Beyond the Stix (Warrior Black #2)

Chapter 4

FOUR

John

After watching Connor leave, Jessup spins around and aggressively gets in Danny’s face, yelling at him like he has the right to. Tobias quickly cuts the bastard off, pushing him back and putting his phone to his ear to call the cops. The man couldn’t move away fast enough, then took off toward the parking garage.

“Are you okay?” Tobias asks, looking over the singer as he shoves the cell phone back in his pocket.

“Yeah, but that son of a bitch did something to Connor and I don’t want him anywhere near him.” The vehemence in the singer’s voice bolsters my need to track down the drummer. He shouldn’t be alone, especially seeing how enraged his uncle was when he spun on Danny. I don’t trust that motherfucker to not do something erratic.

“Where did Connor go?” I ask, but still keep a look out, in case that idiot comes back.

Danny glances at Tobias, then at me, hesitating for a long moment before he relents. “He went to Stewie’s. But John… I have never seen Connor like this. Be careful.”

“I will. Where’s the bar located?” I ask, hoping the place is close by.

“Here in Chicago. On North Broadway,” Danny says as he glances down at his phone. “It’s Ron.”

He answers the call, while I take my cell out and find out exactly where Stewie’s is located in the city. Once I locate the place, we call for a car to take us all to Callum’s parents’ house.

When Callum finds out where I’m heading, he suggests I take his father’s black BMW M240. “It’s smaller, and easier to park in the streets than the limo. And Connor won’t recognize the car and run.”

“You think he’ll take off on me otherwise?” I ask as the bassist tosses the keys to me, and I snatch them out of the air.

“Fuck yeah,” Bobby affirms, sticking a striped pixie stick into his mouth.

“Please try to bring him back in one piece,” Danny pleads.

With that promise, I put the address into the GPS and drive away with two missions in mind, to track down and retrieve.

A good fifty minutes later, the dusky sky turns dark, which leaves me driving in an unfamiliar city at night. Luckily, I find a spot a block and a half down from Stewie’s, and parallel park. I can’t be too sure if Connor’s asshole uncle will try to follow me, so I don’t take a chance on parking any closer. As I walk to the bar, I keep an eye out for anything suspicious.

I stop just outside the door, and I can hear country music seeping out of the place. Jesus, it’s been ages since I last set foot in a bar—in a gay bar no less. There hasn’t been any down time for me to go. I’m always on a job, or heading into one.

Two men, holding hands, push pass me and enter the bar. I follow right behind them, noting the country music getting louder the further I go in.

Scanning the dimly lit interior, I’m surprised to see there’s not a great amount of people inside for a Saturday night. I make my way through the thin crowd, not seeing Connor anywhere. When I reach the bar, I scan the row of patrons before spotting him in the back, at a pool table.

He’s playing with two gorgeous guys, one beefcake with more muscles than me, and a blonde twink who’s head barely reaches the beefy guy’s shoulders. But what drives my jealousy to rear its ugly head is that both men are eyeing Connor with absolute lustful appreciation.

Not having it, I stride over to them and block their view of Connor’s ass, as he’s bent over the pool table, taking a shot.

Connor straightens, eyes full of surprise at seeing me. “How…” he pauses a second, then shakes his head. “Danny told you.”

“Yes,” I confirm, folding my arms across my chest. “Now I’m here to take you back.”

“Con, you can’t go,” the smaller guy says with a slight slur. He walks to Connor and leans into him. “You promised us a fun night.” He skims a hand down Connor’s chest, but I quickly put a stop to that shit, and wedge myself between them.

“You can step back or lose your hand,” I growl, as a potent mix of beer and marijuana wafts toward me from the guy’s breath.

“Chill, He-man.” Connor backs up, smirking at me as though he sees right through my bluster, before turning to the blonde. “Sorry, Brian. But my jailer’s here and I have to go.” He then places the pool stick back on the rack.

“Come on Mister Jailer, can you let Con have fun with us? You can come too and watch.” Brian waggles his thin, perfectly-shaped eyebrows at me. “Or come play with us, too.”

“Sorry, but that’s a no,” I say firmly.

“Maybe next time,” the beefy guy says with a wink to Connor, before grabbing his partner’s hand and leading him to the dance floor. “Come on, sweetheart, dance with me.”

Not a moment after they are out of earshot, Connor turns and growls, “You know this is bullshit, right?”

“You can pout some other time. Your mother needs you now.”

“That’s a low fucking blow, man,” Connor huffs out.

“But I got your attention, didn’t I?” I eye the drummer with a stern determination.

Connor rolls his eyes, before he picks a shot up from a small, high-top table, shoots it back, then places the glass back down. “Whatever. Let’s go.” He then strides out of the bar.

I want to argue that he doesn’t need the alcohol, but it’s pointless now, and follow him out.

Connor looks up and down the street, surveying the parked vehicles. “Where’s the limo?”

“Over there.” He follows me until we are standing next to the BMW. Connor ogles the car as though it’s a death trap, while I unlock it with the key fob. He might be focused on the vehicle, but I’m constantly scanning the area. “Get in.”

Connor grunts, but gets in. I slide into the driver’s seat, and then take off. The ride back to the suburbs is dead quiet. The air in the car is infused with alcohol, some weed, and a heavy dose of sorrow.

“Whose BMW is this?” Connor finally asks, as he slides his hand across the dash.

“Callum’s dad,” I say, glancing at him before returning my eyes to the road.

“Figures,” he retorts in a grumble.

What I really want to ask is what Jessup had done to him, but I go with, “What does that mean?” just to keep Connor talking. I glance over at the drummer, who’s now searching the glove compartment. “What are you looking for?”

“Any evidence of Callum Senior’s adulterous behavior.” Connor glances at me, and I’m taken aback by the thin, but warring smile on the drummer’s face.

As much as I don’t care or need to know the private life of the bassist’s father, I ask anyway. “I’m guessing he’s been caught?”

“Several times,” Connor confesses with resignation.

“And Callum’s mom?”

“Oblivious.”

“Not everyone can see the truth when it’s told to them. Sometimes, they have to see it for themselves,” I confess, hoping to convey the truth about my blooming feelings for Connor. I do care and I’m there for him, even though I don’t verbally express it.

“I guess.” He blows out a breath and stares out the window, cutting off the conversation.

There’s nothing I can say at this point to ease Connor’s burden. His mind is on the mortality of his father. Markus Wild is going to die tomorrow. I also know damn well Jessup might show up to be by his brother’s bedside, and I can’t do anything to stop either event from happening.

Then a dreadful thought pops into my head, as I imagine the logistical nightmare for the funeral. Between the paparazzi and the attending mourners, Tobias and the team will need to be extra-vigilant to make sure the band is covered.

All my focus will be on the drummer. There’s no doubt that Connor will eventually break down. When, is the question. But once he does, I’ll be there to catch him before he hits rock bottom.

Five minutes from Callum’s parents’ home, Connor’s mother calls.

He quickly taps the screen and picks up the call. “Mom.”

“Get to the hospital, Con,” she sobs.

“I’m on my way.” Connor’s voice hitches as he looks at me.

Without having to be told, I turn the BMW and head straight to the hospital. I even blow through a couple of lights and make it there in less than twenty minutes. Even so, my gut feeling is that Markus Wild has died.

As Connor and I head to the third floor, I text Tobias, letting him know where we are and what might be happening.

Connor rushes into the room; Amanda grabs her son and hugs him tight. “He’s gone, Con.”

Fuck, I hate to be right this time, but at least now no one needs to pull the plug on Markus. He took it upon himself to pass peacefully on his own.

I keep a furtive eye on Connor, expecting to see tears flowing from his eyes, but there’s nothing. Only a pinched expression like he’s holding back a world of pain while consoling his grieving mother.

A male nurse walks in. “If you would like to step out while I remove?—”

“We’re staying,” Connor blurts out, while retaining his hold on a sobbing Amanda.

The nurse nods, and begins providing post-mortem care by taking out the breathing tube, the IVs, and removing the electrodes from the man’s body.

“I’ll give you two time with him,” the nurse says before stepping out of the room.

I head into the hallway to give them privacy. It also allows me to diligently study every approaching person—I half anticipate Jessup to arrive while Connor and his mother say their final goodbye. It isn’t long before the Warrior Black members, along with the rest of my security team, arrive.

The band members enter Mr. Wild’s room and say their final farewell to Connor’s dad. And still no Jessup.

I hope that fucker stays away .

To my surprise, Ron Darling approaches—along with Dean Harper, my boss and the owner of Harper Security, with two of his other security men in tow: Fig Dorran and Jordan Best.

The band manager looks haggard—his skin on the gray side, as though he’s sick. Maybe he has food poisoning, or is air sick from the flight. However, seeing Dean throws me off even more.

“Dean?” I say in question.

“Ron wanted to come. And we were just pulling up to the hospital when Tobias texted him. So we all stayed in the waiting room downstairs, expecting your arrival,” Dean explains. His right hand is resting on Ron’s back. Interesting.

I eye the same nurse from earlier approaching us. “Can you give them a few more minutes?”

The nurse nods. “I’ll make sure the paperwork is in order.” He then heads to the nursing station, where several nurses are eyeing our group.

I remain in the hall, while Ron and his entourage enter the room. Not long after, they come back out. “We’ll keep watch. Connor would like you in there,” Dean says.

“Keep an eye out for Connor’s uncle. He’s?—”

“Tobias filled me in,” Dean adds. “We’ll keep him out here, if he shows.”

I nod and head inside. The band is crowded around the bed, while Connor and his mother are holding Markus’s hands. I catch Connor’s bloodshot eyes, but still, there’re no tears. The tortured expression across his face, though, says it all.

I walk around the group until I’m standing right behind Connor. He reaches back, and I grab a hold of his right hand. He tightens his grip like I’m his life line. The strain shows on his face and in how stiff his body is, like a string on an overly drawn bow. He’s about to snap at any time.

We stand there for a while until the male nurse finally walks in. “I’m sorry but I have to take him. Mrs. Wild, Anna at the front desk has some papers for you to sign and will answer any questions you have from this point on.” I hear the nurse say.

Our group steps out of the room, but my attention stays on Connor, who has released my hand to stay glued to his mother’s side. The devastation across his face isn’t what’s troubling me the most—it’s the lack of tears. Not everyone cries, and Connor may be keeping a brave front for his mother. I hope that’s it, because the burden he’ll have to endure in the next several days will be the toughest yet.

My heart aches for him and for Amanda, as they wait for Markus to be wheeled out of the room.

While the band and Ron console Connor and his mother, my security teammates and I converge to go over what’s to come at the funeral.

After a few minutes, Dean suggests, “It’s late. How about we discuss the logistics tomorrow, once we have the full details of the date and time, the schematics for the funeral home and the cemetery grounds?”

“Sounds good,” Tobias agrees. “The guys and I are taking the rest of the band back to Callum’s parents’ house. I’m assuming you’re heading back to the hotel?”

“Yes. Once the funeral is over, we’ll be heading back to California. Ron has some engagements he needs to attend, but I’m leaving Fig with you.”

“An extra pair of eyes will be good,” I add, pulling my gaze from Connor.

“Fig will remain with you,” Tobias tells me. I’m about to decline, but his hard, warning stare has me clamping my mouth shut and nodding.

Once everyone says their goodbyes and leaves, the hallway to the hospital becomes as quiet as an abandoned town. Fig leaves to retrieve the BMW, and texts me that the front of the hospital is clear of the paparazzi.

Soon after, Markus is wheeled out of the room, and Amanda gives her final farewell to her husband, while Connor stares down at his father. He doesn’t say a word as they take the dead man away.

Amanda tells the night nurse which funeral home will be picking up her husband’s body while Connor remains silent. The same goes for the ride down the elevator, and the entire drive home.

I’m counting down the seconds before Connor’s composure fractures, but the breakdown doesn’t happen—not until his mother shows Fig to the guest room and then goes to her own bed. He’s standing in the living room like a statue, stoic and cold, while his eyes scan the dozens of photos hanging on the wall—a pictorial history of Connor’s life with his family.

There’s nothing I want more than to gather Connor in my arms, hold him tight to me and give him the strength to push through the guilt, loss, and sorrow. But if I do that, he’ll bolt out of the house and who knows where he’d run away to.

In the span of minutes, a storm of emotions races across his face, and I can’t keep up.

“Connor,” I utter softly, but he shakes his head, while tearless eyes stare at me for the briefest of moments before returning his attention back to the wall of pictures.

“I can’t,” he grates out in a choked whisper. Then he takes off, out the back of the house.

I contemplate my options for all of three seconds before I trail after him. Connor’s quick though, and with the night looming like a black cloak, I barely make out the dark blue of his shirt.

He’s scrambling up a large tree. The sight catches me off guard, seeing a grown man climbing a precarious rope ladder in the dark of night. Where in the hell is he going? Does he plan on hanging off a branch like a damn monkey?

I follow him though, until I’m at the base of the huge oak tree towering over the yard. I look up and faintly spot… “A tree house?”