That made Axel smile.
“That there.” Clint gave him a quick kiss. “That’s what I like to see.”
“If you play your cards right…” Axel kissed his hand, an impish smile creeping onto his face. “… you might see a lot of it tonight.”
Clint chuckled softly. “I’m a hell of a card player.”
“Yes,” Axel admitted, his smile growing. “You are.”
“Feeling any better?” Clint asked sincerely.
“A little, yeah.” He kissed his hand again. “Thanks. You always know how to make it better.”
Clint winked at him, though his tone was sincere as he replied, “I learned from the best.”
Axel smiled, ever thankful that—for reasons he didn’t quite understand—he was Clint’ssanctuary, and that in his arms was where the cowboy felt safest.
“Who do you think donated all that money?” Axel looked at Clint. “Any idea?”
Sighing, Clint shrugged. “Maybe some idea,” he mumbled, his eyes fixed straight ahead.
“Who?”
Clint’s voice dropped as the skin around his eyes pinched. “Someone I didn’t think gave a damn.”
EPILOGUE
Lazarus stood beside the bed, shed the midnight-blue jacket of his Italian suit, and lay across the end of the bed. His head dipped as he slowly unfastened his tie, then began unbuttoning his white dress shirt. His heart felt heavy in his chest—a feeling he hadn’t experienced in nearly two decades.
Lord’s fingers replaced his own and finished with the shirt, then slipped it off Lazarus’s shoulders. The man stood before him, his fingertips tracing the tattoo inked into his left pec muscle: XXVI.October 10, 2006.
The day hedied… and was brought back to life.
The day he becameLazarus.
The sounds of that day erupted in his head.
Tires squealing on asphalt. The “pop-pop” of gunshots. And screams. His screams.
•?? •
The boy lay crumpled on the sun-warmed concrete, a dark crimson stain spreading across his faded Avengers T-shirt. The skateboard lay upside down, wedged between the curb and the underside of his car. “No!” The cry ripped from his throat as he crashed to his knees beside his little brother, the impact sending jolts of pain up his thighs.
Frothy scarlet bubbles formed at the ragged hole in the boy’s chest with each shallow breath. His hands trembled as he pressed them to the wound, warm blood seeping between his fingers and soaking his hoodie’s cuffs. “Help!” he screamed,his voice cracking as he whipped his head from side to side. “Somebody help us!”
Nobody came. His head snapped to the side as the Camaro's red taillights bled into the shadows while it fishtailed around the corner onto a side street, its tires leaving twin streaks of scorched rubber on the asphalt. The engine's howl echoed between the brick buildings, gradually fading, leaving only the acrid stink of burnt rubber and gunpowder in the late afternoon air.
He was shaking, his hands slick with his little brother’s blood as he pressed harder, trying to stop the bleeding. “HEELLPP!!” he screamed at the top of his lungs. His frightened eyes fell to his little brother as the boy's body began to convulse. “No-no-no! Sammy! Hold on! Hold on!” He whipped his head around again, crying in panic. “Someone HELP US!!”
Sammy convulsed violently and spit up a glob of blood that spilled over his chin and down his neck. His body arched violently, then relaxed and went still.
“No-no-no-nooo!! Sammy… SAMMY!!”
Rage and panic swept through him, and he stumbled to his feet, Sammy’s blood dripping from his hands. He rushed forward on shaky legs. As he passed the dead black boy, he spotted a handgun poking from the boy’s waistband. He grabbed the weapon and raced down the street, chasing the distant revving of the Camaro’s engine.
“I’ll kill you!” he screamed, crying, tears flying off his face. “I’ll fucking KILL YOU ALL!!”
But the car was gone, the sound of the engine fading into the distance, swallowed by the city's noise. He didn’t know when he’d stopped running, or even stopped moving at all. When hecame back to himself, he stood in an alley, the gun gripped loosely in his hand, the other hanging limply at his side, a faint drip-drip-drip of Sammy’s blood falling from his fingertips.
