Gift gave a stilted nod. “I heard the sword drop just as I remembered I still had one of the sai swords tucked into the waistband of my pants. I knew it was a training tool, too, but it was all I had. I managed to get it free without him noticing. He was too busy pressing a knife against my throat.”
“You killed him with a sai sword? A training sword?” Boone asked, sounding both impressed and suspicious as he fixated on the hole in Aspen’s t-shirt, stained just a shade or two darker than the rest.
Gift shook his head. “I did what you taught me,” he told Park, nodding earnestly like he needed Park to believe him. “I held the sword with the blade towards my elbow and I aimed for his heart…but I think I got his lung instead.”
They all looked at the bloody foam on Aspen’s cheeks. “That tracks,” Mac said. “Is that how he died? Asphyxiation? Choking on his own blood.”
Gift stared at nothing for a long moment, then shook his head. “No. Right before he tried to…slit my throat…” He paused, swallowing audibly. “He said…”
“He said what?” Park asked, squeezing Gift’s thigh again, gently this time.
“He said, ‘Say hi to your bitch mother for me.’” Gift shivered. “I just wanted him to tell me if my mother was dead or not. I just needed to know. But he…laughed at me.”
“He laughed at you?” Park echoed, the calm in his voice scary.
Gift nodded. “He was dying, gasping for breath, and he used that breath to…laugh at me.” He turned to look at Park then, the ice in his voice startling compared to the panic from moments ago. “So, I stabbed him. I took the knife and I stabbed it into his heart.” A slight smile twitched at his lips. “And then I wiggled it around”—he mimicked the motion—“to make sure he was really dead.”
Boone pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed a number. After several seconds passed, he looked at Park, expression grim. “Anchali, this is Boone. Call me as soon as you get this. Gift’s fine, but I’m afraid it’s urgent. Please call, no matter the time.”
Tears spilled over Gift’s cheeks then, his ragged sob echoing through the gym.
“I’m taking him back to my room.” Park looked at Mac. “Keep trying to reach Anchali. I’ll try to get Satja on the phone. He might be overseas but if he’s not, he’ll have a location for Anchali.” To Boone, he said, “I trust you can clean this mess up quietly?”
Boone nodded.
“Come on, baby. Let’s get you cleaned up.”
Gift jumped to his feet. “I think I’m gonna be sick again,” was the only warning they got before he lost the contents of his stomach for what appeared to be the second time.
When he stopped retching, Gift allowed Park to guide him outside, holding him close as they trekked back to the Peregrin dorm. Park couldn’t wrap his head around how things had gone so wrong so fast. An hour ago, Park had been planning all the ways he would take Gift apart after dinner. Now, Gift was falling apart all on his own. But Park wasn’t sure he knew how to piece him back together.
Park got Gift home and set him on the lip of the bathtub, stepping out to try to call Satja. Just like Anchali, it went to voicemail. Park left a short message, similar to Boone’s, letting him know Gift was fine but that something had happened and it was urgent he talk to Anchali.
Once he returned to the bathroom, he stripped Gift down to his underwear. His concern turned to fury once more as each piece of clothing fell to the floor. Gift had cuts everywhere. There were four along his left arm and three along his right. A long open gash over his left thigh and another, lower, on the same leg. There were others, too. More superficial, shallow as cat scratches, but others were deep.
Park couldn’t help but picture Gift going up against the much more muscular Aspen, doing his best to fend off blow after blow from a real sword. By rights, Gift should be dead. While Aspen was likely no swordsman, he definitely had more combat training than someone like Gift. That was why he’d gotten the job.
Every breath Park took felt like barbed wire around his lungs, but he forced himself to try to remain calm, for Gift’s sake.
He used the first aid kit, gently cleaning each wound with sterile water, starting with the one on Gift’s fluffy cheek, now even puffier due to the swelling. “You’re gonna have a scar,ouen.”
Gift just nodded.
“You’re too quiet,wan-jai. You’re scaring me. Tell me what you’re thinking.”
Gift didn’t even flinch as Park closed his cheek with the medical glue. “I’m thinking my mother’s dead,” he said flatly. “My mother’s dead and I’m still here.”
“We don’t know she’s dead. Your mom is one of the toughest people I know. She’s smart. She’s skilled. Don’t count her out just yet,ouen.”
Gift nodded, like he thought Park was just humoring him. But he wasn’t. Anchali had been an impeccable operative. She’d seamlessly blended her mundane desk job with her more clandestine activities. She was lethal at close range, better at hand to hand combat than Park or any of the others on their team. But more than that, she was smart. She’d managed to manipulate her way out of far more dangerous situations than an assassination attempt, especially if the killer was as inept as Aspen.
But Park didn’t argue. He just cleaned Gift’s wounds then turned on the shower, stripping them both down and helping Gift under the spray. He allowed Park to manhandle him, silent as the older man carefully bathed him and washed his hair, washing himself as the conditioner sat in his hair.
Out of the shower, Park dried him off, helping him step into borrowed boxer briefs and an old t-shirt before leading him to bed and tucking him in. “I’m going to make you something to eat so you can take some meds.”
Gift snatched his arm, dragging him down to the bed with a strength Park didn’t know he possessed. “No. Stay with me. I’m not hungry.”
Park should have insisted Gift eat, but one look at his pleading eyes and it was over. He climbed into bed beside him, gathering him into his arms. “Sleep,kon-dii.”
