Agony, page 8
Fisher turned lethal, but Rogue held on even when Fisher bloodied the man’s nose by throwing back his head.
Fisher kicked and screamed with a low fury, but Rogue wasn’t letting go.
A sting burned in Justice’s eyes and he lifted his shocked eyes from Fisher to Rogue.
“Get the hell out of here. You’ve done enough,” Rogue growled.
The sounds ripping from Fisher’s throat turned hoarse and even though there were no discernible words, Justice couldn’t mistake the rage.
A few people opened their windows in the apartment building, stepping out onto junk-crowded balconies.
“What’s going on down there?” someone shouted.
Time was up.
He needed to retreat.
“Take care of him.” The words sounded guttural, but he couldn’t help that.
Fisher stopped struggling and stared at him with anger-filled eyes, all that dark hair wild.
Walking backward, Justice held the man’s eyes.
He wanted to explain, but Fisher wasn’t going to hear him right now.
Retreat and reassess.
Give Fisher time.
This battle may have been lost, but he planned on winning the war.
So, he walked away when everything inside of him wanted to stay.
Fisher was shaking…he’d never lost it like that before.
“Was it Justice who did it?” Whatever the fuck it had been.
Rogue stayed quiet, but after a long moment, the man finally spoke.
“Yeah.”
Fucking shit!
Rogue’s answer gave him an idea of just how much Justice had probably hurt him. His chest felt heavy, his insides twisted, and he wanted to disappear.
Rogue squeezed him firmly.
It took him several long minutes before Fisher felt like he could stay upright.
“I’m good. Let me go,” he croaked.
After a moment of hesitation, Rogue released him and Fisher landed lightly on his feet. He was pretty close to the side of an old parked RV and when he grew lightheaded, he pressed his palms to the cool metal and sucked in several slow, deep breaths.
Something niggled in his brain. Something just out of reach. It was enough to start up a throbbing headache. When Rogue placed a hand on his arm, Fisher dropped his palms and straightened away.
He couldn’t be touched right now.
He didn’t like to be touched anyway, but his skin felt like it was on fire.
“Come on, you need food and sleep,” Rogue murmured.
“I need a fucking drink.”
Maybe a night of drinking would calm his fucking nerves because right then, he felt raw.
And fuck if he knew why.
Angry didn’t begin to describe the fury he felt.
“Tell me what he did.” He dropped into steps next to Rogue.
“Not right now.” Rogue drew out his keys and opened the apartment door.
“Why the hell not!” Fisher barked.
Rogue calmly walked into the kitchen, pulled out a couple of cold beers, and passed him one.
“Later.”
Fisher cracked open the beer and guzzled over half of it.
Yeah okay…later sounded good.
“Gimme another one.” He held out his hand while he finished the can.
Rogue reached into the fridge.
Wrath wasn’t any help and Justice wondered why he’d come to his brother’s apartment in the first place.
Maybe to get a little sympathy?
Fat chance of that.
Justice didn’t go into details because this was between him and Fisher, but he expected a bit of sympathy about the bruise on his cheek.
Wrath smirked, shook his head, and walked into the minuscule kitchen to make breakfast.
It was a bit odd being in Wrath’s place. And that was in part because there was a strain between them. It was to be expected since they hadn’t had much contact since his discharge from the Army.
That had been roughly a year ago.
Growing up, they had been close. His brother had been and always would be his hero. And there was nothing that would ever change that.
When Wrath had snatched him up and kept him from the gates of hell, his brother had become his superhero. He’d been a teenager at that time, maybe fifteen, and perhaps his age had played a part in just how grateful he remained.
Although they didn’t talk about that time, not then and certainly not now, Wrath had saved him from a life of abuse.
It had all happened during their parents’ divorce. When his mom got custody of the three of them, he remembered being happier than he’d ever been to finally be away from their father.
It didn’t last long and that was because his deadbeat dad hadn’t given a shit about divorce papers or the outlined custody agreement. The man had come to the house even before the ink had dried on the papers and had tried to take him and Rip from their mother.
At the age of nineteen and on leave back from basic training, Wrath had been strong for his age and had tightly grabbed hold of him. With one arm wrapped around his waist, Wrath caught Rip’s jacket and held on. Their little brother kicked at their father and Wrath managed to wrap his other arm around Rip, trying to keep them all from the monster on the front porch.
Justice would be forever grateful that he had not been taken.
Rip hadn’t been so lucky.
Justice still remembered his thirteen-year-old brother’s screams as their father carried him away. He still remembered his mother’s sobs and the wounds on her knees when she had fallen in the street while running after the green beat-up truck.
“Justice.”
Wrath’s murmur jerked him out of the past and he stared at his brother, holding his gaze across the small kitchen bar.
“You okay?”
“Yup.” Avoidance was natural and he jerked his eyes away. Neither one of them wanted to rehash the past. “Why do you live like this?” Frowning, he glanced around the shabby living room with its scarred coffee table, sunken-in sofa, and crappy sand-colored carpet.
“Because I don’t want any roots.” Wrath slammed the coffee grounds into the maker and flipped the switch on. Justice hoped that the grounds inside the white paper stayed put.
He got that.
They were opposites as a result of their childhood and that was because they both handled what had happened in completely different ways. While he wanted a permanent house and home, his brother made an art out of never staying long in one place. Wrath had moved three times in the span of one year and all within the same damned city.
He wanted to ask Wrath if he knew about Fisher’s past. If Wrath knew about Fisher, Rogue, and Echo, and what they’d gone through. He wanted answers.
But what he wanted more was for Fisher to be the one to tell him his story.
And right now, that sure as fuck wasn’t going to happen. Not after the way Fisher had come at him in the parking lot. He rubbed his fingers lightly over the bruise on his cheek.
“Tell me about Rogue,” he said instead.
“Why?”
“He’s going to shoot me.” He’d seen the rage in Rogue’s hooded gaze and he knew without a doubt that if it had only been the two of them, Rogue would have taken him out, or tried to take him out.
Wrath frowned and then shot him that damned smirk again. His brother shook his shoulder-length blond hair back and reached up to grab two coffee mugs from the cupboard.
“I’m serious. He left me a note.” He flopped against the back of the sofa, sinking into the broken-down cushions and stretching out his legs.
“A note?”
“Yeah, I thought you knew that.”
“It was pretty chaotic that day in Savage’s office. Tell me what the note said.”
“It said to watch my back.”
Wrath filled their cups before the pot stopped brewing, but that was fine with Justice, he liked his coffee dark.
“I doubt it was a threat.”
“What other way can I take it?” Justice took the cup his brother handed him when he walked into the small living room.
“A warning about something.”
“I doubt that. I had just fucked one of his best friends.”
“Fucked over.”
Justice scowled and took a sip from the scalding liquid in his cup.
“Whatever.”
Fisher’s ravaged and confused face came back up.
Why had Fisher screamed those words at him?
Fisher didn’t want to open his eyes. He knew Rogue was hovering, but he didn’t want to see the worry on his friend’s face.
He didn’t want…
Anything, that was the word he was searching for.
Never again.
Getting and staying drunk since Oregon was helping.
Thank fuck for alcohol, otherwise, he might have completely lost his mind when Justice appeared out of the blue the other day.
“Fisher.”
That was Echo’s voice.
The bed dipped and Fisher grimaced when both Rogue and Echo climbed up on either side of him.
He wished they wouldn’t, but it was Rogue’s bed in the shabby Glendale apartment, so he had no right to complain.
Echo dropped one arm around his waist and Rogue settled his big body firmly up against him and started smoothing out his tangled hair.
They’d done this as kids. When shit got really bad, they had huddled together and rode out the storm.
Only this storm had come out of nowhere.
Flashes were slowly coming back, but he couldn’t get a clear fucking picture of what had happened.
He’d recalled Justice’s face and all he knew was that the man was somehow involved.
And knowing that Justice had a hand in triggering a blackout was sending him into a tailspin. Now each flash of the man’s gorgeous face came from a place that destroyed him.
And the fucked-up part was that he knew better.
He fucking knew better than to get involved with anyone.
Wiping at his face, he scooted enough so he could roll onto his stomach and bury his head in the pillow.
The room whirled. His head swam.
Come on alcohol. Fucking work.
He needed something stronger. Shoving up with his arms, he rolled over on Echo and scrambled off the bed.
“Fisher?” Echo was up and so was Rogue.
“Fuck off,” he snarled, making his way to the bathroom. He slammed the door and started tearing apart the medicine cabinet.
Rogue had to have painkillers or if he was lucky, sleeping pills. He would take anything to shut his fucking brain off.
Don’t remember. Don’t remember.
Something hard kicked the door and he stopped what he was doing to lean his hands on each side of the small sink.
With one more bang, the door gave and Rogue was there staring at the mess he’d made. His friend said nothing, but that was the big guy’s way. Echo hovered just behind Rogue’s side.
Fisher snapped on the water and lifted a handful to splash his face.
“Got any drugs?” he mumbled.
“No.” Rogue sighed.
Shoving past Rogue, he stumbled down the hall and out the front door. He took the three flights of stairs down because this place didn’t have an elevator.
Outside was a parking lot filled with cars and the sound of the busy street beyond.
Finding a spot in the sun, he leaned against the building mainly because he was having trouble staying upright. His matted hair caught on the stucco and he grimaced, yanking at the long strands. He should just cut this shit off.
Both Echo and Rogue had followed him and each one again closed in at his sides—leaning against the wall without a word.
“It’s going to be okay, Fish,” Rogue murmured.
“Are you really telling me that this too shall pass?” he spat. It came out slurred.
“What he’s saying is give it time,” Echo cut in.
“Yeah, that’s what I’ll do,” his words rang with bitterness. “That’s what I always do.”
He had no choice.
Caught in the safety net of his mind, he had to wait.
Leaning his head back, he turned his face to the sun, wondering how many more days of sunlight he had left.
How much longer could he last?
The world tilted and upended and he felt himself falling.
Rogue caught him, of course, and he was lifted.
He welcomed the darkness. His only wish was that it offered him a reprieve from the tormenting memories that waited just around the corner.
A week later, Fisher woke up drunk again.
It was sometime in the early morning, he knew that much.
He had faceplanted on Rogue’s couch last night and the material pressed into his cheek. He’d have a tweed pattern there when he decided to move.
Only he didn’t want to move right then and preferably not for the next six fucking months.
Staying drunk had not worked.
True to form, some of his memories had come back.
Snatches of hot sex with Justice, then a darkness that horrified him. It was so black that no matter how much he tried, he couldn’t penetrate it.
That meant that something very bad had happened that his mind was trying to protect him.
Still unclear on the facts, he knew without a doubt that Justice had somehow betrayed him.
Every thought consisted of how he could stay inebriated long enough to lessen the sense of betrayal. If he did that, then he might be able to keep visions of choking the fucking life out of Justice at bay.
Above and beyond his rage was the torment of half fucked-up memories. Flashes of images careened around his tired brain and he couldn’t make sense of a lot of them.
The fucked-up part was that prior to this episode, his nightmares had almost become nonexistent. With only the occasional one like the night with Justice.
Now, however, they’d returned with a vengeance every night and showed no signs of slowing.
His eyes stung and it pissed him off.
Justice should have been the one to save him, not the one who’d fucked him over.
Thank fuck, Rogue had come to his rescue.
Rescue?
He held his breath. The thumping inside his temples had him moaning.
Rescue from what?
From what he could recall, Rogue’s voice called to him as if from far away.
“Hang on, Fisher,” Rogue had half sobbed.
His friend’s words had carved a slight path through the darkness.
A few moments later, Rogue had lifted him and carried him away. One thing his friend hadn’t been able to do was pull him from his black-filled torment.
When he had finally come back to his senses, Fisher couldn’t ignore his desperate need to escape.
That part he remembered. Buying the online ticket and taking the flight to Oregon.
Now, however, he didn’t have the luxury of escaping.
Rogue had brought him back and there was no denying the situation he found himself in.
He was spiraling and even he could see it. His friends were patient, but he wanted fucking answers.
Perhaps he should track down Justice and get those answers.
Suggesting it to Rogue, his friend had nixed that idea. Of course, that might have been because he’d told Rogue he was going to cut Justice open to find the answers he wanted.
Fisher was more grateful to Rogue than he could ever repay. Since Oregon, the man had stayed by his side. Echo also came to the apartment to visit off and on.
However, it had been Rogue who had stayed with him while he went on one bender after another.
Patiently, Rogue stayed by his side even though Fisher knew for a fact his friend had his own fucked up shit to deal with.
There wasn’t much difference between their pasts. Rogue and Echo were younger than him, but they had all been trained by Solomon.
Fucking Solomon Mercy, the sick fuck had bought young boys or taken them from the streets to train as assassins all to make money.
Out of the three of them, Rogue had been with Solomon the longest.
His friend had been so tightly under Solomon’s control that Rogue actually believed the fucker had been doing a good thing by taking in young boys.
Yet, there had been one thing Rogue had never had to worry about…and that was the fact that Rogue was a big son of a bitch.
For the slender, pretty, and quiet ones, it had been very different—
A noise pulled him from going down that path of terror and he flopped one arm off the couch. Slowly, he pushed himself onto his side, and from there, he scooted his hips and managed to roll onto his back.
Gazing up at the ceiling, he heard Rogue entering the bathroom down the hall.
Echo had gone home a few days ago but promised to be back. Fisher didn’t blame the guy, Echo had a life to live with his other half.
The lights were still off in the apartment, but the morning sun had started to filter in from the cracked window blinds.
Fuck.
The pounding inside his head was making a racket, but it kept him from thinking too much.
At this point, he wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.
An hour later, Fisher managed to sit his ass up on the couch and brace his elbows on his thighs.
His cell phone lay on the carpet beneath the low coffee table and he grabbed it.
Several text messages from Savage popped up when he tapped the notifications on the screen.
His boss wasn’t too happy about him missing a month of work.
So the fuck what? Savage could take a flying leap. He was in this state because of Justice. But he couldn’t remember why.
Jesus…
He sounded like a fucking nutcase.
“You awake?” Rogue’s rough voice came from the hallway and he shot his friend a blurry-eyed glance.
“Barely,” he croaked.
“I want to ask you something,” Rogue said.
Fisher gnashed his teeth, but nodded. He wasn’t able to make an effort to stand right away, so he might as well hear Rogue out. After all, the guy had saved him and had put up with his drunken ass. It was the least he could do.
