I stride up to them with way more confidence than any sane person would dare to have and plant myself next to Dan, grabbing Jack’s arm, the one he has punched into the side of the van beside Dan’s head, and squeezing it, silently asking him to look at me. Jack is visibly trembling with fury, his entire body, containing all that muscle and might and inhuman power, primed for violence, his hair-trigger temper set to fire at even the slightest pressure.
“Jack, come on,” I plead when he refuses to divert his attention from Dan, too busy glaring at his twin with flaring nostrils and brows dug so deeply into his head that the gap between them almost disappears completely. “Please, babe, I know this whole thing is fucked, and you’ve got every right to bepissed, but smashing up our van won’t help. And hurting Dan won’t undo anything either.”
“Hurting him?” Jack scoffs, pressing his forearm cruelly into Dan’s larynx, cutting off his air with real intent this time. “I bloody killed him, Leo, and the fucker still came back.”
Rex and Damon are watching all this play out with mildly bemused expressions although Rex has the audacity to look bored.
“Well, you know what they say, brother,” Dan croaks out, managing to sound droll even with a crushed throat. “If at first you don’t succeed, try, try again.”
I sigh heavily and resist the urge to slap him myself. “Dan, thanks for the advice, but please don’t help.”
Dan darts a glance over at me and grins, flashing all his pearly white teeth at me like a cartoon shark, genuine mischief, the nightmare, on his face. “Go on, Jack, give it another shot,” he chokes daringly. “No one wants to fuck a man who lacks follow-through. Tell him, Leo. When you decided to hook up with a murderer, you didn’t think you’d get one who was so shit at it, right?”
I tug at Jack’s arm again, grasping his chin with my other hand and forcing him to look at me. Jack is strong enough to resist me if he really wants to, but he lets his head be jerked to the side, his gaze finally landing on my face. His rage subsides the moment his eyes lock onto mine, like I hoped it would, and he immediately loosens his hold on Dan’s throat. Jack leans into my hand when I cup his jaw, my thumb gently brushing his unshaven cheek, stubble pricking against my skin again and again as I offer the comfort that I know he secretly craves.
Jack heaves a shaky exhale and lets go of Dan completely, stepping back and yanking me along with him, his arm going around my waist and pulling me in against him with a vice-like grip. I don’t mind it, preferring to be held so possessively aftercoming close to losing him back in the house. Jack seems eased by my proximity, the violent coil unwinding inside him inch by inch the longer we stand there, fused together, my forehead pressed to his temple, seeking every possible point of contact we can make with all our clothes still on.
Dan, unhelpful as always, snorts like he’s just seen a particularly unimpressive magic trick. I flash him a quick middle finger for being a bastard, and Jack actually laughs, the sound vibrating through his chest in a deeply pleasant rumble.
“Fucking Christ,” Rohan suddenly explodes from behind us, “we don’t have time for this, you bloody pack of drama llamas.”
Rohan, officially done with our shit, apparently, gets into the back of the van, grabbing the burner phone we bought at the last truck stop just in case. He climbs back out of the van, already punching in a number by memory. He presses the phone to his ear, waiting impatiently for whoever he’s called to answer.
“I don’t think I even want to know what any of this shit is about, do I?” Rex asks, stepping up to us, with Damon still hovering at his side, darting worried looks between us and Dan, who is leaning against the van with his arms crossed, head titled slightly to left as he stares narrowly at Jack and me.
I shake my head at Rex, choosing not to answer with anything concrete. If I can get away without explaining what went down in that house with Ian Stone, I’ll be more than happy to bury it alongside all my other trauma from the last few months.
“Ian Stone is dead,” Jack says, turning his head to look at Rex and Damon. “And Rohan was under mind control when he brought us here. It was all bullshit. He was the one who leaked FISA’s location to OI.”
Damon’s eyes widen in disbelief. “What?”
Rex wrinkles his nose, like we just told him his favourite restaurant was closing down, mildly bothered but not devastated. He seems more annoyed than shocked by therevelation that Rohan technically betrayed us as if he resents his time being wasted on this whole endeavour.
“Who are you calling?” I ask Rohan.
Rohan doesn’t respond, but my enhanced hearing lets me know who it is when North answers the phone with a barked demand to tell him who the fuck is calling him.
“Calm your tits, Aaron,” Rohan says, with more familiarity than I’m used to. He’s usually more formal with North. I’ve definitely never heard him use his first name before. “It’s me. I’m here with your son, his boyfriend, and Leo.” A pause, then he pulls a face like he wants to spit on the ground. “And my psycho little brothers.”
I’m surprised again when North exhales over the phone with audible relief. At first I think it’s just due to the confirmation of Damon’s safety, but then he says gruffly, “ThankGod. I was scared out of my fucking mind, kid. Where the hell have you been? Where are you? Tell me, and I’ll come get you right now.”He sounds genuinely emotional—compromised in a way I thought him incapable of—his voice tinged with fear and desperation, like he yearns to reach through the phone and grasp hold of Rohan with both hands.
If I were capable of taking on anymore “shazam, ta-da” reveals, I’d be bamboozled by this implied relationship that I had no idea existed between Rohan and North. But as of this very moment, I really don’t have it in me give a shit. I’ll postpone my reaction to that baffling disclosure of information until later, when I have a moment to breathe.
Damon looks relieved at the news that his dad is okay, and I feel a pang of regret that I haven’t checked in with my friend more. He’s been through a lot in the last twenty-four hours, and I’ve been so caught up with the Roth twins that I haven’t had the time to spare for comforting Damon about the possible danger his dad could be in, or what it means that he’s been dosed with adrug meant to steal away his autonomy. I’d feel a lot worse about it if Rex weren’t here to offer that support to his boyfriend. When Damon exhales at the mention of his dad’s name, Rex shuffles in close and hooks his little finger around Damon’s, an immense amount of reassurance given in the tiny gesture, judging by the look of devoted gratitude Damon sends Rex’s way.
Rohan spends a few minutes on the phone with North, pushing off all of North’s attempts to get solid answers out of the younger man, and bullies our handler into meeting up at a FISA safe house, only an hour away from here. I want to ask about my aunt, if she survived the OI attack, but part of me also doesn’t want to know if the answer is in the negative. There’s so much nightmare fuel already spinning around my brain, I don’t need any more anguish to try and psychologically digest.
I catch Dan’s eye at one point and mouth the word “behave” at him. His mouth quirks up on one side in response, revealing a slightly crooked incisor. It gives him a wicked, roguish quality that might be attractive if it weren’t so fucking sinister. Jack catches the exchange but, quite impressively, manages not to smack his brother in the mouth. The only indicator that he wants to do it is in the marginal shake of his hand. But he clenches my side instead, fingers digging into my waist, holding on tight like he’s using me to keep his temper anchored.
Rohan hangs up the phone when North is mid-sentence, asking for about the tenth time about Rohan’s general well-being. The phone rings seconds later, clearly North calling back. Rohan wrinkles his nose at it and turns the bloody thing off.
“Come on, then,” he says to us, jerking his head at the van. “Better get moving before that idiot sends a fleet of choppers out searching for us.”
Jack snorts, then gets this glint in his eye that spells so much trouble it isn’t even funny. I don’t have time to cover his mouthwith my hand before he’s turning to Damon and asking, “So, how long’s your dad been fucking my big brother?”
Rohan rolls his eyes so hard it looks ridiculous, and he whips around to climb into the front seat of the van without a word.
Damon eyebrows shoot up. “What?” he demands, sounding bizarrely scandalised by the question. Rex tips his head back and barks out a high-voltage laugh, patting Damon’s arm consolingly before he goes chasing after Rohan, joining him in the front of the van. I have no idea if that means he already knew about North and Rohan, or if he’s just delighted by the sheer absurdity of it.
