Run This Town 04 - (Watch Me) Save You Page 3

  He’d begun shaking, and the last thing he remembered was sliding down from his seat onto the floor. He’d woken up in the hospital and immediately asked for the time off. Sharing why he’d panicked and passed out had been off the table, he’d simply told the doctors that he’d been working hard and barely sleeping.

  “You know I’m here if you need anything,” Low said. “Just hit me up.”

  “I know,” Quinn said hoarsely. “And I will.” But of course that was a lie.

  “Later.”

  “Bye, Low. Thanks for checking up on me.” He ended the call and heaved a heavy sigh. Low was a good friend, but the last thing Quinn needed was for anyone to see him as he was.

  Off his fucking rocker.

  He remained in bed, only getting up to use the bathroom, which was so damn hard. He finally managed to put cream on his welts and went back to sleep. For some reason sleep was better during the day, so he embraced that reprieve.

  No appetite meant he didn’t bother with food.

  His cell phone rang just as he woke up from another nap, this one longer than the first. He checked the caller ID, but didn’t recognize the number. He took a deep breath and answered.

  “Hello?”

  “Quinn. It’s Is.”

  “Is!” Israel Storm, Xavier’s cousin. The smile that bloomed on Quinn’s face wasn’t at all faked. Is, of all people. “What’s up? Long time no hear.”

  “Yeah, man. Been busy.” Israel cleared his throat. “How are you?”

  “I’ve been really good, actually.”

  His lie likely rang sincere to Israel because Quinn heard the relief in his voice when he said, “I’m glad to hear it. You know that.”

  “I know.” He did know that. It was nice to hear and he chuckled at himself before quickly sobering. “Why are you calling, Is? Is it—” Was Xavier in trouble? Or even worse, hurt?

  “No.” Israel rushed to ease his mind. “He’s fine. X is fine. I just— I need a favor.”

  Shit. Quinn could say no, but he liked Israel and he wouldn’t have called if he didn’t really need Quinn’s help. “Name it.”

  “A friend needs somewhere to crash for a few days. He’s a good guy. You’ve got nothing to worry about. I can vouch for him. We’ve known each other for a long time.”

  Uh… “Okay.” Quinn stretched out the word. “Is he wanted or something?”

  “What? No!”

  “Just checking.” Quinn had to laugh at Israel’s outrage then he swallowed that mirth. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d done that. Laugh. “Sure, he can stay. I’ve got the room. But just for a few days, yeah? I don’t like people in my space for too long.”

  “Just a few days,” Israel promised. “I’ll give him your information. Should be over sometime tonight if not tomorrow. His name is Tek.” He described Tek to Quinn. “Thanks, man. I owe you one.”

  “We’re good.” Quinn brushed away his gratitude. “How is Xavier?” He couldn’t not ask. He couldn’t not wonder. Xavier had been, still was, so important to him.

  “He’s good. Still doing the boring lawyer thing, you know how he stay.”

  “I do.” Quinn meant to laugh, but a soft sob escaped instead. “Will you tell him—” He cut himself off. Tell him what, that Quinn was a mess? That he still loved Xavier, still wanted him, but couldn’t face it? That he blamed himself, hated himself? “Never mind. Send your friend over. I’ll be waiting. And Is?”

  “Yeah?”

  “You should call more often.”

  “I should.” Israel’s voice turned hoarse. “Yes.”

  “Take care of him for me.” Because Quinn would never be able to do it himself.

  “I will,” Israel said. “Bye, Quinn.”

  “Later, Is.” He disconnected the call and stared at the phone in his trembling palm. He’d just agreed to let another person into his home. Someone who would be there at night to hear his screams and maybe even witness all of his self-hate.

  Way to go.

  ****

  It didn’t take much to kill a man. At least, not the way Tek did it. He was the most honest in the way he dealt with death. Paco Nunez killed one of Israel’s men, gunned him down, so Tek was here to return the favor.

  Renzo Vega ran things out here in Atlanta. His reputation preceded him, but Israel had set up shop on the streets of Atlanta long before Vega came along. Just because the Rude Boys were based all the way out in Queens didn’t mean Vega and his people got to run amok and go killing Israel’s men.

  Tek had come straight to Atlanta after Israel’s phone call, his mission to collect the money laundered through the different businesses Israel had set up for that very purpose. But Tek had walked into a crime scene. Mackie had been shot dead in his own home, the keys to the businesses gone. The DeKalb Police saw the crime as a simple, random robbery, but Tek knew better. He’d headed over to the other businesses and found them broken into as well. Looted.

  It appeared that Vega was finally taking a stand against Israel and the Rude Boys. With Israel holed up in some mountain cabin with his friend Reggie, Vega chose the perfect time, too. Now it fell on Tek to handle the problem. He was familiar with Atlanta’s underbelly. Some would say too familiar, but he’d had no problem calling in favors with the people he knew in the DeKalb PD. He got Paco’s name a day before they were to execute a search warrant on his house. Tek got to him first, of course.

  There was no interrogation, no questions he needed answered, so the deed was pretty quick. Might even be a record for him. He found Paco sleeping, woke him with a bullet to the chest then cut him open in the tub. He sat on the floor of the grimy bathroom while the man bled out, his life a thick red circling the drain. That was the easy part.

  Now came the hard part.

  Tek stripped down, but kept on his black leather gloves. His uncle had been a butcher who’d taught Tek everything he knew. He knew all about precision and he put those skills to use now. Under the power saw, Paco’s limbs gave little resistance.

  There was a certain detachment that came with doing this kind of work. Tek did it all quickly, efficiently, and an hour later he walked out of Paco’s apartment with a black duffle bag slung over his shoulder. He had to go through his old stomping grounds, way too close to his real life for his peace of mind. But he did it, disposing of Paco’s remains in the small lake inside South Hairston Park in Stone Mountain before he got back into the rental car and dialed up Israel.

  “Talk to me.” Was it just Tek, or did his friend sound… weird?

  “It’s done.”

  “Okay. Head underground.”

  Right. Israel had sent him the name and address of some guy he trusted. A guy whose home Tek was supposed to use to lay low. “I’ll hit you up when I get there.”

  “Thanks, Tek.”

  “Anytime. Peace.” Tek hung up and began the drive over to Sandy Springs.

  Taking lives didn’t seem as foreign as it used to be back when he’d been locked up and fighting to live. He’d been a caged animal, lashing out after being poked one too many times. He hadn’t intended to kill, never thought he’d survive the gang rape, but something had broken in him and he’d come up off that bloodied floor swinging. In the aftermath, one man’s windpipe had been crushed, and Tek had been thrown into solitary. He’d worried about stepping back into general population when he got out of that hole, but Israel and Elias… Those two had his back. Elias had given him the option of having Stavros in his corner. The outcome was definitely not what Elias expected, but the Greek had been the one to protect Tek in the early days outside of Rikers. He’d protected Tek’s mother, still protected her when Tek wasn’t around to do it himself. Something she’d never know. Not if Tek did what his father wanted.

  The payment for having Stavros watching over Tek’s mother?

  Tek’s body.

  The easiest currency.

  Lots of things in his life didn’t make sense. The loyalty he had for Israel and Elias wasn’t one of those t
hings. He chose to be where he was right at that moment, lending out his skills to Israel. They’d come a long way, he and Israel. Elias on the other hand, he had his own life, his own family. Tek tried not to be in the same room with Elias, too afraid the other man would see what he tried so hard to keep hidden for almost two decades. They spoke all the time, of course they did. Tek couldn’t cut himself off completely, but he’d never conned himself into thinking he had a chance.

  What he felt was his own cross to bear, his to deal with. Elias would never know. Tek had thought no one would know, but obviously, Stavros found out.

  At the security gate leading into Quinn’s community, Tek gave his name and waited while the guard checked to make sure that Quinn was expecting him. When he got the wave to drive on through he did so slowly, checking the numbers on the houses he passed until he got to the one Israel had sent him. He parked in the parking spot marked visitor, and hurried up the short walkway to ring the doorbell.

  The door opened and a dark-skinned man peered out. His eyes were wide, jaw covered in a few days’ worth of scruff. Under a red t-shirt and jeans frayed at the knees, his body looked slight, skinny. In his bare feet, he and Tek were almost the exact height.

  “Quinn?” Tek chanced a smile. “I’m Tek.” He held out a hand, and Quinn stared, something like fear in his eyes. “I’m Israel’s friend,” Tek explained. “He told you I’d be coming, yes?”

  Quinn blinked and stepped back, granting Tek entry. “Come in.” His voice was low, hoarse, as if he’d been shouting.

  Tek frowned. “Are you sure? I don’t— The last thing I want is to impose, man.”

  Quinn didn’t look back at him as he walked further into the house. “You’re not imposing. You’re a friend of Israel’s. He trusts you, therefore I trust you.” Of course those words held not one iota of truth in them, but Tek thought better of pointing that out.

  He stepped into the house and closed the door behind him. Quinn spun around then, rushing back to double lock it. Tek watched with an eyebrow raised.

  “It’s— You have to be safe.” Quinn’s gaze shifted away from Tek’s. “You can’t be too careful.”

  “I hear you.” But there was something about this Quinn dude that Tek couldn’t quite put his finger on. Something was off about him. That’s not your problem. “Listen, just point me to where you want me, and I’ll be out of your hair.”

  Quinn started walking toward him then stopped abruptly. “How long are you staying?”

  “Uh…” Tek shrugged. “Two days. Three tops. Will that be a problem?”

  “No. I—” Quinn shook his head. “No.”

  But his tone, his stance— fuck, his face—said yes. Damn it. “Look, I don’t have to stay here if you don’t want me to. The last thing I want is to put you out.” He’d find a motel or something and hide out. He should have done that instead of allowing Israel to pull this Quinn into their shit. The guy looked frail, dead on his feet. “Are you sick?” Tek asked.

  Quinn opened his mouth then closed it. His shoulders slumped. “I’m not sick, and it’s fine that you’re here. I just—I’m used to being here myself, that’s all.”

  Tek smiled at him. “You won’t even know I’m here, I promise. And thank you.” He clasped his hands together and bowed. “Thank you for letting me stay.”

  “I’d do anything for Israel.” Quinn twisted his hands.

  Tek didn’t respond as Quinn walked ahead of him and beckoned for Tek to follow him up the stairs to the second floor. He listened closely as Quinn showed him where he was sleeping—the spare bedroom two doors down from Quinn’s. Quinn pointed him to the linen closet then walked away.

  “There’s food in the fridge,” Quinn said on his way out. “Feel free to help yourself.”

  “Quinn.” Tek called after him. Quinn looked over his shoulder, eyes wide. “Thank you.”

  He nodded then disappeared, but not before Tek caught that flash of fear, or was it shame? Who was this Quinn?

  Chapter Four

  Another person was in his house. Feet away.

  Quinn twisted the lock on his bedroom door and clasped a hand over his mouth to stifle his heavy breaths. His heart raced, palms already slick with the cold sweat. Familiar, so familiar. The panic. His knees shook and he leaned into the door, eyes squeezed shut, that hand muffling his whimpers.

  He was a grown man. He shouldn’t react like this. He shouldn’t be reduced to this.

  Lots of things he shouldn’t.

  Somehow his body and mind didn’t adhere to that rule because his ass was hitting the floor, his back braced against the door, and he was rocking back and forth.

  He fumbled, trying to fetch his phone from the front pocket of his jeans with fingers that didn’t want to cooperate. He gritted his teeth and when he finally had the device in his wet palm, he stared down at it.

  Do it. Call Israel. He could bow out, give some bullshit excuse that didn’t give away the fact that the presence of a stranger in his home had him curled into a ball and wishing to be anyplace else and anyone other than who he was right then. All he had to do was hit the dial button, but Quinn bit the inside of his cheek and let the phone fall from his limp hand.

  Two days. Maybe three.

  He could do that. He would do that. To prove to himself that he could. It couldn’t be that hard. Not compared to anything else.

  He leaned to the side, lying in the fetal position on the floor. Breath hiccupped in his chest as he stared unblinking at the white walls of his bedroom.

  “You like to be fucked, don’t you? I’mma give you what you want.”

  He wanted to scream, opened his mouth to do just that, but for some reason no sound came out. Quinn thrashed back and forth, trying to escape the hands on his shoulders, holding him down, the rough fingers at his throat, squeezing him tight, and the man who hovered above him, pure hate and malice in his eyes as he used the hugest blade Quinn had ever seen to slice away his clothes.

  Panic was ice and it burned Quinn’s skin, burned as he fought. He would fight. Xavier would expect him to fight. He could do nothing but fight even when he was spread on the floor, a knee on his chest, the hand at his throat taking his air while the man above him took even more.

  Took everything.

  He drowned in it, the fear and pain. Shock and anguish locking him down so he forgot to thrash, didn’t even think about screaming. His eyes snapped open and he saw the ceiling, the moldings that he’d loved when they first saw that house. He saw himself, happy and content. He saw his husband, the love in his eyes whenever he looked at Quinn. He heard the laughter, the joyous sounds. He heard the sound of their love. He floated in that, let it wrap around him, keep him warm, because for some reason he was freezing.

  And hurting.

  He hurt so bad.

  Where was Xavier? He’d promised to be there for the bad stuff, hadn’t he? They’d promised to protect each other, hadn’t they? They’d made promises, and someone wanted Quinn to renege on that, to walk away from it. He never would.

  But he hurt.

  He wanted to curl away, go to sleep. His body wouldn’t cooperate. A scent filled the air, metallic. Coppery. Like blood. He should get up, see what was going on, but his body wouldn’t cooperate.

  And he hurt.

  He felt empty suddenly. Everything inside him went quiet, suddenly. Went calm. Almost peaceful and he felt his face move, shift into a smile. Fingers on his body began to register, his legs, the inside of his thighs. The smile grew bigger.

  Only one man had permission to touch him.

  His vision cleared, burning away the fog preventing him from seeing…

  The stranger above him, grinning.

  “Knew the faggot would like it.” He held up something, the heavy flashlight next to their nightstand.

  The calm broke.

  Quinn opened his mouth.

  And screamed. And screamed. He didn’t stop screaming.

  Pounding echoed in his ears. Something cra
shed near him, made his body shake.

  Hands were on him again, his shoulder, creeping closer to his neck. And he fought.

  Someone called his name, but everything inside of Quinn shut down except the need to fight. He hadn’t done that before and he took the chance now. Lashing out with the moves he’d learned. Knees, elbows, teeth bared. He couldn’t see who touched him, but it wasn’t with his permission, never with his permission, and he wasn’t going back to that place.

  Never again.

  “Quinn. Open your eyes.”

  The voice, familiar enough to make him freeze up.

  “Xavier?”

  “Open your eyes for me, Quinn.”

  Xavier was there. He’d come back. Quinn lifted his head, blinked the fear and tears from his eyes.

  Brown eyes stared down at him, slightly curious, unruffled. The exotic eyes and high cheekbones, thin lips and short black hair. The pretty Asian features. Not Xavier. The realization broke him. He pushed away from the touch, pressed himself closer to the wall and away from the guy.

  Tek.

  “Are you okay?” His head was cocked, and he regarded Quinn as if he could see into him.

  “Yeah.” His throat burned, sore from his screams. “Of course.” He looked away from Tek to the door, his bedroom door where it lay on the floor. “You-you broke my door.” Seemed pretty obvious, but he had to sound it out, distract himself from the idea of this stranger seeing him at his lowest.

  “It was locked.”

  He looked up as Tek shrugged, his alert gaze zinging from the door to Quinn’s face.

  “I thought someone was hurting you.” Tek got to his feet, shoving both hands in his pockets as he looked around the room.

  Quinn’s breath caught when Tek’s gaze landed on the gun where it lay in the middle of his bed. He cleared his throat to distract Tek then glanced at the clock. Shit. It was late.

  “I’m— Sorry for waking you.”