Five
Ian woke up in his own bed back in the apartment in Knoxville with a mission on his mind. It was early, still dark – the alarm hadn’t even sounded yet. And Alec lay warm and breathing deeply at his side, an arm across his waist, breath tickling his chest.
He was ecstatic to be here together. And content in a way he’d never been before.
And he was terrified, because if Alec was too stubborn to walk away – hell, too stubborn to be driven away – then Ian would have to pull out all the stops to ensure his safety.
He’d been thinking about it on the plane ride back from New York, and this morning, he’d decided that the answer wasn’t as simple as hiring more security personnel – which he would do anyway. No, he needed to be able to protect Alec himself. Personally. Needed Alec to know how to behave in emergency situations.
Alec shifted closer, sighing in his sleep, arm tightening.
Ian rolled his head to the side so he could read the clock. 5:45. A man with a baby would have to be up at this time, wouldn’t he?
He grabbed his phone off the nightstand and made the call.
~*~
Ghost Teague stared into his coffee mug like it held all the answers to the world’s problems. He had the kind of bags under his eyes that spoke of weeks’ worth of sleeplessness.
“Baby keeping you up?” Ian asked pleasantly as he and Alec slid into the booth at Stella’s across from him.
“Shut up,” he deadpanned, and threw back half his coffee in one go. A waitress walked past and he signaled for a refill. “What was so important you had to call me at the asscrack of dawn?”
“Before the asscrack of dawn,” Ian pointed out.
Ghost gave him the kind of flat look that was loaded with thorns. The kind of look that no doubt sent rival club presidents ducking for cover, and which startled the waitress who brought his refill so badly that she slopped a few droplets of coffee on the table and then wiped it up with rushed, frightened apologies.
Ian smiled in return.
“What do you want?” Ghost asked.
He was always like this, Ian reflected: gruff and grouchy in person, putting on a show for his city. But call him on the phone with your worries, and the father in him bled through. He was the ruthless underground leader of Knoxville, sure, but he was also the man who’d taken in Kevin like one of his own and turned the boy’s life around.
“Alec and I find ourselves in need of self-defense training,” Ian explained.
“So take a class.”
“Ah. Yes. Let me specify: we’d prefer to learn self-defense of the vital sort. Not necessarily the class-sanctioned kind.”
Ghost swapped a look between the two of them, eyes narrowed, assessing. Then he snorted and a smile tugged unsuccessfully at one corner of his mouth. He dropped his voice low enough to prevent eavesdropping. “You wanna learn how to kill someone, you mean.”
“Precisely.”
Ghost sipped his coffee and seemed to consider a moment. “You gonna pay us for this?”
“Of course.”
He weighed it a moment longer, then shrugged. “Alright. What the hell.”
~*~
“Bruce is going to be pissed,” Alec observed.
“Yes, well. What’s he going to do about it?” There were moments, like this one, his hands on the leather-wrapped steering wheel of his spotless black Jag, that Ian wondered why he ever let Bruce drive when driving was so bloody fun. He supposed all the best millionaires had drivers. And having someone else open the door for him always made for a dramatic exit, his coat flapping around his ankles. Having a driver said “I’m powerful.” And it enabled him to handle his never-ending phone calls and emails while they were in transit.
But today, he’d managed to give Bruce the slip, had forwarded all his calls to voicemail, and was driving his own car, Alec riding shotgun, feeling almost normal, and definitely American.
Ghost had said to wear clothes they didn’t mind getting dirty, so they were both in jeans and sweaters which, admittedly, had never seen a speck of dirt. Oh well. It was all washable. Ian had also tied his hair up in a knot and stuffed it beneath a black knit beanie.
The main gate for Dartmoor Inc. loomed ahead on the right, and Alec hitched up a little against his seatback in anticipation.
“Excited?” Ian asked.
“Nervous.”
Ian was, too.
He slowed and turned in at the gate, piloted the Jag past the nursery and trucking office, down to a brand new corrugated metal building set near the back of the property, by the river, with no signs and three open roll-top doors. As he parked, Ian spotted three Lean Dogs in hoodies and cuts loitering outside the building, little tails of gray smoke curling over their shoulders as they worked on cigarettes. He put the car in park, killed the engine…and gripped the wheel until his knuckles popped.
Damn. He was nervous. Jumping stomach, pounding pulse, the whole thing.
“Okay?” Alec asked, concern lacing his excited tone.
“Okay.”
They climbed out and went to greet their instructors.
Ghost, his son, and his terrifyingly large son-in-law waited for them. Mercy was the only one actively smiling – terrifyingly large and terrifyingly cheerful, too – but the two Teagues looked friendly – for them, anyway.
The knot in Ian’s stomach eased. “Gentlemen,” he greeted. “Expanding?” he asked, with a gesture to the building.
“Business is good,” Ghost said, flicking his cigarette away across the pavement. “This is gonna be the new body shop.” His gaze moved between the two of them. “You two sure you wanna do this?”
Alec scuffed a toe across the tarmac.
Ian snorted. “Yes. Why, planning to let your monster kill us?” he asked, jerking his chin toward Mercy.
Mercy laughed.
Ghost rolled his eyes. “Nah. He’s wearing his choke chain today.”
“I resent that, boss.”
“Tough shit.” Ghost looked at Alec, specifically, assessing. “You up for this?”
Alec’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. “Yes, sir.”
Ghost smiled. “’Sir.’ I like that. He’s got more respect than some people.” His reprimanding look included Ian, Mercy, and Aidan.
“Whatever,” Aidan groaned. “Come in and get suited up.”
~*~
“I didn’t think you meant an actual suit,” Ian muttered, eyeing the military grade tactical vest Ghost had shoved into his hands. It was heavier than it looked, filled with panels that housed ceramic armor.
“It’s a vest, not a suit,” Ghost corrected, “and you’re gonna want to put it on.”
“Planning to shoot me?”
“No. He’s planning to throw you up against that wall,” Ghost said in a bored tone, pointing to Mercy.
“Oh, please,” Ian scoffed…but he tugged the vest on over his head. Which of course displaced his beanie, and meant he had to tuck stray long wisps of hair back up into its band. “Why do I get the feeling,” he said, glancing at Mercy’s anticipatory grin, “that this is just an opportunity for you lot to rough me up for the fun of it?”
“Hey now. We’re assholes, but we’re not douchebags,” Aidan said.
“There’s a difference?” Alec asked. He was fiddling unsuccessfully with the straps of his own vest, looking more than a little hesitant about what was to come.
“Assholes are mean ‘cause they have to be,” Ghost said, coming to stand in front of them, hands clasped loosely behind him and chin lifted like a general inspecting his troops. “Douchebags are mean ‘cause they think it’s fun. Now.” He cleared his throat with a note of formality. “Are we here to learn self-defense, or what?”
Ian aimed for bored, but sounded unsteady when he said, “Yes.”
~*~
It became immediately apparent that, though Ian was good at many things, grappling with a would-be assailant wasn’t one of them. His long arms and legs and all his years of ballet training should have been assets – and maybe they would be, eventually – but at the moment, he was nothing but a flinching, flailing mess. And to add insult to injury, he was sparring with Aidan, who he’d anticipated being less of a challenge than the gargantuan Mercy.
“You’re not boxing,” Ghost said as he paced around them. “This isn’t a gentleman’s sport. There’s no rules, and no bell, and no ref. When you’re fighting for your life, the other guy’s gonna kick you in the nuts, gouge out your eyes, and stick a knife in you. That’s if he doesn’t shoot you first.”
Aidan – who’d been circling with his hands open and out to the side – chose that moment to lunge.
Ian managed to sidestep, but Aidan caught the strap of his vest and yanked him off balance. He stumbled, and Aidan wound up behind him, an arm around his throat, digging into his windpipe. Ian coughed against the pressure and reached to grab Aidan’s arm with both hands…but it was too late. Aidan had the leverage advantage.
Ian gritted his teeth and huffed in frustration. He was brilliant, damn it. This shouldn’t be so hard.
Ghost stopped in front of him, head cocked to the side, expression unreadable. “You’ve spent too much time with a driver and a bodyguard. You’ve gotten soft and careless.”
“I am not…careless,” Ian hissed as he gasped for breath.
“So prove it,” Ghost challenged. “If a guy got you like this, what would you do?”
“I…” He tried to elbow Aidan and the arm pressed into his throat until he gagged.
“This is the part where you pull your knife,” Ghost said, and dropped a hand to the hilt of just such a weapon that protruded from his waistband. “And stab him here.” He touched the place under his own ribs.
“I don’t have a knife.”
“Well, there’s your first mistake.”
Aidan let go, and Ian grabbed at his throat with both hands, a coughing fit stealing over him as air rushed back down his windpipe. He flicked a glance to Alec, where he stood off to the side, saw the way his brows were drawn together in worry, and looked away again, not wanting his lover’s concern and sympathy at the moment. In fact, bringing Alec along had been a bad idea, in some ways. No doubt he’d just dropped in the man’s estimation, grown weak, inept, and unattractive after his pitiful display.
Ghost said, “You know that old line about the best offense being a good defense? I mean, if you watch football.”
Ian glared at him.
“Well, it’s true in all things. The first step to defending yourself – or someone else,” he added, tipping his head toward Alec, “is being prepared. Knife. Gun. Backup knife. Backup gun. At all times.”
“I’ll get them,” Ian snapped.
“Good. The next thing is you’ve gotta be anticipating the worst. Run the scenarios in your head, really think about it. You can’t plan for everything, but you can plan for some stuff.”
“Fine.”
His brows went up. “Hey. You came to me. Do you wanna learn or not?”
He opened his mouth to respond – and then shut it, turned, and put his back to the man. When he reached to wipe the sweat from his forehead, he saw that his hand was shaking. He pressed his knuckles into the little unhappy divot between his brows and willed himself to calm. He wasn’t angry at Ghost, not truly. He was furious with himself, for yet again being weak, being afraid, being unable, despite all his millions and success, to control his circumstances.
Belatedly, he realized it had fallen silent, the steel walls echoing back a buzzing sort of quiet.
Ghost cleared his throat. “Give us a minute, yeah?”
“Yeah,” Aidan said.
“Sure, boss,” Mercy added.
There was the sound of shoes over concrete, the opening of the pedestrian door off to the side.
In a low voice, Ghost said, “Just a minute,” and Alec responded with a hesitant “okay.”
Ian knew, when the door clicked shut, that the two of them were alone. Kenneth Teague projected a certain energy into a room, one that made him seem taller than he was, steadier, and stronger, and more reliable than the crook he was on paper. It was an energy Ian had always been able to feel; the hum of acknowledgement between two predators in the wild – and that’s what it was: acknowledgement. Ian had always sensed a certain threat and aggression from the man, but it was a challenge, and never a dismissal. He’d always been an opponent to Ghost, and not prey. Ghost had always looked at him as if he was a man, and not the abused little boy he still felt like on the inside.
Slowly, he turned, letting his hand slide down his face, hopefully removing any signs of fear or tension.
Ghost stood with his arms folded loosely, feet braced apart, but somehow it wasn’t a threatening pose. “This has to do with the thing you called me about the other night, doesn’t it?”
“Hmm,” Ian hummed, noncommittal.
“Alright,” Ghost sighed. And then his tone softened, gruff and paternal and worried, and it was almost Ian’s undoing. “What’s going on, kid? What kinda trouble are you in?”
Ian couldn’t meet his gaze. He blinked studiously at the spotless toes of his brand new Nikes for a few seconds, until he could trust his voice. “It’s fine.”
“Ian–”
“I want to learn,” he said, lifting his head. “Alright? Can you teach me? Even if I’m an abysmal student?”
Ghost stared at him a long moment, but finally nodded. “Yeah. We can do that.”