued on through the worst of the city’s times, opening its door for those who needed its gentle grace, especially to a growing Morgan family.

It’d become Kane’s sanctuary, one he’d come to when he needed to find peace, whether it was inside or out.

Leaning into the hard wood, Kane closed his eyes and took another breath, letting the cool quiet of the church seep into him. He had a couple of hours before the five o’clock mass, and St. Patrick’s was empty, giving him some solitude. He’d only steeped in the calming silence for a few minutes when a heavy hand clasped his shoulder. Jerking up from his slouch, Kane hissed in slight annoyance when his brother Connor slid into the pew next to him, jostling him with an elbow jab to his left side.

“Stalking me?” Kane muttered.

“Nah, I could smell you from across the city, so I stopped by to tell you to bathe,” Connor murmured back under his breath.

They kept their voices down, more from habit than fear of disturbing anyone else in the empty church, but it was a long-ingrained behavior neither one of them could break. Sitting in the pew next to Connor, Kane felt like he was a little kid again, edging his brother with a few well placed kicks to get Connor to move down to give him more room. The Morgans once took up an entire pew, slowly filling out to two and then three when the boys reached their full breadth. Now their schedules made it hard to attend, but their parents still had a few offspring sitting beside them in the back of the church, as if they still ran the risk of their father taking them outside for misbehaving.

“I saw your car parked across the street,” Connor said, leaning forward to rest his forearms on the pew in front of them. “I was heading up to the house, and thought I’d stop in to see what you were up to.”

Kane grumbled and shoved Connor’s shoulder with his fist. “Nice of you to stop by, now go on to Mom and Dad’s.”

“Did you call Mom to tell her you weren’t coming to dinner?”

“She wasn’t home. I left a message,” Kane replied. “Things got… fucked up. I don’t want to leave Miki alone for too long. I’ve got a couple of uniforms in front of the house right now, but I’ve got to head back.”

“So you came here?” Connor swept his hand in front of him, waving at the church’s Irish-influenced interior. “Thought you and God weren’t on speaking terms.”

“God and I are good.” He snorted. “It’s me and the Church that’s got some problems. Doesn’t mean I’m not Catholic. Just means they’ve got to get their shit together a bit. Not like I came here for the cookies and juice.”

“True, they suck,” his older brother murmured. “Yeah, I guess if Mom and Dad still love you, I’m pretty sure God’s okay with you too.”

Resigned to his brother’s company, Kane shoved his hands in his pockets and gave Connor a sidelong look. “Okay, tell me the real reason you’re here. Mom sent you to hunt me down, didn’t she?”