SIONN was practically frantic by the time he found Damien.
He’d woken up and known he was alone. Something about the loft had shifted, a stillness that left him unsettled. Telling himself the man was in the bathroom, he lasted three seconds before he got up off the couch and found the loft empty. The guitar by the door reassured him somewhat, but the note left for him brought the cold panic back to his belly.
“Someone’s trying to fucking kill you, Cowboy.” Sionn yanked on a pair of sneakers over his bare feel and grabbed a thick sweatshirt to ward off the incoming rain. “Have you forgotten that?”
Despite the storm, he had to fight through people on the sidewalk, slowing him down. Cursing Damien under his breath, he passed by the coffee shop, hoping beyond hope the lanky musician was waiting in line for a morning fix.
There were a lot of people behind the glass, but none of them were pretty-mouthed, long-legged trouble in jeans.
If fear had a taste, it was remarkably like fried copper, crawling up from his twisted belly and into his throat. His saliva thickened on his tongue, and Sionn spat onto the street to get rid of the foul tang. Picking up his pace, he jogged up a nearby hill, wondering how long of a walk Damien thought he’d needed or if he’d even gotten farther than a few feet before he’d been taken.
There were too many ways for a man to die, and Sionn’s brain seemed to flick through each and every one of them. His mind became a slideshow of terror, snapping quickly through its cycle, pausing at some of the more grisly options as if the first imagining wasn’t enough.
He’d almost missed the alleyway. Its narrow opening was hidden behind a rack of umbrellas, set out as lures for tourists unwilling to give up their vacation because of a storm. A mirthful laugh snapped his head around, and Sionn took a few steps back and stared at the man on his shins with his arms spread out, welcoming down the pounding rain.
Sionn was too big to get through the space between the rack and the alley’s side wall, and he pushed it aside, ignoring the shop owner’s outraged shouts over the clatter of the umbrellas hitting the walk. Sprinting up the long alley, he nearly slipped on a pile of spilled cabbage leaves, and his hand stung where he used it to grab at the uneven brick wall for balance. A sharp twinge of pain snapped in his thigh muscle, but he barely felt it. Only fear from seeing blood on Damien’s upturned face and the shuddering tremors going through the man’s body resonated in Sionn’s mind.
It took Sionn only a few seconds to get to Damien, but it seemed like a forever made out of jagged glass in his mind. He grabbed Damien’s arms, yanked the man to his feet, and stared down at the blood, smearing it away with his fingers as he tried to find any cut or wound on Damien’s face.
“What’s going on about this?” Sionn heard himself sliding into Gaelic, cursing the rain and the blood on his hands. “Damie boy, what’s happened? Are you okay? Talk to me, damn it.”
The blue eyes Sionn’s heart had fallen into and drowned blinked, and Damien’s grin grew even wider. “I’m fine. I’m fucking fantastic.”
“Come on, we need to get you out of this rain. You’re soaked through down to the bone.” Sionn bent down, hooking his arm behind Damien’s waist. The man was freezing, no hint of warmth in his body. Sionn’s fear returned, filling him with dread. “Let’s get you home.”
Damien staggered to his feet, legs buckling when he tried to take a step. Shaking off Sionn’s support, he gestured behind him. “You see back there? About a block down is Shing’s—”
“Yeah, I don’t eat there. The food’s shitty. Come on, I can help—”
“Fucker deserved what he got,” Damien muttered. “But see, I remember! I fucking remember this alley and that place… shittiest chow fun I’ve ever had, but Miki worked there. That fire escape… that’s where I found him.” His smile grew wistful. “Where he found me.”
“Great, you can tell me all about it… once we get you warm, love.” Sionn began to wonder if Damien was drunk. The man wove his hands in the air and leaned heavily on Sionn’s arm. Sniffing at Damien’s breath turned up nothing but the whiff of blood on his skin and the stink of city rain.
“Fuck, you’re going to get us killed here, Irish,” he grumbled when Sionn slipped on the same cabbage leaves that nearly brought him down before.
“I know you’re too cold. We’ve got to warm you up. You’ll get sick.” The shivers hit Damien again, and the man rocked uncontrollably in Sionn’s arms. “Shite, love, there’s not enough meat on you as it is.”