Three the Hard Way (11 page)

“Trouble in paradise?” Justice asked, watching him with drowsy eyes as he dragged the corner chair over to the bed and sat down.

“Didn’t know you considered Alaska paradise.”

Justice shuddered. “Fucking snow. Cold. Reminds me of Christmas.”

Taken aback by the anger in Justice’s voice, Tag frowned. “You love Christmas.” Even as he said it, he regretted it, realizing the stupidity of his statement.

Through the glaze that dulled Justice’s eyes, more anger sparked. “Itor.”

Yeah, Itor. The fuckers had killed their mothers on Christmas day. They’d been at Justice’s mom’s place for the holiday, and while their moms cooked Christmas dinner, Tag and Justice had gone to a movie. What they’d returned . . .

Tag shook his head to clear it, not willing to let himself fall down that pit of despair right now. There was plenty of time for that later.

Justice reached up, touched his head, and winced. “What did your lover drug me with?”

Tag chose to not take Justice’s bait. “No idea. You got all combative and shit, and he had to sedate you.”

“You let him?” Justice glared. At least, he attempted to. The drug was kicking his ass. “He could’ve killed me.”

Tag shook his head. “He’s not a bad guy, Justice.”

“He lied to you,” he slurred. “Got you kidnapped.”

Tag wasn’t sure when he would stop feeling like he’d been gut punched every time his kidnapping came up. “I know,” he said. “And I’m still not over that. But haven’t you done things at ACRO,
for
ACRO, that you aren’t proud of?”

“I’ve never deceived anyone like that.” Justice’s voice was a curious combination of angry and high as a kite. “Never hurt an inn . . . cent.”

Innocent
. Ah, the drug-induced-speech-impediment stage was fun.

“Great. Glad your conscience is clear. Must be nice.”

“Fuck you, Tag.” Justice sighed. “You never und . . . er . . . stood why I needed to join ACRO.”

Tag thought about what Ian had said, about having the security of an agency to back you up, and he had to admit that while he’d had a good run as a bartender in Florida, he’d never felt like he belonged among people he couldn’t be himself with. People he had nothing in common with.

“No,” Tag said quietly. “I get it. But I can’t get excited about an agency like Itor.”

“ACRO’s nothing like Itor.”

And here we go again
. Did Justice never tire of sounding like a broken record? “Justice—”

Justice’s hand snapped out with surprising speed to grab Tag’s. He was clearly fighting the drug, but then, he’d done the same thing at the age of fourteen when he’d broken his leg. The doctors had to give him enough painkillers to knock out a horse because Justice had refused to give up control. It was why he rarely drank in college, where Tag had been Mr. Party Animal. He could still kick ass at quarters.

“I know you were shepticle . . . skephical . . .”

“Skeptical?”

Justice frowned. “Yeah. That. You were . . . skeptical. But I’ve been with ACRO for four years. They’ve been good to me. They’re not in the game for power the way Itor is. They want to rid the world of scumbags.” He nodded drunkenly. “Scumbags are bad.”

“So, what, ACRO is a big band of superheroes who save kittens, wear white capes, and shit rainbows?”

“Don’t be a dumbass.” He patted Tag’s hand like he was a child. “They counter the bad guys. And maybe save kittens. I’m not saying everyone at ACRO is a decent person, or that they’re even nice. Trust me, ACRO is full of shitheads.” He jammed his finger into his chest, except his coordination was off, and he nailed his nipple. “Am one of them. But . . . dare you to find a job where that isn’t the case.”

Justice had a point. Tag had worked with some dicks, some criminals even, on the crab boat and at the bar. Hell, he was pretty sure he put himself on Itor’s radar when he ended up in a police report for stopping a bar employee from assaulting a woman in an alley. The employee’s claim that Tag had “used his mind to smash a dumpster into him” had been met with a lot of rolled eyes, but his statement had, nevertheless, been recorded.

So, yep, Tag had worked with jerks everywhere.

But he still wasn’t ready to start waving ACRO flags and marching in parades.

Justice squeezed his hand. “I’m sorry Itor got you. If I’d known, I’d have found a way to help you. I wouldn’t have let you suffer.”

Ooh, now it was time for intoxicated lies and oaths no one kept when they were sober.

He shrugged like it was no big deal, but inside, the wounds Itor had inflicted still bled. “I got away. Thanks to ACRO,” he added grudgingly.

“How did you escape?”

By the skin of his teeth, that was how. “I was at the Madrid office when ACRO attacked. Nearly got killed.” Shifting, he turned and peeled up his shirt to reveal his lower back and the messy scar there. “There was a massive explosion. Got smashed by a burning beam. And I have a nice bullet hole in my thigh. Wouldn’t have survived if I hadn’t made it to one of Itor’s clients, a quack who runs an illegal plastic surgery facility on Madrid’s outskirts.”

“Madrid?” Justice croaked.

Tag nodded, decided not to go into more detail. Justice was starting to look “shocky” again, as Ian had put it, going pale and starting to sweat, and now probably wasn’t the time to tell him that Tag had been forced to kill an ACRO agent during the battle.

“Hey.” Tag tugged a blanket up over Justice’s shoulders. “Maybe you should rest—”

“I’m sorry, Tag,” Justice whispered. “I’m so sorry about Madrid. I didn’t know.”

“It’s okay. You couldn’t have known Itor’d grabbed me.”

For some reason, Justice shook his head. “Madrid . . . you could have died.”

“It’s okay,” he repeated. “Don’t blame yourself. Fuck, Justice, if anyone needs to apologize, it’s me. I should have gone to ACRO with you. You were right. If I’d done it, our moms would have been safe. They’re dead because of me—”

Suddenly, Justice jacked into a sit and had one hand fisted in Tag’s shirt. Justice’s eyes were glassy, but his expression was as intense and angry as Tag’d ever seen it.

“I was wrong,” he growled. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“But you believe it.”

“I did, once. I was angry for a long time. But now . . . I know you weren’t ready for ACRO. It wouldn’t have been a good fit, and we’d have been driven apart anyway.” He closed his eyes, and when he opened them, those gorgeous blues were cast in shadow. “I said what I said because I was trying to punish you for choosing a normal life over me and ACRO. And I think I was trying to punish you for . . . for loving Ian.”

Taggart had more apologizing to do, but Justice was flagging, his eyes going unfocused again as he fell back down on the mattress.

“Ian’s here to help me.”

“He could be lying.”

“He’s not. He told me about something called a P-128S chip that Itor planted inside his shoulder to track him. He didn’t have to tell me about it. He didn’t have to ask me to destroy it. But he did, and now Itor’s going to know he’s not playing their game. They’ll kill him for that, Justice. He put his life on the line for me.”

“P-128S chip . . .” Justice scowled. “Sounds familiar. You destroyed it?”

“It was his idea.”

Justice snorted softly. “So everything’s all great in Taggart-loves-Ian land?”

“Not by a long shot. He lied and fucked me over hard. But I believe he regrets it, and I believe he came here to help.”

“You didn’t deny that you love him.”

Because that would be a lie. Tag looked down at his feet. Swallowed. Inhaled. Swallowed again. “I love you, Justice. Always have. I didn’t think I’d love anyone again after you, but somehow I fell for him. I don’t expect you to like him, but will you at least try to not be a dick to him? He’s here to help. Give him a chance.”

Justice yawned, and his eyes drifted closed. “You gonna tell him the same thing?”

“Yes.” For all the good it would do. He didn’t know if these two would ever get along.

“Fuck.” Justice’s eyes remained closed, and his fists, once clenched, relaxed as the meds finally won out over his will. “Don’t wanna lose you again. Can’t lose you again.”

Oh, and here was the worst stage of intoxication: the heartfelt confessions and declarations of love you regretted when you woke up the next day.

Which made what Tag said next even worse, because he didn’t have the excuse of being drunk or drugged.

“Justice,” he whispered. “I don’t want to lose you either.”

Thankfully, he doubted Justice heard.

By the time Ian had dug through all the prepper’s boxes of medical supplies and came back up from the basement with the saline bag, Justice had drifted off to sleep again.

Must be nice. Not that Ian begrudged an injured guy sleep, but damn, Ian felt like he could snooze for a week. He hadn’t realized how exhausted he was until just now, when it seemed as if every muscle was protesting the climb up the stairs from the basement. Even his head was starting to hurt.

He shook it off and sank onto the mattress next to Justice and prepped the back of the guy’s hand for the IV.

“You look like shit,” Tag said, and yeah, that was helpful.

“It’s been a long day.”

“You sure what I did to the chip isn’t affecting you?”

Strangely, the area surrounding the chip felt fine. There was only a little residual soreness, and Ian figured that would be gone by morning. “I’m sure. How was Justice while I was downstairs?”

As he threaded the line into Justice’s vein, Tag reported, “He woke up and talked to me for a while, but he seemed pretty out of it.”

“Yeah, he’s a little shocky. That’s to be expected. This should help. As long as he woke up and was semilucid, he’s okay to sleep another hour. We’ll keep waking him through the night.”

“Fine by me.” Tag moved to lean against the wall and watched him finish setting up the IV.

Ian turned Justice’s hand over, and his fingers fell open, revealing the long, thin mark on his palm. The one that was identical to Tag’s.

A sour feeling swirled in Ian’s belly. Tag and Justice had so much history between them, so many stories Ian couldn’t touch. He’d never been one to give in to jealousy, but this time, he couldn’t help it. The marks on Justice and Taggart’s palms were physical evidence that their relationship went beyond simple memories.

“You never told me about the scar,” he blurted, knowing how petty it sounded but not caring.

Tag shrugged. “Never asked.”

God, Tag hadn’t changed a bit. Ian didn’t know whether to be angry or grateful. “And I guess we don’t have to now, right?”

“Really? You want to pretend we had a relationship where we talked about things?”

“We fucking did, Taggart. Don’t shit on that memory.”

“I’m not the one who did that first.”

“Fine. Whatever.” Ian pushed off the mattress and headed toward the door.

Taggart called after him, “Ian . . . we were kids.”

Ian paused, hand on the doorjamb. “Pretty serious scar for kids.”

“Well, now that you know Justice, you see that he’s a pretty serious guy.”

“He can be intense, yes. But so can you.”

“I’m going to take that as a compliment.”

Ian didn’t answer him one way or the other, mainly because he knew it would annoy Taggart . . . but also because he knew he couldn’t stay and listen to anything more about Tag and Justice’s love for each other.

Justice was beautiful when he was sleeping.

Tag watched him from the corner chair in the bedroom, a bottle of bourbon nearly touching the floor as it dangled from his fingers. For the first time since Justice arrived at the cabin, he looked like he had before that day four years ago when Itor had destroyed their lives. Gone was the steely-eyed, guarded agent who could so easily have shot Ian and tossed him out for the wolves, just as he’d said. Now, in deep slumber, Justice looked peaceful. Relaxed. And even with the bandages, he looked sexy as hell.

Taggart could still remember the first time he’d thought of Justice in that way. At least, the first time he’d admitted to himself that he was attracted to the other boy.

They’d been seventeen, and Justice was sleeping over because his mom was helping out a friend, and they’d needed his room for a few nights. Tag and Justice had slept in the same room often enough, and it wasn’t a big deal for the two of them to share a bed when they had to.