Page 19

Two days later…

E verything smelled metallic.

Wiping at his face, Azrael’s hand came away wet. Some part of him knew it was blood, but another part was numb.

He stumbled over something on the ground and went down hard on his knees. His head rang and he reached up to finger the knot forming on the back of his head.

Nothing had gone as planned and he had lost Rebel in the dark. Pain shot in one knee from something sharp on the floor and he figured it had to be glass from the broken mirror. The jab let him know a piece was embedded in his kneecap. That was going to be a bitch when Wrath tried to extract it.

Wrath was the Erebus medic, so they didn’t need to go to the hospital if at all possible. And this time, he wouldn’t need Harbor General.

He was damned lucky it was only his knee and a crack to the head.

It could have been his life.

Forcing himself upright, Azrael carefully walked across the living room of the two-bedroom apartment. The front door stood wide open with the dim hallway light glowing from beyond.

Out there could be death waiting for him, but he had to take the chance. The windows had bars on them, so that wasn’t an option.

Sticking as close to the edge, he slipped out the open door and pressed his back to the wall. Using one hand, he reached back and pulled the apartment door closed.

The smell of piss and body odor was strong out in the hallway, but what did he expect from a run-down apartment owned by a slum lord on the outskirts of Los Angeles. Not all the apartments were in such disarray, but this one had to be at the top of the list.

Thankfully, the hallway was empty, and he made his way to the stairs. Now the decision was to take them down or up.

He went up.

He always felt better in high places. It made him feel like nobody could find him. Like he could disappear from the world.

And that was what he was going to do while he tried to make sense of what had happened.

The stairwell felt damp, the smell of mold strong, and he gripped the paint-chipped railing with one gloved hand as he made his way upward to the roof. He didn’t have to force the roof access open because they’d come in from that way.

So when Azrael stepped out onto the darkly covered surface with its large broken air conditioners, it felt familiar.

He wondered if Rebel had gotten far enough away to call for backup.

Out on the roof, Azrael was alone.

Making his way to the edge where the fire escape led down to the alley below, he stopped.

His head swam, and he wasn’t sure if he could make the climb down.

The whole area up here was dark, so what did it matter? Nobody could see him up here. Turning around, Azrael sank to his ass and tucked his back against the short wall that surrounded the roof.

His gloves felt sticky and he was tempted to take them off, but rule number one was to never leave evidence.

Azrael gave a slight scoff. What evidence? There hadn’t been a crime committed, so nothing was getting reported, and there was nothing to call the cleaners for.

Because…he had failed.

He had failed in his mission. He had failed to get the job done.

The job had been simple.

He was the problem, he was the loser.

Not only had he failed at his job, but he failed at capturing Real’s heart.

Why?

Why didn’t Real love him?

A harsh sound escaped his throat, and he fought it back with sheer will. The failed job wasn’t going to miraculously get done, nor was Real going to suddenly love him.

And he needed to get that into his stupid head.

Real, along with Crow, was parked in a borrowed SUV. Their vehicle sat just down the street from the apartment building where the man who shot Apollo supposedly lived.

Real was sipping on his second cup of coffee when a small form came running out of the front entrance.

It was Rebel.

“What the fuck?” Crow snarled and launched out of the passenger seat before Real could put his cup down. The big blond man stalked over to Rebel and snatched him into his arms.

Real slammed out of his own seat and jogged over.

“Are you hurt?”

Real heard the fear in Crow’s voice as he approached.

“No…but Azrael.”

“Where’s Azrael?” Real rasped around a knot in his throat.

“He’s back there,” Rebel cried. “He sent me to get backup.”

“Is he hurt?” Real snarled.

“No! He sent me to get backup,” Rebel said. “There were eight of them!”

How the fuck had Rebel and Azrael gotten into that apartment building without him and Crow knowing about it?

How did Azrael even know the man inside was suspected of shooting his brother? Then Real was reminded of Azrael’s art of eavesdropping. The boy had a real talent in that area.

“You don’t ever leave your partner,” Real snarled with rage, getting in Rebel’s face.

Crow immediately pulled Rebel away and over to the side of the building where the shadows clung.

“Now’s not the time,” Crow snarled at him.

The big man faced off against him, which was rare, but Real knew that Crow would fight to the death to defend Rebel.

It wasn’t Rebel’s fault, this was on him.

He should have known that Azrael would find out who had shot his brother the minute Genesis did.

Fuck!

Real was already on the move toward the entrance, calling orders to Crow over his shoulder, “Call Rip and Winter.”

“Boss! Wait,” Crow hissed, but Real didn’t stop.

“Do it!” he snapped and disappeared into the belly of the rundown building.

The stench of urine stung his nostrils, and Real pulled his Ruger EC9 pistol from his jacket as he made his way up to the second floor.

This shouldn’t have happened.

Real clenched his teeth.

Unless the gunman known only as Micky had more crimes than the shooting at the dormitories and looking for him. Did the sick piece of shit have connections? And if so, to whom?

Real took the stairs two at a time just as his cell phone rang.

Azrael’s name flashed and his hands shook when he punched the answer button with his gloved finger.

“Where are you?”

“It wasn’t supposed to go down this way,” Azrael’s voice shook.

Real ran upward, holding the phone jammed to his ear.

“Az…tell me where you are.”

“Nowhere.” The young man’s voice was low, choked up, and sounded like he was crying. The word came thickly over the phone, and Real’s chest tightened with a sickening feeling that he couldn’t name.

“I fucked up. I didn’t get the job done,” Azrael slurred.

“That doesn’t matter, we’ll get him,” Real said, reaching the floor where Micky had supposedly rented an apartment.

Reaching the apartment door, Real stood to the side of the closed door. He turned the knob and pushed it open. No bullets flew and no bodies charged. A quick search showed it was empty. He returned to the hallway and ran toward the stairwell.

“Azrael,” Real said urgently over the silent phone.

“Why don’t you love me?”

Real’s throat closed, and he bolted down the hallway, reached the stairs, and raced up them.

“I gave you everything,” Azrael whispered.

Reaching the access door, Real shoved it open and stepped out onto the roof. The darkness closed in around him, but he knew Azrael would be either on his way down one way or the other. There were only two fire escapes from the roof.

“I have nothing more to give,” Azrael breathed heavily and Real heard him, not only over the phone, but near the edge of the roof.

Without stopping to think, he hauled ass to where the slender young assassin was sitting on the ground.

Reaching Azrael, Real bent down and lifted the young assassin into his arms.

Azrael fought him.

Real locked his arms tightly around the slender man’s struggling form.

“I hate you!” Azrael spat, fighting like a wild thing.

“I know.” Real’s words came out gruffly because his throat was closing up.

After several moments, Azrael stopped fighting him and lay limply in his arms, exhaustion clearly etched into the young assassin’s face and body.

For a moment, Real sank his fingers into Azrael’s thick, dark hair. Somewhere, the boy had lost his hooded mask, and Real felt the sticky wetness that had to be blood.

Before he could assess Azrael, he had to get them the fuck out of there.

Real shifted Azrael to his back and pulled the boy’s arms around his neck. When Azrael clamped his legs around his hips, Real climbed over the edge of the building and grabbed the fire escape. Azrael clung to him like a spider monkey.

Real moved at top speed downward and leaped to the alleyway below.

Azrael launched from his back, but Real didn’t give the assassin time to run.

He snatched Azrael up and bore him into the night.

Running was no longer an option.

For either of them.