Young Lies (Young Series Book 1) (33 page)

“But I don’t!” I insist. “What do you want from me?”

“I already told you,” she says. Her mouth opens to continue, but a noise from above distracts us. The woman’s mouth curves down into a frown and with a glare at me, she turns to leave the room. I sigh in relief when the door closes.

Tyler looks up at me. “Mommy, my watch is doing something funny, look,” he tells me in a whisper.

I look down distractedly, trying to figure out how to get us out of this mess and feel my eyes widen. From inside the watch, a tiny light is blinking. I pull Tyler’s wrist up to examine it more closely, wondering how the hell something could be behaving in this manner from within such a small thing as a child’s wristwatch. “Cover it with your hand,” I tell him very quietly. “Keep it hidden.”

He turns in my lap so that his wrist is wedged between his hip and my belly.

A commotion breaks out on deck and my fear only increases at the sound of gunshots, several of them. Not knowing what else to do, I stand up, backing as far as I can from the door in the room, putting my back against the wall just as the door slams open and two large men enter. I know their intent immediately and I hold Tyler closer as they approach, warning them to stay away from us. Of course they ignore me and one of them reaches for Tyler, ripping him out of my arms. Tyler is screaming and crying and fighting while I’m screaming for him to leave my son alone, to take me, leave him. The second man grabs me before I can attack the first one, wrenching my hands behind my back and pulling a gun from the back of his belt. The muzzle is ice cold against my temple, but I try to pay it no mind, fighting to get to my son.

“Move,” the man behind me orders in a thick Russian accent. I have no choice but to comply as the one holding Tyler starts outside the room; I need to keep my son in sight.

On the deck of the boat, there are more gunshots and my eyes are wide and fearful as I worry about whether or not those bullets will hit my son. Our captors begin shouting at unseen figures probably in the wooded area just off the shore. Tyler is fighting more than ever and I want to tell him to calm down before the man holding him harms him. But I’m blinded by incredibly bright light and slam my eyelids shut to allow my eyes time to adjust.

When I open them again, I immediately find something impossible. Blaming my still adjusting eyesight, I convince myself I’m not seeing Matthew standing up from the ground, his eyes wide, his face angry. But as our eyes meet I realize it
is
him; though I have no idea how it could be. He’s dead. We saw the footage of the plane crash and there is no way he could have just stood up, wiped the dust off himself, and walked away. But that’s what my mind is telling me has happened. He doesn’t seem as though he’s been through a plane crash. Then the woman’s words to me earlier about how it’s sad that I actually believe him to be dead ring in my ears. I need to go to him, to know if this is some strange hallucination. There’s every possibility that it’s only my mind playing tricks on me to give me some sort of comfort in my time of need. I suddenly don’t care about what happens to me. My only concern is Tyler and his safety.

I begin to struggle against the grip the man has on my arms. His reaction is press the muzzle of the gun further and more roughly into my temple to the point that it actually begins to affect my vision. Twisting away, I force my captor to release the grip he’s got on my wrists and I bite my lip against a snap in one as I turn around, plant my feet, and place my kneecap between the man’s legs. He grunts in pain and he stumbles backwards, gripping himself; I turn towards the man who has Tyler, intending to do the same to him. There’s a scuffling behind me and I cry out in intense pain, listening as my son cries out for me and I hear a strangled, raging shout from off the boat as I’m thrown bodily into the wall. I’m out cold before I can even slide to the floor.

Sitting in a tiny waiting room that probably couldn’t hold more than a dozen people comfortably, my head is in my hands as I await news on my family. I’ve lost track of how long I’ve been sitting in this broken chair with a spring poking into my ass, but the way I see it, it’s a small penance to pay for the disaster I’ve created. Marcus sat with me for the first couple hours, neither of us speaking a word. Before he left, he assured me he’d keep me posted on any new developments. Right now, though, the only developments I want to be apprised of are those regarding Samantha and Tyler.

To the annoyance of several doctors and federal agents, I refused medical treatment upon arrival to the hospital. Let’s face it: a sprained ankle and some cuts and bruises pale into comparison to everything else happening right now. The bits of news I’ve received about last night’s events are minimally pleasing: three dead, four in police custody, but one escape. And until Samantha wakes up and tells us who that last person is, or one of the four breaks his silence, we’ve got nothing. The only description I have to go on is “female.” Not helpful.

More than once I’ve replayed the scenes on the boat in my head. How our stealthy approach was given away by a very observant guard with a gun. Though we hadn’t wanted to, we had no choice but to open fire and Marcus isn’t one to miss his target. Unfortunately for the target, or fortunately for us, depending on how you look at it, the guard was dead before he hit the ground. When we approached and got a good look at him, I remember shaking my head sadly. He couldn’t have been older than nineteen. But there wasn’t time to linger; the gunshots had clearly announced our presence. The minutes that followed remain a complete blur with the exception of a few key moments. Marcus roughly shoving me to the ground, my ankle twisting on a rock as I dropped. The bullet that flew past a second later that would have undoubtedly hit me. Voices shouting, more bullets. A door slamming open on the piece of shit boat that looked as though it shouldn’t float, let alone run. Two men walking through that door, one carrying a small boy who was kicking and screaming and fighting his captor; the other twisting a woman’s arms behind her back with one giant hand while the other pressed the muzzle of a gun to her temple. The men were shouting at us in Russian—probably threats of what they would do to their captives if we didn’t surrender. I really don’t know; by that point I was in a blind rage at the expressions of sheer terror on the two faces I most treasure in the world.

The only thing that could have broken my gaze at that point was the too bright beam of a searchlight, its source being a helicopter. I know the light hit me at exactly the right moment, and I will never forget the look on Samantha’s face as she saw me, recognized me. Time slowed down in that moment. Samantha began to struggle, her eyes wide and locked on me with no regard to the gun at her skull. The giant hulking man holding her didn’t have a prayer in the world when she managed to twist away and knee him in the groin. And the guy holding Tyler would have suffered the same fate if his partner hadn’t recovered just enough to slam the butt of his gun into Sam’s head so hard that I swear I heard her skull crack, then throwing her body into the wall of the boat’s cabin. Before I could take a breath, Tyler was being thrown overboard and a team of CIA agents swarmed from seemingly nowhere. It had all happened so fast that I was certain I was the only one who’d seen my son flailing in the water.

Ignoring my injured ankle and the shouts from Marcus for me to stop, I hobbled down to the water and threw myself in, swimming more quickly than I ever had before to get to where Tyler disappeared into the water. When I reached him he was sinking and I dived down, my eyes wide and ignoring the sting of disgusting lake water, grasped for his arm, and hauled him to the surface. Sucking in fresh air, I glanced down and adjusted my grip on Tyler, and felt a surge of affection for my son when I saw the Batman watch on his wrist. It seems like forever ago that I sat with him in my sister’s living room, watching cartoons, and tinkering with that damn watch while his eyes were glued to the screen. When it put it back on his wrist, he looked at me like I was insane, which was true both then and now, and I swore him to secrecy, then promised him I’d fix it when I returned from my trip. I think it excited him to have a secret with me.

As I got us back to the shore, Tyler unconscious in my arms though mercifully still breathing, I quickly slid the watch off his wrist and into my pocket. My hand moves now to press it into my thigh, assuring myself it’s still there.

By the time Tyler and I reached the land, whatever fight had broken out was over. That’s how quick this situation went. Several ambulances were on scene and as I searched for Samantha, some EMT had the audacity to take my son from me. The look I’d given him promised certain death if he touched even a single hair on Tyler’s head. He’d backed off then, and Marcus had found me, wordlessly leading me towards one of the ambulances. Samantha was inside, unconscious, and even from where I stood outside, I knew she was in trouble. An oxygen mask covered her mouth and nose. IVs were sticking out of her wrists. Blood was trickling from somewhere on her body to the ambulance floor.

I then had a decision to make. I could either ride to the hospital with Samantha while the EMTs worked frantically to save her or I could ride with Tyler in case he woke and needed comfort. As much as it killed me, I chose my son. The moment we arrived at the hospital, I was separated from both of them with yet another assurance that I would be kept up to date on their statuses. True to their word, someone has come in every hour since I’ve been here to update me. Tyler will be fine. He had a fair amount of water in his lungs, but that’s since been removed and he will recover quickly. Samantha, on the other hand...

Fisting my hair in my hands, I groan. Concussion. Broken skull. Cracked ribs. Cracked kneecap—I vaguely wonder whether that’s a result of kneeing that bastard in the balls. If so, he won’t be reproducing... Then there was the last thing they mentioned—

“Matthew.”

The voice is soft spoken and familiar. So much so that before I even look, I’m on my feet and crossing the room, and my mother’s arms are wrapped tightly around my shoulders. I breathe in her comforting scent—the scent I knew as a little boy when I was sick—and instantly feel all my defensive walls crumbling. “I’m here, Mom,” I tell her as she begins to sob. “It’s all right. I’m here.”

I crane my neck to find my father just inside the room—I didn’t even hear the door open—looking at me as though he’s never seen me before in his life. And he’s crying. Actually crying like he was at my memorial service. “Hey, Dad,” I say to him.

Shaking his head, he closes the distance and hugs me and my mother. I’m not sure when we separate, but Mom doesn’t let go of my hand as we move to sit. “What the hell, son?” Dad breathes.

I huff a laugh. “Long story, Dad,” I murmur, squeezing my mom’s hand. “One I’d really rather not get into right now.”

“Dumbass.”

We all look up to find Claire standing in the doorframe looking shocked and pale. I release my mom to cross the room and hold my baby sister. “Good to see you, beautiful,” I say against her hair, pressing a kiss to her head.

“How’s Sam?” she asks, pulling away from me. “And Ty.”

“They’ll be okay,” I say, trying to keep my voice even. I wonder how much my parents and sister have heard. “Tyler is stable, just scared and asleep at this point. And Samantha has some moderate injuries including a concussion, but the doctors don’t think any of it is life threatening.”

At some point, I mention being hungry and my parents jump up to announce they’re going to get me something to eat. Claire rolls her eyes as they leave the room and doesn’t hesitate to start in on me. “You fucking dumbass,” she hisses, slapping me in the shoulder. “You’ve been alive this whole Goddamn time and you didn’t even contact us? Do you have any idea—”

“Just stop,” I beg her. “Claire, I’m fucking exhausted. I know you’re pissed off and I know the last couple months haven’t been easy, and you will have your turn at tearing me a new asshole; just not now. I want to know my son and my wi—” I break off suddenly, mentally cursing myself at my near slip. Claire’s eyes widen fractionally. “—and Samantha are going to be okay before I start worrying about the rest of you.”

Claire nods, taking my hand. “Fair enough,” she says. “I’ll drop the whole thing about you being dead. But there’re still a lot of unanswered questions that need answering. Not least of all, what the fuck happened that landed Sam and Ty in here?”

Sighing heavily, I sit back in my chair and explain what I know. By the time I’m done, Claire is speechless, something so rare and almost exotic that I smile a little. The amusement is gone quickly as I’m thrown back into the reality of my situation. “It’s my fault,” I say quietly. “All of it, Claire. If it hadn’t been for me, Samantha wouldn’t even be in this situation. I should have left her alone from the very beginning or at least let her live her life with Tom. She could have been happy and without fear. And Tyler... He nearly drowned tonight, Claire. I almost didn’t get to him in time. As it is, it’s a fucking miracle he’s alive. Another thirty seconds...”

“Stop,” my sister commands. “Matt, don’t be stupid! Tyler isn’t dead. He didn’t drown. You got to him in time and he’s going to be back to normal in a day or so. As for Samantha being better off without you... Yeah, maybe you’re right. You and Leo could have seen her in that diner that day and you could have just ignored her, then gone on your merry way never to think of her again. She would have stayed in that tiny town depressed and miserable and not living her life the way she wanted to live it. She could have married Tom Saunders and they could have half a dozen kids by now and live on some Godforsaken farm. But you know what? None of those kids would be Tyler. Her life revolves around that little boy and you know it. It’s because of you she’s got him. Would you really wish that away?”

“No,” I whisper, swallowing the bile in my throat. “Never.”

Claire ignores me. “If you’d ignored the threat against Samantha and Tyler and if you hadn’t gone to Omaha when you did, something would have happened to them. It’s only a matter of when it would have happened. You might not believe it, but you’ve kept them safe. And I know that’s why you did what you did, to keep them safe. They’re safe, Matt.”

“It’s not over, though,” I say grimly. “One of the kidnappers got away.”

“And they’ll be found,” she tells me. “Don’t concentrate on that. Concentrate on the fact that you’ve got what you’ve wanted for five years: Samantha and Tyler. Are you going to make the most of it or are you going to wallow in what you think would have been best for everybody?”

I stare at my baby sister, my eyes narrowed at her stubborn face. “I hate you sometimes,” I mutter. She cracks a smile that I manage to return as I pull her against me and press a kiss to her forehead. “They’re safe.” My words are mostly directed to myself and I’m surprised that I feel better at hearing them aloud.

“Damn right they are,” Claire tells me, resting her head on my shoulder.

“First thing I’m going to do when this shit is over,” I say quietly, “is get that kid some damn swimming lessons.”

Claire laughs and starts to respond, but there’s a knock on the door and we’re both immediately sobered as the door opens. I expect to see a doctor enter; instead I’m on my feet immediately, watching as Leo’s tanned faces drains of all its color and he leans against the doorframe to keep himself upright. “What the fuck...” he breathes, staring at me.

“Where were you?” I demand, suddenly pissed. I see Claire stand up slowly in case she needs to break something up. “Why weren’t you at the house last night?”

Leo blinks rapidly, straightening up, his posture defensive. “I was out,” he says faintly. “Took the boat out for hours.”

Easy enough to check...

“Where were
you
?” he counters.

We stare at one another for a few very long moments before I finally smirk. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Leo smiles cautiously and enters the room completely, crossing over and pulling me into an embrace that I return after a couple seconds. “Jesus Christ, Matt,” he whispers.

“Yeah,” I respond. After a couple manly pats on the back we push one another away and look anywhere but at one another. Claire is looking between us like she finds us completely insane.

“Idiots,” she mutters, shaking her head in amazement as she sits back down.

I do what I can to bring Leo up to speed on what’s going on. Apparently he was out on the boat until two hours ago and in the time since, he’s been questioned thoroughly and finally cleared and told of what happened. Marcus drove him to the hospital himself, conveniently leaving out the detail of my presence. This was discussed beforehand; I want to see the reactions of everyone I come into contact with. A little paranoid, maybe, but an unfortunate necessity given that someone close to me has betrayed me. And the look of shock on my best friend’s face was, thankfully, completely genuine and exactly what I was looking for. I hate being suspicious of the people closest to me. I wish it were unnecessary.

At some point, Claire notices the looks passing between Leo and me, and knows we need to discuss things in private, so she volunteers to head out and find my parents and see if she can’t coerce someone into giving her information on Samantha and Tyler.

“What the fuck happened?” Leo asks the moment the door is shut behind my sister. “I saw that plane, Matt. You couldn’t have walked away from it.”