Vigilante 01 - Who Knows the Storm (25 page)

He tried not to be sick on his shoes.

Above him, the door rattled.

Chapter Forty-six

N
OX
EASED
into the Monarch Suite, gun preceding him, breath held.

The suite was dark, so Nox dropped to the ground, keeping close to the furniture as he made his way toward the bedroom. He fully expected this to be Rachel’s—Jenny’s—trap, a final act of revenge, a final coda to the job she’d botched so many years ago. He made it to the bedroom door.

No sounds from inside. Nothing around him.

Nox opened the door a sliver and peered inside.

Someone was on the bed.

Steeling himself, Nox pushed a little farther and crawled into the second room. Someone was trussed up on the bed, a slender figure.

Sam.

Nox rose slowly, gun raised as he scoped the room. Nothing.

Just his son, laid out like an offering.

He knew they didn’t have much time left.

After tucking the gun in his waistband, Nox grabbed Sam’s legs and pulled him down to the rug. Sam was limp but breathing—thank God—ankles and wrists bound, a cloth in his mouth.

“Sam?” Nox whispered, cradling him in his lap. “Come on.” The gag went, then the ropes around his wrists. “Come on, I need you to wake up.” He could smell the blood on Sam’s clothes, feel the tackiness on his face. The broken sound he made as Nox began to work on his ankles let Nox know they’d hurt him.

Fuckers were going to pay.

Once Sam was free, Nox maneuvered him over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. The lack of guards told him that if they were right about the bomb, it would be happening soon. Maybe he still had time to find Cade.

Nox carried Sam through the suite and back out into the hallway. He drew his gun, knowing he might have to shoot his way out. Back down to the stairwell, panting with the exertion of Sam over his shoulder.

Down below, he heard someone coming.

Gun drawn, he went down to the next landing, catching sight of someone in black moving around below.

Slowly, he went down step by step. Sam was making small sounds of discomfort against his back. “Shhh,” he whispered.

Below, something clanged.

“Shit,” he heard echoing up. Footsteps got closer.

Then Cade came into view.

Relief flooded through Nox’s body.

“Hurry up,” he called.

Cade looked up; he was stark white and covered in streaks of blood.

“What—”

“Nothing. Oh Christ, Sam—is he okay?” Cade rushed up; he grabbed Nox’s arm, then touched Sam’s face. “I heard a bunch of people in the stairwell. They’re leaving.”

“The bomb,” Nox said.

He took off down the stairs then, willing Cade to follow. Twenty-six fucking floors to get down—and he knew the countdown had already started.

“Wait, wait, Nox!” Cade called hoarsely after him. “We have to hit an alarm or something—the fire alarm. All those people.”

Fuck.

“When we get downstairs.”

“It’ll be too late. You keep going down—I’ll set off the alarms and meet you at the bottom.”

Fuck.

No.

Nox stopped on the next landing. Cade skidded to a halt next to him.

“Can you carry him?” Nox laid Sam down gently on the ground. “Get him out of here. I’m going to hit the fire alarm and people are going to flood these stairs.”

“I can….”

“You know this building better than I do, which means you can get Sam out of here quicker,” Nox said smoothly. “I need you to do that.”

“Right, okay.” Cade didn’t hesitate. He pushed past Nox, quick to pull Sam into his arms. “There are alarms on each floor—hit the one by the elevators and it’ll set off the sprinklers.”

Nox brushed his hand across Sam’s bruised cheek. He leaned over and touched his forehead to Cade’s. His lover looked just as terrified and determined as he felt—like it didn’t matter if death was waiting around the next corner. They weren’t going to stop until someone stopped them.

A calm he didn’t expect fell over Nox. He pulled back, flashed Cade a smile, then ran down the steps to the next floor.

Chapter Forty-seven

L
IKE
THE
fucking devil was on his heels, Cade ran. Sam slung over his shoulder, dead weight, bruised and scared shitless, Cade ran. He skidded a few times, rammed into walls and railings, nearly pitched down to both their certain deaths more than once, but he ran.

Above him he heard the shriek of the alarm, saw red lights flashing. He could hear doors slamming open, frantic screams and the buzz of frightened partiers streaming into the stairwell.

Cade ran.

He reached the street level doors and pushed.

Nothing.

Locked.

“No, no, no,” he whispered, banging his fist on the metal. “Open the door.”

Nothing.

He fumbled for the access card in his pocket and swiped it frantically in the nearby reader.

It flashed red.

Fuck no.

All the way, all of this, for nothing. The sounds of the evacuation got closer; they would all get down here and panic, crushing him and Sam to death as they tried to escape.

He went back up to the first-floor landing, panting at the strain. That door opened.

Cade stepped into the hallway that connected the upper lobby and maintenance rooms. He hesitated—he was still a full story up, and they couldn’t jump. There had to be another exit, maybe one that wasn’t locked.

He’d gotten twenty feet, thirty, headed for the back of the building, when it shook violently, throwing him to the ground. Sam flew out of his grasp as the Iron Butterfly screamed and groaned around them.

Cade choked on the dust, and debris filled the air. He staggered to his feet, pulling a moaning Sam into his arms once again. He couldn’t manage to get him over his shoulder; instead he dragged him along as they made their way to the back stairs.

Another explosion rocked the Butterfly. Behind him, Cade heard the ceiling fall in, the crash of the giant chandeliers from the upper lobby. The door was twenty feet away. Ten. Five.

Cade shoved at the door and it mercifully flew open under the force of his weight.

They tumbled down the metal stairs into the security room near the back door.

He smelled freedom.

Chapter Forty-eight

N
OX
HIT
the alarm, then ran back into the stairwell. He shot at a security camera on the next floor, shorting out the line. The sparks tripped the sprinklers on that floor as well, as the alarms blared and red lights flashed. He ran down the stairwell, each lower floor filling with more and more patrons and staff in various states of undress.

Damian, the business manager he’d met on his first visit, stood in the center of the hallway, frantically directing guests toward both sets of stairs. His eyes got wide when he saw Nox hurry past him. They exchanged terse nods and Nox was gone again.

He needed to make sure Cade and Sam were out.

At floor twenty, in the thick of people in fancy dress tripping down the stairs, Nox felt the first rumble.

“Hurry up!” he screamed. “Hurry!”

He ducked out on nineteen and ran to the back stairwell. Fewer people were evacuating that way, mostly staff and maintenance workers who knew about it. He dodged through them, jumped over the railing, and slid down twice as fast.

Another strong explosion nearly knocked him off-balance.

Smoke filled the stairwell, panicking the crowd. People started falling and were trampled as flight took priority over one’s fellow man. Nox grabbed a tiny woman in a housekeeping uniform as she skidded near the edge of the stairs, nearly toppling over.

“Come on, come on, on your feet,” he urged her. A man in a bartending uniform grabbed her around the waist and carried her off before Nox could react.

Nox kept moving, trying to keep order even as he scanned farther down for signs of Cade and Sam.

They came to the main floor—and the crowd stopped.

“The door is locked!” someone screamed, and hysteria rose like a storm.

“Shit.” Nox pushed his way down through the crying and wailing to the bottom and grabbed at a man in a tuxedo who was frantically pulling on the handle.

“Stand back. Get everyone back.” Nox pulled the Sig out and fired at the lock until it broke.

“Try it again. One, two, three.” The row of people closest to the door threw themselves at it—it shook under their weight but it didn’t budge. Behind them, some of the crowd began running back upstairs to the next landing. Screams told him that wasn’t working either. The smoke thickened and Nox kicked at the door in a fury.

A faint scraping sound from the other side caught his attention; he leaned closer to hear through the commotion.

“Hang on!” someone said. “Just wait.”

More scraping and then the blessed sound of the door being yanked open.

The flood of frantic people pushed past, shoving Nox along like a leaf caught in a storm. He broke free and ran ahead, pushed open the security door, the final barrier to the street.

He saw Cade then, a few feet down the alleyway, directing people away from the building as it fell apart. Nox pushed the crowd forward, shoving bodies through the door.

“Run! Get as far away as you can!”

Another explosion, this one higher up. The Iron Butterfly rained down glass and steel and fire from its top floors as the survivors ran into the night. As the trickle of people slowed, Nox followed, headed for Cade.

Who saw him a second later.

“Thank God,” he gasped, grabbing Nox’s arm and pulling him farther away from the building. “Sam’s over here.” They ran down the alley and around the corner. A block up, Nox saw Sam tucked into the entrance of a tiny Italian restaurant.

They were steps away from Sam when a massive crash turned them around.

The Iron Butterfly collapsed in on itself with a shriek, showering a two-block radius with its destruction.

Chapter Forty-nine

C
ADE
WASHED
his hands again, still trying to erase the blood he imagined clung to his skin. He knew it was a little crazy, and he knew the red hue of his skin was from the harsh chemical soap, but he didn’t care.

He killed someone last night, and it wasn’t any easier to stomach in the morning light.

The tiny bathroom of an abandoned restaurant on the edge of the District smelled rank. A few months ago it was a happening Spanish eatery, but the owner had fallen prey to the gambling right down the street and lost it. It was the first thing they came to, as they raced from the scene of the explosion, that was easy to break into.

It was safe for now.

The running water in the employee bathroom was a miracle, the still working light in the manager’s office a gift from God he actually said a thank-you prayer for.

On the floor of the office lay Sam, wrapped in blankets and spare coats, everything Cade had taken from his apartment to keep the teenager warm. Nox had been in and out for hours, back to the printing place to get their things, breaking into businesses to get the supplies they needed. Cade walked back slowly, using the trail of sunlight from the broken windows to maneuver through the overturned tables and chairs, coated in dust. In the distance, he caught Nox’s profile, and his heart twisted.

They were in so much fucking trouble, and Cade didn’t have a single suggestion of how to get out of it.

He dragged his boots over the dirt—and what he was pretending was more dirt—and God knew what else, and stepped through the doorway. Nox didn’t look away from where Sam was curled in that nest of warmth, didn’t acknowledge Cade’s presence.

Does he blame me?
Cade thought.
I blame myself for starting all this in the first place.

“I need to get some supplies,” Nox said finally, shattering the silence.

Cade looked up and nodded. “I can—”

“I’ll be back in about an hour,” he continued as if Cade hadn’t spoken. “You still have the gun.”

It wasn’t a question, so Cade just nodded.

Nox left without ever meeting his eyes.

Sig in hand, Cade leaned against the wall and watched Sam sleep. Every few minutes Sam’s rasping breathing would turn into a wet cough, and every time, Cade’s chest tightened in sympathy. Smoke inhalation. Bruised ribs from the beating. So much damage and they couldn’t go to the hospital.

They couldn’t go anywhere.

The Iron Butterfly was a crime scene, police tape fluttering around the rubble. The body count was 264—from the bomb, mostly. At least another six hundred managed to escape thanks to the early warning. Zed and Billy were another matter entirely, but Cade wasn’t sure if the police knew what—or who—killed them yet.

All they were sure of was that the Vigilante had blown the shit out of the biggest casino in the District during Anniversary Weekend, aided and abetted by Cade Creel and Sam Mullens. All the news cycles were saying it, so it must be true.

There was evidence, according to Mason, who’d been frantically calling Sam’s cell, which they’d found at the bottom of his backpack. Nox finally put him out of his misery and got valuable information in return. The police chief had been to the City Hall complex twice in the past three days, and the news reported arrests were imminent.

Cade wondered if his friends had gotten out in time.

He wished he knew where Alec was.

What he really wanted? Was to go the fuck home.

C
ADE
STAYED
awake until Nox returned, bags of stolen food in his hand. He didn’t say anything, just pushed the gun on the floor toward his lover’s boots and then lay down to sleep.

Chapter Fifty

N
OX
SAT
on the floor, Sig in his lap, knife in his boot, the sleeping forms of the two people he cared about most in the world a foot in either direction.

He was waiting for sounds of the police, or whoever it was that set the bomb at the Iron Butterfly. He didn’t even know for sure who was after him—them. All he knew was that he was waiting for cocked guns and the stomp of feet against the concrete floor.