Violent Angel (Pretty Broken Things #1)

20. Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty

D amon couldn’t unsee those men, all around his little python. No matter how many times Elliot insisted he was fine, the truth had been in his eyes, when the fight had gone out of him.

The guard who released Damon from solitary had told him exactly where to go, along with directing him to a part of the prison where repairs were being done. Not even slowing, Damon snatched up the first thing he saw.

The hammer.

Everything else played out like he’d left his body. In his mind, he went straight to Elliot. Shielded him, erased all the pain, somehow…somehow made things right.

His instincts knew better. Adrenaline pumping through his body, he’d reacted without any thought beyond destroying what hurt his man. Those weren’t men to him—they might as well have been walls of flesh he had to tear down.

When it was over, awareness that he’d killed several people should have registered.

He should feel something .

But I don’t.

Alone in the loft while Elliot went downstairs to be seen by one of Nexus’ specialized doctors, Damon showered for the third time that day. The first had been at a safehouse in New Jersey, close to the prison, his and Elliot’s uniforms disposed of by the cleanup crew, along with the bodies of the prisoners and the guard who’d helped them ‘escape’.

The second was in the quarters at the hanger, before he got on the private jet Gerard sent to retrieve them. Even though the cleanup crew checked Damon for any trace of blood, he still felt it all over his skin, like he’d somehow absorbed parts of Lonn, Ines, and the hired muscle.

He couldn’t touch Elliot when his hands were stained with remnants of the men who’d attacked him. Who’d…who’d been forcing him…

Stop it.

This won’t help him.

You need to calm the fuck down.

Washing until he smelled like the body wash Elliot loved, with a hint of vanilla and spice, Damon caught himself eyeing the brush he’d wanted to throw out a hundred times. He never did, because that was a step Elliot had to take on his own. Forcing it would do more harm than good.

But the second Damon picked it up, he imagined Elliot in here, the bristles dragging roughly against his skin, making him bleed. His man used it to make himself feel clean.

Maybe it could make Damon clean.

Drop it. Get out of the shower.

Now.

Suds still clinging to his legs, Damon dropped the brush, shut off the water, and left the shower. Wrapping a towel around his waist, he continued straight into the bedroom.

And stopped short at the sight of Gerard, standing in the center of the room.

“You look like shit, driver.” Gerard almost sounded sympathetic. He opened Damon’s dresser drawers, pulled out some clothes, and tossed them on the bed. “Get dressed and come with me to my office. I need to show you something.”

Not really giving a fuck if the man saw his junk, Damon dropped the towel and put on his boxers, followed by his jeans, socks, then T-shirt. A few feet away, Gerard’s lips twitched, and picking up the towel to toss it in the hamper helped, but it wasn’t until they were heading down that he spoke up about the real issue.

“You put on your socks after your pants?” Gerard gave him a sideways look, arms folded over his chest as he leaned against the wall of the elevator. “Who the fuck raised you?”

Okay, so not the biggest issue, obviously, but the topic was a good distraction until the bomb dropped and wrecked his whole world.

Damon snorted, lifting his shoulders. “My parents hired different people for different things. The person who put on my socks, Mr. Woolly, always did it that way. I guess it stuck.”

“Haha.” Gerard shook his head. “I suppose your humor is better than that dead-eyed expression. Your first kill didn’t bother you, but this one, did?”

“Has anyone ever told you you’re terrible to talk to?” When the elevator dinged, Damon let Gerard step off first, then followed him to his office. “Did you even have conversations before you met Virgil? I can imagine you getting by with grunts and scowls for most of your life.”

Gerard sat behind his desk and picked up a folder. “Sit down and take a look at this.”

Sighing, Damon took the folder, settling down in his least favorite spot, across from the handler, and opened the folder. “I’ll take that as a ‘no’.” His mouth went dry as he stared down at the first picture. The head of a young man, sitting on Gerard’s desk, beside a box. “What the fuck is this?”

Not bothering to explain, Gerard reached into a drawer and took out a flask. He tipped it to his lips, then gestured with it toward the folder. “Keep going.”

The next photo was what appeared to be a human heart with another box.

Then the last…

“Fuck…” Damon’s stomach dropped. “Oh fuck, this is…”

“We think it’s Parker. He hasn’t reported in.” Gerard drank from the flask again. “The tattoo on the arm is his. The heart is probably Hart or Gael. The head is Archie’s.”

Swallowing hard, Damon laid the file on the desk in front of him, both glad that Elliot wasn’t here, that he didn’t have to see this, and wishing he was. Because he would find out soon.

And it would crush him.

Archie’s death had been sad, all the men took it hard…but almost like soldiers who’d faced too many losses. Then Hart, which seemed to sting even more, but still, they kept going.

With Gael, Elliot had seemed more angry than anything, as though he sensed it was building up to something, but didn’t know what. The man in front of Damon now either didn’t have any answers, or wasn’t ready to share.

Until now.

And he’d chosen Damon, of all people, to share with first.

But…fucking why?

Maybe because Parker’s death wouldn’t be like the others. He had the type of personality everyone was drawn to, charismatic, while still being laid back and knowing how to go with the flow. The kind of calm Elliot needed in a friend, solid and steady, never demanding more than he could give.

The walls Elliot’d cemented around himself, with steel enforcement and fucking landmines all around, couldn’t be knocked down by force. Damon didn’t know how he’d managed to get past them, but he’d been aware of Parker, already inside.

The best friend Elliot didn’t know he had.

And now he’s gone.

“Did you notice any similarities in the photos?”

Damon frowned, not willing to look at the gruesome pictures again. “You reminded me I’m just a driver, so I don’t think I should be playing detective.”

“No, I suppose not.” Gerard retrieved the folder and put it back on top of the stack. “The boxes they were delivered in? Were all addressed to Elliot. Someone is trying to send him a message.”

Shooting out of his chair, Damon grabbed for the file, but Gerard knocked his hand away. “This is what you kept from him? Someone is sending him his friends’ body parts, and you don’t think he needs to know?”

“He does. But not until he returns to being the soldier I trained him to be.” Gerard stood and leaned forward, hands braced on the desk. “This emotional, vulnerable young man you’ve turned him into will not survive. And before you tell me he can quit? If you know him at all, you know he won’t. His dedication hasn’t changed, but his ability to lock down, to face the harsh realities of the job, have.”

“Let me guess. Me breaking up with him will fix that?”

Gerard shook his head. “No, that wouldn’t be enough. He needs to become hard and cold. To have only one person in his life he can be soft with. That’s always been Lux. He knows I can and will protect the boy, so his focus can be on this mission. A mission that will demand him to be more of a weapon than a man.”

Rubbing his hand over his mouth, Damon stood. “He is a man, you cold-hearted bastard. He’s a young man who keeps trying to prove to you he’s strong, even when he’s allowed to feel. Have you ever watched him when he’s taking out a mark? There’s absolutely nothing wrong with his focus.”

“Isn’t there?” Gerard shoved the file aside and picked up another one, tossing it at Damon. Photos of the bodies at the prison scattered over the desk and on the floor. “Because you completed his last mission. You had to save him from men he should have been able to handle. If you hadn’t been released in time, he would be broken. There would be nothing left of him to put back together. Yes, he’s strong. But on the other side of that strength is something fragile. Something always one step from shattering. They’re all like that, but I do what I have to and solidify the steel box they’ve built to protect themselves, welding the seams whenever they start to come apart.”

“Why not teach them not to need a fucking lock box for their damn emotions?” Damon let out an incredulous laugh when Gerard looked at him like he must be an idiot. “Stop handling them like fucking weapons and you won’t have to do damage control every time one of them feels something!”

Gerard sat back down, draining his flask in a few long gulps. “When one of them ‘feels something’ and I don’t catch them in time, people die. There is no loving and cuddling them out of it. They go out there and kill whoever is unfortunate enough to cross their path.”

“Elliot wouldn’t—”

“Elliot has . Even sweet little Lux has.” Gerard shook his head. “They have a compulsion to kill. Either I give it some direction, or they spend the rest of their lives locked up. Is that the life you want for the man you love?”

Returning to his own seat, Damon felt like he’d gone a few rounds in a boxing ring with the man in front of him and lost. Complete KO. “No.”

“Then you will give him what he needs. Make him hate you, Damon.” Gerard held Damon’s gaze. “Make him hate you, then leave. I will put enough money in your account for you to go wherever you choose. Start a new life. And know his hatred will keep him alive and free.”

This was fucking crazy. Damon should tell Gerard to go to hell. Head to his and Elliot’s loft and wait for him. Be the one to gently tell him about Parker. About the others. Help him face whatever came next.

But what if Gerard was right? What if Damon was only setting Elliot up for more of what’d happened at the prison?

Or worse, making him so vulnerable, he’d be the next picture in that file with his best friend.

“I…” Damon’s throat closed in, like a chain wrapped around and around the length tightened with every word he forced himself to speak. “I’ll do it. For him…I’ll do whatever it takes.”

“Good.” Gerard gave him a short nod of approval. “Go to the bar in town. I’ll have him meet you. I’m sure you can figure something out from there.”

“Why the bar?”

“Because I’ll have a team present to keep him from killing you.”

Ah…yeah. Good idea.

“That’s…nice of you.” Damon somehow ended up standing again, feeling numb as he turned to walk out. He paused at the door, glancing back at the man Elliot needed to get him through whatever this fucked up life threw at him next. “Gerard…once this is over, if you can…? Let him have something he can hold on to. Something he can love. If it’s Lux, then…keep him out of the field as much as possible. Keep…keep them both safe.”

Coming around the desk, Gerard closed the distance between them to shake Damon’s hand. “I will. Good luck, Burrows.”

Since Damon didn’t have much, he was packed and on the road before his brain had fully wrapped around what he’d agreed to. The whole drive, he had to stop himself from doing a U-turn and going back to wait for Elliot. To treat their relationship like a normal one, where communication would solve everything.

But it wasn’t normal.

He didn’t…fit with the man he loved. Not if his very presence would cut his life short.

Inside the bar, he was still going back in his head and having imaginary conversations with his little python until he tossed back several shots, one after another. Then the talk changed, him telling Elliot everything.

And Elliot not saying anything.

Just staring at him, incredulously.

Before punching him in the face.

“Baby, if you did…if you do ?” Damon whispered into his shot glass. “I’ll go down a happy man.”

The stool beside him slid out, a slender man perching on it and leaning in to brush his lips against Damon’s ear. “Trouble in paradise? I can’t say I’m sorry, I was kinda hoping this would happen. And Elliot would let you leave with a pulse.”

Jerking back, Damon almost knocked the bottle right out of the hand of the bartender, who was pouring him a refill. “Gael? But… Jesus fucking Christ, where have you been? Gerard thinks you’re dead.”

“Oh, good. Then I have more time to myself.” Gael batted his eyelashes and stroked his hand up Damon’s forearm. “Now how should I spend it? I have a few ideas that might make you feel so much better.”

Tossing the next shot, Damon savored the burn as he looked at Gael’s hand, then brought his gaze up to the man’s face.

If anything would make Elliot hate him, seeing him here, with Gael? Would definitely do it.

“What do you have in mind?” Damon frowned at his shot glass. For some reason, it was empty. “Another drink?”

“Oh, honey, you don’t need another drink.” Gael lifted Damon’s hand to his mouth, flicking his tongue over the tip of one finger before sucking it into his mouth. “You need me to take you somewhere and make you forget.”

“Forget what?”

“Everything.”

The problem was, Damon didn’t want to forget. He wanted to hold what he’d had with Elliot close. Never let him go…

Like I promised.

But that would be selfish. Dangerous. He had what he needed, standing right in front of him. All he had to do was take the next step. Then the one after.

Arm around Gael’s waist, Damon drew him in close. “We can leave in a little bit, but first, show me what you’ve got. Right here, right now.”

“Mmm, I like the sound of that.” Gael rubbed against him, giving him a hooded look. “And how do you want me to show you?”

“With a dance.”