A Breath of Life (Shadowy Solutions Book 4), page 36
It wasn’t much light, but it was enough to see another set of stairs beyond the door. Leading down.
“Oh, fuck me,” Tallus said. “We aren’t going down there.”
Behind us, the men seemed to be occupied. Perhaps they had come to destroy evidence of crimes. Either way, we couldn’t remain motionless. They weren’t on our tail yet, but I suspected it was a matter of time before they headed this way.
“We are. Come on. We have to go fast. Don’t fall.”
The stairwell beyond the door led into an underground where concrete walls hugged a narrow passage leading fuck knew where. The walls seeped moisture, and when I touched them for balance and guidance, I found the furry slime consistent with moss and mold. The floor beneath our feet was packed earth.
A sudden vision assaulted my brain, and I remembered the feeling under my shoes on the first night I’d been taken captive. We’d gone this way. The smell. The cold. It was all right there in my memory.
As though confirming my suspicions, the men’s voices drew closer. “Hurry up,” one of them said to a companion.
We went as fast as was feasible down an invisible corridor. Tallus stuck close to my side, fingers tightly fisted around my bicep.
An undetermined distance from the bottom of the stairs, we met another flight, this one going up. I pushed Tallus to go ahead of me. Our pursuers were catching up. Before we ascended, the bright beam of a flashlight appeared at the far end of the passage we’d traversed not a moment ago.
Tallus hustled with more energy than he usually exhibited for anything cardio—particularly stairs. Despite our new office’s location on the second floor of the building, he insisted on taking the elevator. Every. Single. Time.
It might have been adrenaline or fear, but I was more apt to believe it was the drugs racing through his bloodstream. He was amped and getting worse by the minute. I needed to get him to safety before he did something reckless.
Going up in the dark was far easier than going down for some reason. We reached the top and were greeted with a similar door, only this one had a steel plate and padlock threaded through a loop, keeping it shut.
“Shit. Motherfucking shit,” I hissed.
I shone the screen light over the door’s surface, but it was solid.
Tallus grabbed the lock in his fist and yanked with a ridiculous display of force as the tendons at his neck strained. It would have been comical under normal circumstances. Who did he think he was? The Hulk? To his surprise—and my own—the lock popped open, and Tallus tumbled against me with the momentum.
“Whoa. Did you see that?” He stared at his hands like they were magical.
“It wasn’t locked.”
“Yes, it was.”
Now wasn’t the time to argue. We got lucky. The end. Before Tallus decided he’d grown magical powers and faced our foes with his bare hands, I took the lock from him and chucked it on the floor before grabbing the doorknob and yanking it open.
A bone-shivering creak sounded, and I cringed. We didn’t have time to be quiet. I shoved Tallus into the room and stumbled after him. We landed in a dusty chamber. An exit sign above another door washed the room in an eerie red glow. Overflowing boxes of battered hymnals, an empty cast iron votive stand, two broken pews, and other religious detritus occupied the small space. A six-foot-tall bronze cross was balanced in the corner. The paint that had once vivified the face of a suffering Jesus peeled and flaked with the passing of time.
“Holy shit. We’re in the church,” Tallus said as I closed the door and unsuccessfully searched for a dead bolt. “Opening the lock was a miracle. A gift from the big guy upstairs. He’s watching out for us, D. He’s protecting us. Do you feel it? Motherfluffer. I never wanted to owe god. We’ve never really been friends. Do you think—”
“Shut up, Tallus. You weren’t blessed with superhuman powers. The lock was open. Help me move boxes. I can’t bar the door, and they’re following us.” I dragged the biggest box of hymnals I could get my hands on in front of the door.
Seemingly eager to fulfill the task, Tallus grabbed another and added it to the top, then another and another with the quick, jerky movements of an adrenaline high. The boxes wouldn’t hold long, but it would buy us enough time to get away.
Hopefully.
When he darted off to grab another, I snagged his hand and yanked him toward the glowing exit. “Enough. Come on. We have to find a way out.”
He ran, once again overtaking me, head on a swivel.
The church basement was lit with enough soft light that he shouted with excitement the moment he swept around a corner.
“Here. Here. Stairs. I found stairs.” His wide grin was out of place. It would have been more suited to a carnival or an amusement park, not a race out of a building while being chased by men who wanted to kill us.
Tallus took off like a shot, and I hiss-shouted for him to stay with me.
At the top, we found ourselves in the back wing of a church. The parish office was on the right, its door open. The lights were out, and I noted a desk, a filing cabinet, and a shelf of what I guessed to be parish literature inside. No one was around, quiet as crickets, save for the sounds of men trying to breach the door we’d blocked. If they didn’t know we were a few steps ahead of them before, they did now.
Down the hall, in the direction Tallus headed, a carved wooden archway welcomed parishioners to a private chapel. Tall stained glass windows, artfully crafted to display the stations of the cross, lined both sides of the narrow space. It was a haunting display without a backing of sunlight casting rainbow prisms on the pews below.
Before I could blink, Tallus was halfway down the next hall, skip-hopping along like the Energizer Bunny. “This way. This way,” he called.
That was when I heard a crash from the basement—a precariously stacked pile of cardboard boxes filled with books falling over, I had no doubt.
“A door,” Tallus squealed, not quietly. “Come on, D. We can get out over here.”
I ran, trying to catch up as he plowed into it with his shoulder, likely anticipating it would open, but it didn’t. He crashed hard and rebounded, landing on the floor with a groan.
“Um, ow. That was… not expected.” He rubbed his shoulder and glanced up as I approached. “It’s locked,” he announced unnecessarily, like I hadn’t just witnessed his failed Wile E. Coyote impersonation.
“What? No more magic strength?”
He pouted.
The exit was a massive arch divided into two doors, wooden and intricately carved. I was on the wrong side, but I had the distinct feeling they were the same ones that I’d lain beside as I stared at a clear blue sky marred by a single contrail left behind by a distant airplane.
I couldn’t see a dead bolt anywhere and shoved the heavy wooden door with all my weight, confirming it didn’t budge.
Tallus got to his feet and brushed himself off. He must have heard the approaching men since he turned and faced the way we’d come, penknife at the ready. “Hurry up. Unlock it, Princess. I’ll hold them off.”
He would do nothing of the sort, but we’d be dead if I didn’t get the fucking door open. What the hell was holding it in place? I shoved again uselessly.
That was when I noticed the industrial slide bolts on the upper edges of the frame, locking the door in place and another in the middle, holding them together. As I wiggled them from their slots, the sound of angry men and running feet grew louder. Bolts undone, I tried the door again, but it still didn’t budge.
“For fuck’s sake.”
Two more slide bolts framed the bottom edges of the doors. I crouched and tried to work them free, but they resisted, tight in their slots. It required me to wiggle them back and forth several times before they came free.
On my feet, I shoved the door. It opened—the warm September air a relief I didn’t think I would ever feel again. The concrete platform and descending stairs were painted in blue and red swirling lights from the half dozen police cars parked along the street.
We’d made it. I turned back to collect my boyfriend, only to discover him out of reach. He’d moved halfway down the hall. Tallus waited near the corner in a fighting stance, prepared for battle.
My heart lurched into my throat.
“Tallus! Move it.” I ran toward him and managed to snag the strap of a suspender as the Consigliere rounded the corner, followed by two other men.
A grin grew so wide on the asshole’s face his teeth showed. “And there he is. I told you we’d find him.”
I tugged again at Tallus’s suspender strap, but he planted his feet and pointed the knife at the Consigliere. “Rot in hell, Bowser. You’re about to die. Diem, let me go. I’m ready.”
“Tallus.” I looped an arm around his middle and heaved him off the ground.
He bucked and protested as the Consigliere chuckled. “What did I tell you would happen if you didn’t follow our rules, Mr. Krause?”
I backed away, afraid to turn my back on them. Tallus hollered for me to put him down.
The Consigliere’s words screamed inside my head. My first thought was of Nana, but I remembered the Bishop’s phone in my pocket. As I considered the million other ways this guy might have to contact his phony nurse and end Nana’s life, the Consigliere stepped aside.
One of the other men drew a gun, aimed at Tallus, and before I could react, fired.
It happened so quickly that my mind took a beat to register.
Only when Tallus, my fearless, reckless warrior whose drug-addled brain had given him courage and stamina and stupidity, jerked with the impact of a bullet, did the pieces click. I stumbled with him still in my arms, the force of the shot throwing me off-balance.
A roaring, inhuman cry echoed in the close hallway and vibrated the air. It was my cry. Transformed by a level of pain I’d never felt in my life, a curtain of red descended over my vision. Liquid hot rage burned in my veins, in my core. My heart fucking shattered.
Tallus no longer fought. He’d gone still, dead weight in my arms.
The men fled in the other direction.
Part of me wanted to chase them down and break their necks. Shred the skin off their bones. Show them the true essence of pain. Torture them until they begged me to put them out of their misery.
But Tallus. Tallus, Tallus, Tallus.
Oh god, Tallus. Oh shit. Oh no.
No, no, no, no!
He wasn’t moving. He wasn’t fucking moving.
“Tallus. Tallus, no. Tallus.”
I lay him gently on the ground. Wide, panicked eyes sought me out. His blue lips made the motion of gasping, but each time he tried to suck air, his body resisted. He moved a trembling hand to his chest and raked his fingers over the fabric of his shirt, gulping desperately to no avail.
A lung. The bullet must have pierced a lung.
“Breathe, Tallus. Come on. Breathe.” I fumbled the Bishop’s phone from my pocket and thanked god it didn’t require a password to make an emergency call. My hands shook so badly I could barely make them function enough to dial 9-1-1.
I put it on speaker and dropped it beside me, pressing my hands over his, knowing subconsciously I had to stop the…
Wait.
He wasn’t bleeding.
There was no blood.
Where was the fucking blood?
He gasped. Wheezed. The skin under his eyes and around his lips turned purple. He shifted his attention to the ceiling, his expression distant and unfocused.
“No. No, Tallus.”
No blood. No blood. But he was shot.
My brain malfunctioned as I peeled his hands from his shirt and discovered a distinct bullet hole through the fabric.
No blood. No blood no blood no blood no blood.
Why was there… Where was the…
I ripped the shirt open. An undershirt. Another hole. I tore it from his body as well and staggered at the discovery. A vest. He wore a fucking vest.
No blood.
A vest.
I touched it like it wasn’t real. Noted the indent from the close-range shot and moved my finger to the tiny crevice over his heart. Tallus found my hand and squeezed. Our eyes locked, his fading in and out of focus.
He wasn’t going to die, but he wasn’t able to breathe. That much was clear.
I understood now.
I cradled his face and coached him, offering soothing words and reassurance. “Don’t panic. It will make it worse. You got the wind knocked out of you. That’s all. Slow breaths. In and out. Copy me.” I showed him, knowing distinctly what it was like to be hit so hard you couldn’t breathe. The terror was real.
Multiple things happened at once. The church door behind us burst open as a group of armed, riot-clad officers barreled inside. The receptionist at 9-1-1 asked over and over, “Hello? Are you there?” and Tallus’s diaphragm finally stopped spasming, allowing him to suck tiny gulps of air into his thirsty lungs. His color didn’t improve, but it was something.
“That’s it. A little at a time. It’ll get better. Trust me.” I stroked his cheek, wishing I could take away the fear and pain in his eyes. “I love you, Tallus. I love you. I love you so fucking much.”
My attention drifted to the indent in the vest more than once. An indent that sat over his heart. He would have died.
The room spun at the thought, and it took effort to concentrate and not tumble down a pit of what-ifs.
Two uniforms crouched beside Tallus, checking him over.
“He needs an ambulance.” The anguished voice belonged to me.
“We have one outside. I’ll send for a paramedic,” one officer said.
Before the guy got to his feet, I shook my head. “No. I’ll take him.”
Carefully, cautiously, I cradled Tallus in my arms like he was the most fragile, most precious thing on earth—and he was. To me, he was. The officer helped me to my feet and walked with us outside, guiding me in the right direction.
Tallus’s breathing improved slightly, but he continued to wheeze and clutch his chest. Pain radiated across his face, and his attention kept slipping. His lips remained blue.
“It’s okay. We’ll get you help. I’m here with you. Always, Tallus. Always.”
I didn’t want to hand him off to strangers, no matter how capable or qualified. I wanted to keep him in my arms, against my chest.
Reluctantly, I laid him on a gurney and let the professionals evaluate him. To the officer who’d accompanied me, I asked, “Did you get them?”
“We’ve made arrests.”
“What about the men who shot him? There’s a tunnel.”
“We discovered it on a floor plan. Every exit was covered. If they haven’t been nabbed yet, they will be.”
“They—”
The man clasped my shoulder. “We’ve got this, bud. Head to the hospital with your friend. We’ll send someone along to talk to you.”
He’s not my friend, I wanted to growl. He’s my blood and skin and bones. He’s the reason my heart continues to beat. He’s the glue that keeps me from shattering. The reason I’m still alive. He’s my savior. My salvation. My own personal paradise. Without him, I am nothing.
But the man would never understand.
I hated cops and wanted nothing more than for this whole ordeal to end, but I nodded, agreeing to whatever he needed because it was easier than trying to make words.
Before they moved Tallus into the ambulance, he reached for my hand.
A word moved his lips, but no sound accompanied it.
“I don’t understand.”
“Work on breathing, buddy,” the paramedic said. “Don’t try to talk just yet.”
Tallus shook his head and tried again regardless. That time, he put enough air behind it, a faint sound escaped. “Nana.”
My heart skipped, and I fumbled the Bishop’s phone from my pocket. “Evergreen Estates nursing home,” I said to the officer. “They had a guy planted there, dressed as a nurse. He was going to—”
“We got a call a little while ago. The home is secure. All the residents are accounted for.”
“And the man?”
“In custody.”
How? I wanted to ask. Who?
“Sir, maybe you should have someone look at your injuries.”
My injuries? What the fuck was he talking about? “I’m fine.”
I had so many questions, but none of them mattered. Nana was okay. Tallus was alive. I returned to his side. He seemed to be anxiously awaiting a response. “She’s safe.”
He grinned from behind an oxygen mask and gave me a thumbs-up. Christ, even with chest trauma, he was a breath of life.
36
Tallus
“Then bam!” I clapped my hands together for effect, grinning when my mother startled. “The guy shot me right in the heart.” I proudly displayed the deep, angry bruise taking up half my chest as I recounted our dramatic escape: Running along a crypt-like hallway that connected the church and the building owned by the Royal Aces and concluding with my heroic sacrifice as I protected Diem from a horde of malicious gangsters, wielding nothing more than a penknife.
I called it brave. My audience—Memphis, Joshua, my mother, and my stepfather—called it stupid. They skeptically listened to the embellished tale, eyeing Diem more than once as though seeking confirmation that the retold facts were indeed facts.
Diem, clearly uncomfortable with the crowd gathered in the undersized hospital room, remained quiet and withdrawn, absently petting Echo, who sat loyally at his side. He hadn’t spoken since I was admitted the previous night, but he was present for every test and every report issued by the doctors, never taking his eyes off me for a second. When I say never, I mean the guy didn’t blink like he feared I might vanish the minute he wasn’t looking.
The only time he left my side was to take Echo out for potty breaks and to smoke himself calm. He’d hidden a flask of alcohol somewhere. The glassy sheen in his eyes was a result of more than exhaustion. I was familiar with his need for crutches. Since this one was epically deserved, I didn’t bring it up.
Earlier that morning, I woke with my hulk of a boyfriend beside me in the tiny hospital bed. At some point during the night, he must have grown weary of keeping his eyes open and crawled in beside me. The bed was barely wide enough for one, never mind the two of us, but I didn’t care. The protection of his arms circling my body was a comfort as much for me as I suspected it was for him. To think, at one time, sharing an enormous king-sized bed was too daunting. Oh, how far we’d come.
