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A harsh, stinging slap across the face brought Vin out of the semi-conscious daze he was drifting in. He opened his good eye to Ella's toothy, smiling face. 'Yep. Looks like a 'gator alright.' She ran a glossy, enameled nail down the side of his face, brought the blood tipped digit up to her mouth, and licked daintily. Her malicious, dark eyes were riveted on Vin's impassive face, hungry for signs of weakness and pain.He allowed his head to loll back, as though more dazed than he actually was, as he glanced around. She was alone. Good. Maybe he could goad her into doing something stupid. Although he had no idea in hell HOW exactly he would escape, when he could barely move, he was determined to try.
"Mmmm, sweet...tell me Blue Eyes, does Chris find you sweet?" She crooned softly as she circled his chair slowly, running her hand through his tangled hair possessively. She spoke slowly, almost dreamily, lost in her own reality. "He's mine, you know. He always has been. I knew the first moment I laid eyes on him, he was meant for me. It took me years to find him again. I worked hard to be ready for him. Now I can give him anything he wants or needs. We're going to be the perfect couple."
She stopped in front of him, eyes drifting over his face, and down the front of his denim shirt. She stroked the curve of his strong jaw, brushed his split lip with her thumb. Her roaming hands trailed spider-like down his chest, lazily flicking open the buttons of his shirt.
"YOU had him, you know how good he is...you're a pretty boy, I can see why he wanted you...pretty blue eyes, hair, skin..."
She pinched a tiny nipple between sharp nails. Her breath quickened, eyes glittering with lust. Vin sat stoically, enduring her touch, although it made his flesh crawl. Her tongue flicked out and she licked her red lips as she eyed him. Maybe she would take him, before she killed him. Chris had certainly enjoyed that lean body... She ran her eyes up his chest, and they widened when she saw the love bites Larabee had inflicted up on the tender skin of Vin's throat.
Laughing throatily, she trailed a finger over the still livid bite beneath his jaw.
"Looks like Chris certainly found you pretty. Be a good boy, and maybe I'll find you pretty too..."
One hand twisting in his hair to hold him still, she bent suddenly and fastened her mouth over his, forcing his lips apart with her tongue, ravishing his bruised, bloody mouth. She unzipped his jeans with her free hand and groped inside to fondle his soft genitals.
Vin bucked in the chair, utterly revolted at this parody of a seduction, and unable to tolerate her touch for another moment. He could smell her rank animal musk, and her taste nauseated him. With a feral snarl, he twisted his head, sank his teeth in Ella's lower lip, and did his level best to bite the lower half of her face off. She howled with pain and clawed frantically at his face and eyes to get him to release her. Only after she raked his eyes with her nails did he let go.
Stumbling back, shrieking now with rage, she snatched a sharp set of pruning shears off the nearby potting bench and lunged back at him, determined to stab him to death. Tanner brought his uninjured right leg up and viciously kicked her between the legs. When she reeled back and lunged again, he kicked her in the gut as hard as he could. She fell back, stunned breathless against the bench, and slumped to the floor, blood dripping down her torn face, eyes glittering with rage and pain.
"Ella? What the hell?"
Del Harper aimed his gun at the back of Vin's head, confused by the sight of his employer sprawled bleeding in front of a supposedly helpless man. He cocked the hammer of his .38, ready to dispose of him.
"No! No, don't touch him! He's mine!" she snarled up at him, bloody mouth twisted in a mask of rage.
She hauled herself upright, shaking as she realized how close she had come to being horribly maimed, or worse, if Tanner had reached her jugular...Leaning against the bench until her knees stopped shaking, she stared at the silent, defiant man seated before her. She shuddered, chilled as he returned her gaze. For a long moment that feral, blue stare held her riveted. Even hurt and helpless, there was no fear in him.
Breathing hard, forgotten shears clutched in one hand, she stared fascinated. For the first time, she had caught a glimpse of the Vin Tanner that so captivated Chris Larabee. Licking her torn mouth, she raised a hand to wipe absently at her bloody chin. Blinking, she turned to Harper. "Get the box ready."
"Ella..."
"Do as you're told, Harper!"
"Ella, you never said he was a biker!"
"DO AS YOU'RE TOLD!" She screamed directly into his face, spraying him with spittle and blood.
Shaken, he stared at her, wavered, then swallowed hard and turned to obey. He was worried. He had never seen her lose control like this before. She actually thought the friend of the man she was about to murder would marry her? Del shook his head slowly. Better to think of his hefty paycheck, and not worry about a ragtag band of dim-witted bikers. He went to get the others. No way in hell was he getting within reach of the man tied to the chair.
Ella took a deep breath, one hand absently toying with her dark hair. Vin neither blinked or made a sound, blue eyes locked with hers. Wondering, she reached out a hand, jerking it back when he bared bloody teeth. She circled warily until she stood behind him, then reached out and viciously yanked his hair, twisting his head back as she held the sharp shears to his throat. He never made a sound, battered face stoic.
"You're not afraid..." She sounded amazed, and a bit awed. Suddenly lifting the shears, she maliciously cut through his hair, slicing off his long, tangled ponytail near the nape of his neck. She stepped back, surveyed her handiwork, a slow satisfied smile on face. "Not so pretty now, Blue Eyes."
She circled around to study his impassive face, holding the ponytail like a trophy. Her toothy smile widened.
"You will be afraid. I promise."
+ + + + + + +
The big bikes and the souped up Corvette roared up the highway. So far they had been lucky, but there was a lone speedtrap ahead, the trooper's car half hidden by a billboard. Larabee raised one hand and whipped it forward in a GO! motion. At the signal, JD bent low over his racing Katana and zoomed ahead as beaverbait as the others fell back. Sure enough, the trooper slapped on his lights and siren and roared in pursuit.
The Dark Angels picked up their pace again, opening the heavy bikes up. They were moving like bats out of hell, and making excellent time. When they reached areas where traffic was thick, they rode straight up the center line, while Ezra wove in and out behind. Drivers who saw the grim faces roaring up in their rearview mirrors, shifted lanes and got the hell out of the way. The lone County Sheriff they passed pretended he had important business elsewhere, and kept his eyes diligently on the road ahead.
+ + + + + + +
Ella watched with dreamy satisfaction as Harper's men shoveled dirt into the grave. The eight feet long, by four feet wide and deep steel packing case meant to ship cargo, had made an excellent coffin. Tanner had put up a short, vicious fight, but a man as badly hurt as he hadn't had a chance against Harper's muscle boys.
Still, he had not made a sound, even when they dropped the lid and slid the heavy iron bolts shut. She ran an idle hand through the hank of silky hair she held, and walked back into the greenhouse. Time to freshen up before supper.
Vin fought down his growing fear and panic as the steel lid clanged shut above him. His broken wrists were throbbing and swollen, he couldn't feel his hands as he flailed uselessly against the unyielding metal. He hurt all over. It was so damned dark, close and hot inside this miserable box. He almost wished he had a blade or gun to ease his way, slow suffocation was not the way he wanted to die.
He shuddered, remembering the hellish years he had spent in Arnold Gate's hall closet as a child. He had been quite literally enslaved by the man. Even now he could remember the endless, blue flicker of the TV, as the old man sat in his easy chair, drank, and watched hour after hour of porn and survivalist tapes. His cowed wife off slaving at one of her jobs.
That scary, cramped, dark closet had gradually become a place of refuge for an abused little boy. A quiet, safe place where he didn't have to cook, scrub laundry, mop floors, or suck Arnold's cock. He had learned to retreat inside his head there, consoling himself with dim memories of Mama, Daddy, and PawPaw.
When he was rewarded for being a 'good boy', he was fed a can of dog food and allowed to sit at Gate's feet and watch TV too. Little Vin hadn't liked the tapes where the pretty, naked ladies were hurt by the bad men, but he had learned a lot from 'Ranger Bob's' homemade survivalist tapes. Bob waxed eloquent on such topics as urban and wilderness survival. How to Field Strip a Rifle. How to Survive in Winter. How to Dumpster Dive. Twenty-five Ways to Eliminate the Enemy. How to slit a man's throat...
He took one deep breath and forced himself to relax. Chris would come. Ella would die. Deep in his heart, he knew that as fact, but Vin Tanner was, above all, a pragmatic man. When? He didn't want his lover to find him with fear frozen on his dead face, fingers clawed to the bone from trying to scratch through steel.
He curled up painfully on his side, and closed his eyes. He remembered stories Josiah had told of holy men in India who were buried alive and survived for days, an extreme test of faith and will. He huffed out a soft, sobbing breath of laughter. He bet holy men weren't claustrophobic!
He could feel his shorn hair flop over his face. Lord, he had a haircut as bad as JD's! That thought made him smile. He decided that if he had to die, he would do so remembering good things. He thought of how fine Chris has looked all dressed up the night before. How fiercely they had loved. At least he had had that in his life.
When he had been sentenced to do hard time in Yuma, after Charlotte set him up, he had been certain that it would only be a matter of time before he died. He felt sure the confinement would drive him mad, or he would be gang raped or stabbed to death. He had known going in, that his slight stature and youth would attract predators. He hadn't counted on attracting the alpha of the Dark Angels. He sure as hell hadn't counted on finding love.
That day in the showers, when Chris had casually stepped in and backed him in his fight against Phelps and his gang, had been a miracle. One look into those green eyes was all it took. The bad in the world had just gone away. He smiled to himself, remembering. It was as though he had known the man his entire life. They had been inseparable since.
Instead of arrogantly claiming rights to Vin's ass, Chris had initiated what amounted to a surprisingly shy courtship. It wasn't as though they didn't have the time on their hands. Almost a year had passed before Larabee had made a blatant sexual advance. He had teased and seduced instead, and for a badass biker, he had been surprisingly gentle and patient with the wary, skittish Tanner.
He had even taught the illiterate, dyslexic Tanner how to read and write. Vin suspected those long afternoons spent at the battered table in the prison library were when Vin first began to really trust and love the man. He yawned. He was hot, and getting sleepy. His head hurt. Hell, everything hurt.
He pretended Chris was spooned up warm behind him, one big, calloused hand resting on his belly, while he snored lightly in Vin's ear. Soon, the sun would come up and he would get up to feed the horses, while Chris snoozed a while longer. Miss Lily would hop up on the bed, touch her tiny velvet nose to his, a request for breakfast... Peso would whinny happily when he saw Vin coming... Lord, but he hurt. Quietly, gently Vin Tanner drifted away to a safe place where no one could hurt him again.
+ + + + + + +
The sun was low on the horizon when the bikes and 'vette roared off the main highway and thundered onto the tree lined access road leading to the long drive winding down to the main house. As they drew level with the deserted gatehouse, they braked hard, at the sight of a disheveled, excited young Hispanic woman in a maid's uniform, frantically waving her apron. It was Rafe's cousin, Julia.
She spat a hyperspeed stream of Spanish at Raphael, unconsciously wringing her apron into knots. Rafe, in turn, quickly translated. "She says Ella gave the staff the day off. Five armed men dragged Vin in earlier, he was hurt. Julia stayed behind, and watched. She called Inez, but we were already on the way. Four of the men are playing cards in the guesthouse, Ella and the other man are eating in the dining room. She didn't see what they did with Vin."
Larabee nodded grimly. "Tell her to wait here. If anyone shows up, tell her to call up to the house and let it ring twice. We go in hard and fast, cut engines on the last hill and coast down to the house. Buck, you and I go in the French doors next to the dining room. The rest of you round up the men in the guesthouse, priority is to find Vin, so don't kill anyone until we do. Let's move!
Ella dabbed her torn mouth carefully with the fine linen napkin. She would have to make an appointment with a cosmetic surgeon in the morning. She wanted to look perfect for the wedding. Fortunately, they were having a light, cold supper tonight. She winced as she sipped slowly at the excellent burgundy. Across the table, a silent Del Harper stared moodily into his glass. "Do cheer up, Harper. Don't be such a worrywart. It's not as though you've never killed anyone before."
She smiled at him and leaned back in her chair, enjoying the cool, fragrant summer breeze that blew in the open French doors, stirring her hair, and silky skirt. The scent of roses was heavy on the air. The sunset was going to be lovely tonight.
"Not like that Ella...that's a nasty way to die."
"He deserved it! He tried to steal Chris from me!"
"You never had me, Bitch."
The cold voice from the open doors jerked them up out of their seats. Chris Larabee, chrome Colt .45 automatic in hand, glided into the elegant dining room, leather duster flaring around his long legs. Buck Wilmington loomed at his shoulder, big riot gun already racked and aimed at Del's head. Blue eyes hard, the big man crooned a warning as the thin, ginger haired Harper made an aborted movement towards his gun.
"I wouldn't do that, pard. Chris here is in a real pissy mood, and I ain't feeling so charitable myself."
Harper froze, raised his hands, and sank slowly back in his chair. Buck stepped around the table and neatly relieved him of his gun. He could feel himself start to sweat. Fucking bitch had gotten him caught up in a biker vendetta!
Hell, why hadn't he heard their arrival? He had a very bad feeling about this. He swallowed hard, mind spinning, searching for an out. His only chance was his men. When he recognized the dark winged colors Buck wore on his vest, he nearly shit himself. He had heard of the Dark Angels.
"Chris!"
"Where's Vin, Ella?" Larabee's voice was a deadly purr.
He eyed her torn, swollen face, and a tiny, cold smile quirked his mouth. He recognized the signs of a recent tangle with a Texas Hellcat. They were interrupted by the arrival of Josiah, Nathan, and Raphael as they manhandled Harper's battered crew into the room. Silently the men lined up along the wall as indicated, hands on their heads.
One burly, heavily set man was bleeding profusely from a deep wound in his shoulder, courtesy of one of Nathan's blades. Another sported a broken, bloody nose. A third had a familiar dazed, concussed look that spoke of recent intimate contact with Josiah's fist. They were all grim, and silent, wary eyes on the heavily armed bikers who watched them so hungrily.
"I'm going to ask one more time, Ella. Listen carefully so it filters through your dim brain. WHERE IS VIN?" Larabee's voice had that cool, familiar note of dangerous clarity that made the hair on the back of Buck's neck stand straight up. Chris was going to kill soon. Across the room, Josiah began to whisper the requiescat, the prayers for the dead. One of Del's men, apparently a lapsed Catholic, recognized the prayer and closed his own eyes, face deathly pale. The other prisoners shifted uneasily.
Ella glared across the table at him, a petulant expression on her face. Why was he being so obstinate? "You have me! You don't need him! I love you!" She folded her arms stubbornly. She would never tell.
Del Harper felt a drop of cold sweat slide down his nose. The woman was crazy as a loon. He was knee deep in shit, and it was only piling higher. He blinked rapidly, swallowing hard.
"Mr. Larabee...Chris...Ah found these in the glass house. There is a great deal of blood splatter there as well. Ah have not been able to locate Mr. Tanner on the premises."
Ezra stepped quietly up to Chris' side from the terrace entrance, and laid Vin's battered, blood stained leather jacket on the table. On this he piled Vin's wallet, belt, guns, and knife. The last item, he placed gently on top. A bloody, sunstreaked, tangled hank of hair. Chris Larabee stared blindly down at it a moment and swallowed. 'A rag, a bone, a hank of hair...' When he raised his head, his green eyes were bleak, his face a white, impassive mask. Those terrible, pitiless eyes flicked once to Del's pale, sweaty face.
Larabee spun, extended his arm and pulled the trigger of the Colt in rapid succession, nearly emptying the clip. Del flinched and jerked involuntarily at the loud thundering boom of the shots as they whistled over his head. The four men standing against the wall crumpled to the floor, dead and dying. One man coughed, and gurgled wetly, choked on his own blood, another's heels drummed the parquet floor in his last, dying spasm.
Blood, bone and brain matter splashed the pale blue wall behind them, and thick arterial blood began to pool on the polished floor.
"Where's Vin, Ella?"
It was a soft whisper now. There was no mercy in him. The stench of cordite, blood, and perforated bowel hung in the air.
"I'll never tell! It doesn't matter anyway! He's dead, and I'm alive! Love me, you're supposed to love me!" She screamed angrily at him, manicured, ringed hands braced on the table as she leaned forward, determined to make him see how things were meant to be. Larabee snarled and lunged across the table. She found herself screeching with pain an instant later, and staring at the knife that he had grabbed and drove in a clean, shining arc straight through her right hand, pinning it to the oak table. He had attacked her!
Wide mouth agape, she could only stare at him in disbelief."I did it for you! I love you."
She spoke calmly, reasonably, as though it should be perfectly obvious.
Del Harper broke. He had pissed himself when Larabee had shot over his head. He had never seen anyone move that fast in his life. His men were dead, he was on his own. Time to bail. "I know where he is! I'll show you!"
Chris gave a triumphant hiss. Buck jerked the man to his feet by his collar, shotgun barrel propped under his chin, and propelled him out the door. Larabee followed, duster swirling like black wings behind him.
"Josiah! Bring her!"
The order floated behind him. The others hurried to follow, Nathan quickly checking to ensure that all of Ella's men were, indeed, dead. Josiah murmured his prayers as he plucked the blade from Ella's hand with one huge hand, the other knotting in her dark hair, and yanking her unceremoniously to her feet. He carefully wiped, and tucked Vin's blade in his belt for safe keeping, before dragging her out the door.
Larabee stared in shock at the fresh grave set neatly beside Ella's greenhouse. The others stood stunned behind him. Then with a guttural snarl, he flung himself down and began to dig like an animal, with his bare hands. There was a split second hesitation, then Buck Wilmington dove in as well, big hands scooping frantically, followed quickly by Raphael, Josiah and Nathan. Ezra stood guard over a bewildered Ella and a terrified Del Harper.
The men dug furiously, Josiah finally wheeling and grabbing a large compost shovel from the side of the greenhouse. He was praying steadily under his breath, powerful shoulders working hard as he methodically scooped and flung soil from the grave, working like a human steam shovel. Chris never looked up, digging with bruised hands, growling softly, a continuous keen under his breath.
Ezra's lips moved silently, his green eyes wet. Ella slumped at his feet, seemingly in shock, clutching her wounded hand, finally quiet. Suddenly the shovel blade scraped against metal and the bikers redoubled their frenzied efforts. Standish held his breath as the lid of the metal box was quickly uncovered. Chris and Buck fumbled to slide open the iron bolts clamping it shut.
As Larabee struggled to raise the lid, Buck caught his arm, dark blue eyes tender, as he tried to spare his beloved friend further pain. "You don't have to, Chris... Let me do it."
Larabee drew a shaky breath, then met Buck's compassionate eyes. "Yes, I do, Buck."
He heaved the heavy lid up and pushed it back. He froze momentarily at the sight of the bloody streaks on the inner side of the lid, then he forced himself to look inside. Beside him, Buck gave a low groan, tears filling his eyes, one big hand shakily raising to cover his mouth. Josiah never stopped praying, his rich voice a comforting litany. Raphael joined in, his clear tenor merging with Sanchez' bass. Nathan's dark eyes were full of tears.
Vin lay curled in a fetal position, knees pulled up, scraped, bloody hands curled up under his chin, his ragged hair veiling his bruised, battered face. The golden light from the setting sun haloed him in gold. He looked like a broken angel, or a lost child.
Chris moaned aloud.'No.' He choked on a suddenly dry throat, and, leaning into the box, reached a shaking hand to gently brush the shorn hair from that beloved face. He hissed angrily when he saw Ella's livid scratch marks. His eyes were blurring, and his chest tight with pain. Tenderly Chris ran his knuckles along the curve of that stubborn, square jaw, and cupped the bruised face. He ran his thumb lightly over the soft, lower lip... and froze when he felt warm, moist breath and the minute flutter of long lashes against his fingers.
Larabee's breath caught, as he realized he was touching warm, living skin, then he groped frantically for a pulse. He opened his mouth, but could only manage a thin croak. On the second try, he produced a roar. He kept one hand on the warm, damp cheek. "Nathan! He's alive!"
"Thank you, Lord."Josiah rumbled fervently, big grizzled head bowed. Raphael crossed himself.
The former army medic threw himself into the grave so fast, he knocked Buck over. His big, dark hands were gentle as he felt along Vin's skull and ran them carefully down his spine and limbs. Carefully, he probed ribs and the lean belly. Finally, he took Tanner's pulse, checked his pupil response. He lifted his head, grave eyes meeting Chris'. The men waited eagerly for his diagnosis.
"He's hurt bad, Chris. Head trauma. Multiple fractures, contusions, maybe internal bleeding. But I think his neck and back are okay. He's dehydrated, and he's lost a lot of blood. Shocky. Gonna be fevered. We got to get him to a hospital asap."
Larabee began snapping out orders."Buck, bring Ez' car around to the side courtyard, throw some pillows and blankets in to cushion the back. You're driving. Raphael, get Julia home, pick up a crew, then come back here. Ezra, clean the whole goddamned place out, anything valuable goes. Josiah, you supervise cleanup duty. Take out the trash. Nathan, call ahead to the hospital. Let Rain know we're on our way. First, help me with Vin."
Chris climbed out of the grave, reluctant to lose contact, and waited impatiently while Nate and Buck carefully shifted, lifted, and handed Vin up to him, before they followed. He cradled his lover eagerly, happy to hold the living weight of the young man in his arms. He stood up slowly, balancing carefully, holding him close. He relished the feel of the heavy head on his shoulder, the soft, moist breath against his throat.
"Hey, what about me? I helped you find him. What do I get in return?" Del Harper chose that moment to foolishly draw attention to himself, then swallowed hard as six pairs of cold, feral eyes focused on him.
Buck smoothly drew his Glock from the back of his belt and shot him once between the eyes. The quivering body tumbled face down into Tanner's empty grave.
"You die quick, motherfucker."
"Thanks, Buck."
"You're welcome, Old Dog. It was a pleasure."
"Ahem." Ezra cleared his throat meaningfully, and indicated the madwoman kneeling at his feet with distaste. Larabee stared coldly down into her blank, lax face. She was lost in a world of her own making. As badly as he wanted to wring her thin neck with his bare hands, he refused to let go of the man he held in his arms long enough to do so.
He raised his eyes and met Josiah's across the grave in a crystal moment of perfect understanding. The big man nodded, face perfectly serene. He raised his shovel and swung it in an easy arc. Clunk! Ella never saw the blow that connected with the back of her skull.
Larabee turned and strode away, intent now on getting Vin to safety. Buck loped ahead on long legs to fetch the car. Nate, Ezra and Rafe trotted behind.
"An eye for an eye," Josiah rumbled as he rolled her into the big steel box with Harper's corpse. He straightened the hem of her dress decorously, folded her hands carefully at her breast, slammed the lid down smartly, then neatly slid the bolts shut. As he rapidly and efficiently refilled the grave, he burst into a loud, joyful hymn. He had decided to plant the young lilacs he had seen potted by the greenhouse over the grave. The Jackson crematorium would be busy tonight, he mused. Lots of ash for compost! Gardening was so good for the soul! His deep bass rang out happily as he methodically scooped the rich, loose soil.
Ella awoke with a splitting headache, and a throbbing pain in her hand. It was dark, and hot. She could barely breathe. She was cramped, and stiff, and someone was crowding the bed. Something wet and sticky was dripping down the back of her neck. She stiffened as she felt a heavy arm across her waist. She reached out to touch and murmured groggily,
"Chris?"
For one split moment she smiled happily, then realization and memory returned like an open floodgate. Eyes popping wide open, she began to scream and claw uselessly at the interior of the dank box. Lunacy finally won in the end as she suffocated slowly, face frozen in disbelief.
Four Corners War Memorial Hospital. Three Weeks Later.
Buck Wilmington popped off the elevator on the fourth floor, clutching a fat bouquet of cheerful daisies and an enormous box of Godiva chocolates. There were at least two nurses working this shift that he badly wanted to play doctor with.As he strode down the hall towards the nurse's station, he passed a gurney slowly being pushed by a rotund orderly. On it lay a groaning intern, one hand clutching his broken glasses, the other clamping an ice pack to his bloody nose. One eye peered blearily at the ceiling, the other was an impressive shade of purple and swollen shut. Buck winced, whistled, and waggled inquiring brows at the orderly.
"LeRoy, old son. What happened to Doc Holly?"
LeRoy rolled expressive eyes, a broad, white grin splitting his dark face. The snobbish, condescending Holly was not popular among the staff. Hence the leisurely stroll down to Emergency, and X-Ray. "Damned fool was making bad jokes about motorcycle accidents. Popped off a few remarks about the 'organ donor' in room 434. Turns out Mr. Larabee was standing behind him at the coffee machine."
Buck gave an unsympathetic snort. "Chris must be in a good mood. He's still alive. Hell, he's even conscious!"
He slapped the chuckling LeRoy a friendly high five and continued on to deliver his goodies. After ten minutes of intense flirtation with the lovely Nancy, she shooed him away so she could get her work done, so he blew her a kiss and continued on to Vin's room. He hoped Chris had taken time today to get some food, and sleep. Since the night they had carried Vin in, Larabee had hardly left the hospital. Buck huffed sadly, Lord, he hated to see Vin like this.
Buck pushed the door open, stepped inside and was nearly bowled over as one of Vin's attending physicians exited. The thin, frizzy haired woman's face was mottled red with anger and she held her clipboard so tightly her knuckles were white.
"Really, Mr. Larabee! This is MOST irregular!"
She glared up at Buck, elbowed him aside, and stormed out the door. Buck raised an eyebrow and turned an inquiring face towards Chris. He had Vin sitting up on the edge of the bed, and, crouching at his feet, was gently rolling a thick wool sock onto one narrow foot. Larabee smirked up at his old friend as he slid a soft doeskin moccasin on over the sock. "Buck."
"What's up Old Dog? Doc Cooper don't look too happy."
"I checked Vin out AMA. Bitch wanted to check him into Shady Oaks."
"The nuthouse?" Buck was shocked and he bristled in outrage, big hands on lean hips as he glared after the woman, moustache twitching in irritation.
"Yeah. I told her what she could do with her clipboard." Larabee sounded extremely pleased with himself. He straightened and removed an oversized flannel shirt from the gym bag on the nearby chair. Carefully, he eased the sleeve over Vin's casted wrist, then around his shoulders. He had already dressed him in loose sweats and a Tee. He smiled into blank blue eyes and absently dropped a kiss between Vin's brows as he finished dressing him. Raising a hand, he smoothed Vin's bangs back. "He'll get better faster at home, Buck. He hates hospitals, he'd just waste away."
Buck nodded slowly. He was uncertain about that, but knew better than to argue with Chris Larabee when he determined a course of action.
Vin's physical ailments had been quickly diagnosed and treated. He had Colles fractures in both wrists, facial fractures of the left orbital and zygomatic bones, and a serious concussion from a diffuse brain injury that had put him in a coma for three days. He had torn ligaments in his left ankle, and his hip and back were severely bruised. He suffered multiple contusions, cuts, and dehydration as well as a bad case of road rash. His heavy motorcycle jacket and thick jeans had protected him from worse. In short, he was lucky to be alive.
The problem was his mental state. When he finally regained consciousness, he was in what appeared to be a dissociative fugue triggered by the trauma he had suffered at Ella's hands. He was mute and responded only sluggishly to aural and physical stimuli. He slept a great deal, and took no initiative on his own. He would eat and drink if fed, but moved only when physically and verbally encouraged to do so. He neither recognized or acknowledged anyone.
Once the doctors had determined that there was no organic cause for this disorder, such as hematoma, intercranial bleeding, oxygen deprivation, epilepsy, or drug abuse, they had tentatively diagnosed a dissociative disorder, and recommended that he be hospitalised at Shady Oaks for a regime of drug treatment and therapy. Doctor Cooper had been most enthusiastic about that course of action. A specialist in psychiatric disorders, she had been eager to study Vin's case; perhaps it would result in a paper worthy of publication.
"Buck, see if you can scout up a wheelchair."
"You got it, old pard."The big man patted Vin's shoulder gently."Back in a flash, Junior. We're bustin' you out of here!"
Larabee gave the tall man a grateful smile. He could always count on Buck to back him in any play. He gently touched Vin's cheek. The ugly bruises and scratches were finally healing and fading and the swelling gone. Luckily, Vin's eyes had not been seriously damaged by Ella's nails.
Rain had carefully trimmed his shorn hair. He looked amazingly young, with it only an inch or so longer than chin length. Chris smiled into the dark blue eyes."I know you're in there, Cowboy. Everythings gonna be fine now. We're going home. I guess I'm gonna have to keep ragging you about how cute you look with that new haircut until you haul off and pop me one," he teased gently, ruffling the short, silky hair.
He pulled a small tube of Blistex from a pocket and gently dabbed Vin's dry lips. Rain had carefully explained to him the importance of tactile stimuli to patients who suffered from dissociative states. Patients often were so detached they felt distant from their body or self, as though in a dream. It was a state of thinking without feeling. It could be so severe that the external world was believed to be unreal.
Josiah had also explained to Chris how abused children often retreated into their own heads, escaping into a safe place of their own creation. Only when they felt unthreatened would they emerge. Larabee felt confident that Vin would recover, once he got over the trauma triggered by the claustrophobic horror of being buried alive. He sure as hell wasn't gonna give up on him. Vin Tanner was nothing if not a survivor.
Larabee was well aware of how lucky Vin had been. Fifty percent of head injured patients died. Half survived with severe neurological deficit. He was thankful that Vin had survived his attack, and was confident that he would eventually recover. It was inconceivable that he lose Vin now, after all he had been through. It would take more than one scrawny madwoman to destroy his lover. In the meantime he would be there for Vin. He would care for him, and wait as long as necessary until he was himself again.
He smiled, remembering the look on Dr. Cooper's face when she had tried to dissuade him from checking Vin out of the hospital by crudely pointing out the level of personal attention Vin would need while at home. She had been so certain that a hard ass biker would never make that effort, glad to leave Vin to the mercy of the nursing staff at Shady Oaks. Larabee had calmly and flatly told the woman that he had kissed that sweet ass often enough and that he had no problems with wiping it if necessary. Then he had sweetly told her what she could do with her diagnosis and her clipboard.
Buck came bustling through the door equipped not only with a wheelchair, but two pretty nurses and a bunch of brightly colored mylar balloons as well. He beamed jovially down at Vin, while Larabee shook his head in fond exasperation. Trust Buck to make any event a grand occasion. On the other hand, escaping from the hospital was certainly something Vin WOULD celebrate. Carefully, he slid an arm around the trim waist, and gently urged Vin off the bed, and into the chair. "Time to go home Cowboy. Miss Lily and Peso sure will be glad to see you. They haven't had anyone to spoil them in weeks. Miss Lily tried to sharpen her claws on my ass last time I was home."
They made a small boisterous procession down the hall, Buck flirting with and teasing the nurses, while Chris led the way. They stopped briefly at the nursing station so the nurses there could say goodbye to Vin. The silent, unresponsive young man received several very unprofessional kisses before they continued on. Buck pretended to sulk and huff a bit, miffed because he didn't get any.
Larabee buckled Vin securely into the passenger seat of the Ram, while Buck watched.
"You sure you don't need me to give ya a hand for a few days, Chris? You know I don't mind."
"Nah, Buck. We'll be fine. He ain't no trouble, and I hired Francisco full time to help with the horses. We're just gonna kick back and be lazy for a while."
Larabee slid a pair of sleek dark sunglasses over Vin's tearing, blinking eyes. He wasn't used to the bright summer New Mexico sun after weeks inside. Buck gave an admiring whistle and spoke teasingly to the young man. "Whoa, Junior! Look just like a movie star!"
Larabee snorted softly, amused. "Better watch it, Buck. He may get you good when he remembers that remark later!"
"Ha! Speak for yourself, old pard! How often have you teased him about his haircut?"
Chris grinned in rueful acknowledgement. He slapped Buck happily on the shoulder.
"Charlie and Irene are coming up Sunday. I thought we'd have a small cookout. Just a few of us. 'Siah can throw some ribs on the grill. It'll do Vin good to have some company."
"You got it, Old Dog. I'll be sure to buy those ribs myself. How about I bring some of Sweet Sue's goodies to tempt Junior?"
"Sounds good, Buck. You know how much he likes those damned rainbow cupcakes. Pure sugar on sugar!"
The two tall men chuckled softly together. They made a formidable pair, roughly clad in their jeans and leathers, but their faces were gentle as they regarded the young man seated so quietly beside them. Vin Tanner might be a bit lost to them now, but when he made his way home, he would find them watching over him like faithful guardian angels. And what better guardians could a man have, than a pair of fallen Angels?
Larabee Ranch, Early Sunday Morning
Larabee awoke slowly, the morning sun streaming through the bedroom window warm on his face. He was sprawled on his back with a silky head pillowed on one shoulder, Vin snug against his side, his bandaged ankle thrown over Larabee's leg, one heavy casted wrist pillowed on his belly. Chris chuckled softly as he felt the warm dampness on his left pec."Are you drooling on me, Cowboy?" he teased tenderly, tipping Vin's face up to his, so he could see his eyes.
Those wide blue eyes blinked sleepily open even as he watched, but remained blank. Larabee sighed softly in disappointment. Still, he was certain that one day soon Vin would gaze back at him in perfect recognition of the bond they shared.
In his heart, Chris felt Vin was improving. There were small, encouraging signs. He was sure that Vin snuggled close each night, seeking more than the warmth of his body, and more than once Vin had frowned or made a face, as though puzzled about something. Once, while standing at the stove, Larabee was certain that he felt Vin's eyes on his back, and yesterday, when Chris had headed down the hall to the bathroom, leaving Vin on the couch, he had returned to find Vin's face turned in the direction Chris had exited.
A man could hope, anyway. Chris smiled ironically to himself. Some of the others had been amazed at the patience he had shown in his care of his young partner. He supposed if word got out, his rep as 'Badass Larabee' would be shot to hell. Not that he gave a rat's ass about the opinions of others. What was important was lying trustingly in his arms right now, and come hell or high water, Larabee would do everything in his power to insure that he stayed there.
He still had nightmares about that damned grave. In his dreams, he dug endlessly, but Vin remained forever lost to him, sealed in that heavy steel box. He had been viciously glad that Josiah had buried that crazy bitch alive. Few things had given him as much purely visceral satisfaction as knowing she was entombed in that dank box meant for Vin.
Ezra and JD had used the information obtained from her records to wipe her out financially. Every dime she had possessed, was funneled away into a series of secure offshore accounts. Her safe had been emptied; her lavish collection of diamond jewelry fenced. Larabee had kept the abused stallion. Ezra had also discovered several invaluable documents on her computer. Apparently blackmail was a hobby of Ella's.
At Chris' order, the Rivera ranch had been restored to Jorge Rivera and his family, on the condition that Larabee was written in as a silent partner in the ownership of the stables. Ella had set up and blackmailed the only son of that family with threats of a drug charge, in her desire to obtain one of the finest and most venerable properties in New Mexico. She would have stopped at nothing to have Christopher Larabee.
Larabee's musings about Ella Gaines' demise were cut short by an inquiring chirp from the side of the bed, as Miss Lily made her ritual morning demand for kitty breakfast. She hopped up on the bed, purring loudly and touched her nose to one of Vin's limp hands. For a second Vin, blinked, and seemed to recognize the little cat, but he remained silent and unresponsive.
"Time to rise and shine, pard. Got company coming today. Gotta get you all spruced up for Charlie and Irene. Don't want Irene after my ass with that damned spoon..."
Talking to Vin as he always did, Larabee rolled slowly out of bed and gently urged him up, then propelled him into the bathroom, jumpstarting their day. He made it his habit to speak with, and touch Vin constantly. This was partially to provide Tanner with verbal and tactile stimuli, and partially to anchor and reassure himself that his young partner was still with him.
Blossom's Gentleman's Club. Buck's apartment.
Buck Wilmington awoke with a truly horrendous hangover, supplemented by what felt like a woodpecker trapped inside his skull. It was pecking right between his eyes at the moment, and he briefly pondered asking Raphael to shoot him and provide some immediate relief. He groped one big hand across the bed, seeking a strong, muscled shoulder, but found only cold, empty sheets. 'Shit.'His eyes popped open as memory surfaced. Rafe was gone. After spending nearly every night for the last month with Buck, he had walked out yesterday. The previous week, Rafe had hesitantly asked Buck to accompany him to Mexico for a brief family visit. Buck had cheerfully agreed, then promptly forgotten the date. He had been preparing yesterday for Chris' cookout, when Rafe had reminded him of his promise and today's date.
Buck had winced and casually blown him off, while promising to go another day. After all, he had promised Chris to show up at the ranch. Raphael had just looked at him thoughtfully, then turned silently and walked away. Dismayed, and realizing he had somehow hurt him, Buck followed and caught up with Rafe outside the club as he was climbing onto his bike.
He had tried to charm the dark man into staying. "Now Stud, don't be that way. We can go Monday..."
"No. I can see now it was a mistake to even ask you. I had thought.." The last sentence trailed off, and Raphael had smiled ruefully to himself and shook his dark head. What was the point?
Buck reached out a hand and caught his shoulder. "Thought what, amigo?"
Raphael had shrugged his hand off, and looked him directly in the eye. "I had thought we were more than amigos. I had hoped we were amante, but that was never true. I was never more than a distraction for you, like one of your putas. You will always be Larabee's bitch. He has only to crook a finger for you to come running."
Shocked speechless for a moment, Buck had just stared into those hot, dark eyes, only then realizing just how jealous and angry Raphael was. Where Larabee's anger was volatile and easily recognized, Raphael's Latin temperament smouldered hidden, then flared like a brushfire to burn quick and hot. Finally, he stammered, "That's not true... I."
"No? Then tell me something, amigo mio, whose bed would you be in right now if we had buried Vin last month, instead of bringing him home?" He leaned forward into Buck's stricken face and spoke hotly, unleashing his jealousy and pent up frustration in bitter, venomous words, striking out verbally, instead of physically. "If Vin had died, you would have been in Larabee's bed before that boy's corpse was cold, with your ass up in the air. All you will ever be is Larabee's mariquita, and Raphael Cordova de Martinez has no need or desire for another man's piece of ass."
With that, he had spat contemptuously at Buck's feet then gunned his bike, and gone, heading south towards Mexico. He left Buck standing forlornly in the parking lot, big hands clenching uselessly at his sides. Sometimes shards of truth cut sharper than any razor.
Wilmington sighed and sat up, head cradled in his hands. In all honesty, he had not meant to treat Rafe so cavalierly. Their relationship as lovers was so new and unexpected. Buck wasn't used to having a steady lover to confide in. Then he had been distracted by Chris' distress at Vin's abduction and consequential injuries. He had automatically poured most of his energy into seeing to Larabee's needs while Vin was hospitalized.
It simply had not occurred to him that he had practically ignored Raphael's existence for the past month. He stared gloomily down at his bare toes. Hell, it was a wonder the man hadn't just shot him out of sheer frustration. He was beginning to get a glimmer of feeling for Larabee's bad temper and constant crankiness. He didn't know what to do about Rafe. He didn't want to think about it now. Sighing, he hauled his ass off the bed, and queasily headed for the shower.
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