You're Almost Dead Read online

  Kurt shook his head. "For what?"

  "You know, putting up with me. I've been told I'm a bit of a chore. I'm sure you'll agree."

  "Somewhat," said Kurt.

  Emery leaned back, wheezing and gripping his stomach as he did so to lean against the bedframe. "Could've done without the punch to the stomach though. That Sterling chap's got a hit like a mule's kick. I'm sure it added to the effect—I seem to remember Hunter being particularly upset. I must've looked a fright." He chuckled slightly, then winced as the action aggravated several sore parts.

  "…Emery," Kurt said at length. "Is it true, what you told me that night?"

  "Oh, yes, I meant it. Whiskey is definitely not my drink. Never touching the stuff again, either. Not after that."

  "Not that." Kurt looked up at him the way a man looks at a frightened dog that might bite. That was odd enough. "Hunter Eaton, he…molested you?"

  Emery drew in a sharp breath, eyes wide as he looked away. Fucking hell. Had he told Kurt that? Oh, god. Now he really, really wished he hadn't had so bloody much to drink. "Please don't tell Sheridan that," he pleaded for lack of anything better to say.

  "It's true then?"

  "I'm sorry I told you. I was drunk."

  "You live with your abuser. That's why you're trying to make a deal with us."

  Emery felt nauseous all over again. It was utterly surreal to hear someone say these things out loud to him. It killed the act. It made it real. He almost couldn't stand it. "…I…ah…"

  Kurt quickly backpedaled. "Sorry. It's not my…Forget it. You should eat." With that he shifted so that he was sitting on the floor, leaning back against the bed.

  Emery did as he was told, taking the mug back into his hands and staring down into its depths. He didn't know why Kurt was still here. He seemed so strangely remorseful about something. It was a bit of a shock to learn that this man was, in fact, human. And to think all it took was a night of physical torture and blurting out his deepest, darkest secret. Emery decided not to snub his gestures so far and took another drink of his soup. "Emery Eaton," he over-enunciated with contempt. "I hate that name. Makes me sound like a bloody cartoon character."

  Kurt looked up at him curiously.

  Emery continued. "My real name's Fletcher. Mum…had us both change it when she married Hunter."

  Kurt didn't say anything for a long moment, studying him from the floor. "Why?"

  Emery shrugged. "My dad died when I was eight. It was hard on us. My mother made ends meet, but only just. When…well when she met Hunter five years later, he was virtually the solution to all of her problems. Her teenage son had a father figure and all of my needs were to be taken care of. He fully accepted me as his son, so she changed my last name as a show of gratitude. There was also probably an element of fully cementing me as his heir…she was determined that my future be guaranteed once she knew that she was ill.

  "He seemed alright at first. Devoted, friendly, generous. And then… he…I didn't know what I was…" He stopped for a moment and regrouped. Was he really going to tell this story for the first time in his life to one of the men who were holding him for ransom? Perhaps he'd been waiting to tell it for longer than he thought… Emery cleared his throat and took a long drink. "I was a gay, inexperienced teenager. He was handsome. I didn't know any better and I went along with it."

  There didn't seem to be any judgment from Kurt's end. He simply sat, listening and staring ahead at the door in front of them. "Did your mother ever know?"

  "Oh, god no. No," Emery shook his head. "He had it all set up perfectly, that. He would obviously never tell her. He knew I'd be too ashamed. Or maybe he really thought I loved him. I guess…young as I was, there may have been a period where I thought I did. No, she went to her grave thinking that he was our hero. Never knowing what he was. …That's a taste that never washes out."

  Kurt shook his head. "I don't understand. After all these years, why haven't you just left?"

  "I've tried. Naturally I've tried. I put off college until twenty because I knew when I was finished he would absorb me into his damned empire and I'd have to work with the bastard for the rest of my life while being his little tart on the side." He curled a lip. "So when I finally had to bite the bullet and enroll I told him enough was enough. That I didn't want a relationship with him anymore—I wanted to be free."

  "And he didn't allow it," Kurt guessed.

  Emery nodded. "He pretended to agree. He told me that if that's what I really wanted he'd go back to being 'just a father', but it was a lie. He has me followed. I can't…establish friendships, I can't maintain relationships, I can't even get a job. He has it all sabotaged one way or another. When I graduate this fall, he'll have me back where I started. He wants me to be completely dependent on him forever and he's succeeding."

  "…I see."

  It sounded so clinical when he said it all like that. So incidental. Like it had happened to someone else. Emery drained the rest of his drink, which was decidedly a bad idea as it just made his stomach more upset. "So…you might say that you four are the best thing that's ever happened to me."

  Kurt rubbed the back of his neck. "Emery…I'm not sure that Sheridan's any more likely to keep his word than Hunter."

  This was definitely not what he wanted to hear. Sure, it was probably delusional to think that people of Sheridan's nature were truly trustworthy, but hearing suspicion confirmed out loud was daunting. Emery set his mug back down on the nightstand and smoothed his hair back out of his eyes. "Well…it wouldn't be the first time I was dreadfully wrong about someone." But it may well be the last, he thought darkly.

  "If it makes you feel any better," Kurt began quietly, "you were right about me."

  Emery perked up inquisitively. "I was? About what?"

  Kurt turned his head slightly. "Ich wurde in München geboren."

  A grin split his face before he could help it. "I knew it! There're no English blokes named Kurt Gabler anyhow."

  For the first time, Kurt gave a smile. Emery thought it would look foreign on such a serious man's face, but it was actually rather fetching. "I'm thoroughly English, I assure you. I left Germany when I was six years old."

  "Your parents were Germans, then?"

  "My mother," Kurt nodded. "My father was from Manchester. They were never married, but when they split up for good I went with him back to England."

  That was unusual. Emery almost didn't pry, but then had to remind himself that he'd just recited his entire life's story to this man, despicable details and all. "Why didn't you stay with your mother?"

  "She was dying."

  Emery frowned. "Bloody hell. We're a pair."

  Kurt rubbed his upper arm and stared ahead again. "It was my maternal grandparents that did most of my raising there. Even after leaving Munich, my father and I never got on."

  "And did you ever…see them again? Your mother and grandparents, I mean."

  "No."

  "And your father?"

  "I don't know what happened to him. We parted ways over a decade ago."

  "So you're alone," Emery remarked. "I guess in some ways you know exactly how I feel."

  Kurt stood up, brushing the dust off of his pants and picking up the empty mug from the nightstand. "In some ways. Is…there anything else you need?"

  "Uh, no. I think I'll manage." He watched as Kurt headed for the door. "Thank you, Kurt."

  Kurt nodded back and made his exit.

  CHAPTER 8

  The next few days felt uneventful. Sheridan spent a great deal of time outside of their den doing who knows what at all hours of the day, which generally eased the tension all around. Without his presence there was no one to squabble with Scott and no reason for Kurt to play mediator. When he came back he was usually too tired or too high on something to heckle anyone. Kurt had a suspicion that the man was showing a little too much of himself around town. Spending large amounts of money anywhere was likely to get one noticed, so he could only hope that Sheridan
was playing it at least a little smart.

  It was the fifth day after their last threat that Hunter Eaton would supposedly be delivering fifty million more pounds. The drop site Sheridan had chosen for this one was a day's drive out, so this time he was leaving that afternoon and wouldn't be back until the following evening. He decided to take both Sterling and Scott this time as carriers, leaving Kurt behind to watch over Emery.

  "How's he doin', anyway?" Sheridan asked as he loaded a clip into his gun, staring down into the contents of his duffel bag.

  "Recovering," Kurt replied. "He'll be good as new in a week or so, I should think."

  "That's good. Wouldn't wanna lose him now." Sheridan tucked his gun away and zipped up the mostly empty bag. He then turned and regarded his associate seriously. "Don't let your guard down, Kurt."

  "My guard's never down," Kurt stated, and he knew Sheridan believed him.

  "Okay. We'll be back in a little less than twenty-four hours. Sit tight—don't leave if you can help it."

  "Understood."

  "Adiós, muchacho," Scott gave a two-fingered salute as he brushed past him with a few more empty bags, Sterling not far behind.

  Kurt watched as the three of them filed out the door and locked it behind them, leaving him to his own devices. This had been a truly hellish few weeks. He decided that what he really wanted to do was take an obscenely long shower and then sleep until Sheridan returned, but he should probably look in on his prisoner first.

  It seemed strange to think about him that way now. He wasn't sure why—that's what he'd always been. Emery was not their associate, despite what Sheridan would have him believe. He was their pawn, and the more Kurt had gotten to know him over the past few days, the less comfortable he felt with this fact. But why? He'd done his share of manhandling and pistol whipping the innocent in his time. He was never even sure that the first man he'd ever killed had really deserved it, as committed as he was to the deed at the time. Emery shouldn't be any different in the grand scheme of things. But he was. Kurt liked him. Felt sorry for him. It was ludicrous.

  He felt especially stupid when he found himself knocking on Emery's door. Why knock?

  "Come in," a voice called from inside.

  Kurt opened the door and stepped in to find Emery sitting cross legged on his bed, a book in hand.

  "Hello."

  "Here," Kurt said at once, walking in and tossing a stack of clothes onto the bed. "Figured you might want something less bloodstained to throw on."

  Emery looked at the white shirt and dark blue sweater with a raised eyebrow. "You're a lifesaver. I do look a bit like a murder victim, don't I?"

  "Yes, well Sheridan and the others are out now. They've left for the night to see your stepfather, so it'll just be me for the next day or so. Do forgive me if I don't come running at your every beck and call, but I plan to be asleep until they're back."

  Emery smirked. "That's not how a proper butler behaves."

  Kurt folded his arms with a dull expression and leaned against the doorframe. "What've you got there?"

  "A book," Emery said cheekily. He turned it over and furrowed his brow. "Found it in the nightstand drawer there. It's not very good. Some sort of Pride and Prejudice knock off by one…Wendy Mueller. Reads a little more like Fifty Shades of Gray, though. Bloody awful."

  "There's a set of encyclopedias in the other room if you prefer."

  "You're terribly funny," Emery deadpanned. He set the book down and scratched at his wounded arm roughly.

  "Let me see that," Kurt said, approaching the bed and sitting down.

  "It's nothing." Emery looked at the bandages and pinched a frayed edge. "They're not bleeding anymore."

  Kurt took the arm and began unwrapping it. "All the same." Emery moved closer to the edge of the bed to accommodate him and he unraveled it expertly. Underneath the arm had healed up just fine, the cuts red but sealed and the bruises fading back into white skin. Kurt ran a thumb along some of the scratches to be sure.

  "I don't think it needs another," Emery said.

  Kurt agreed. "No. Keep it clean, though. Is your mouth still bleeding?"

  "Some. The pain's died a good bit. It can't heal soon enough; I'd kill for some real food. A man can only eat so much canned soup."

  "I'll get you something else," Kurt said reflexively. He realized how servile that sounded and quickly dropped Emery's arm.

  "Check this out," Emery said with a little too much amusement in his tone as he lifted his shirt. His stomach was badly bruised from taking the hit. It was a rainbow of ugly black, green, yellow, and blue. "That's impressive, isn't it?"

  Kurt stared at the mark with a flash of anger. What had Sterling been thinking doing that? He had a strike hard enough to kill a man, and could have very well proven it with the state that Emery had been in. It was a wonder that Sheridan kept people around who were so much of a bloody liability all the time. Kurt leaned forward and touched the skin with a look of concern, feeling Emery's stomach draw in with surprise. "Sorry," said Kurt, thinking he'd hurt something.

  "It's alright." Emery was looking at him without laughter now, seeming a little like a child caught doing something he wasn't supposed to. Kurt regarded him numbly for a moment and unconsciously splayed his fingers over Emery's bruised stomach to feel the heat that he radiated. That's when things got a little hazy. They were close enough for it to happen without much effort. Emery tilted his head slightly and set a hand on Kurt's chest in an inviting gesture.

  Kurt quickly stood up, scrambling away from the bed in shock.

  "I-I'm sorry. Shit," Emery said, chest heaving a little. "I didn't mean—"

  "I'll look in on you later," Kurt said tightly, and left.

  * * *

  Emery stared at himself in the mirror for a long while, nothing but a towel around his waist as he observed his battered body with disapproval. His once fit figure was beginning to diminish bit by bit under a liquid diet and he looked paler than before from all the blood loss and sickness. His eyes were sleep-deprived and made him seem older than he was. For a brief, haunting moment, it was his mother that he saw in the mirror. He wondered what she'd thought every time she had to look at her reflection and see which parts of her the cancer had taken away. Her body had dwindled into absolutely nothing by the time she finally couldn't fight it anymore.

  Disturbed, Emery took another towel and quickly dried his hair. He might be a sort of vain, but his looks were the least of his worries these days. He had been so close to having everything worked out, everything about this situation on a tenuous plan, and then he'd gone and fucked it all up. He didn't have a better chance at making it out of this alive than he did with Gabler as his ally and now he'd scared him off for good. What was he thinking?

  He sighed and pulled on the clothes that Kurt had left in the room. They mostly fit him, hanging just a little on his frame but comfortable. Afterwards he sat on his bed, staring up at the high windows that were letting in less and less light. It was getting dark but he didn't bother to turn on the lamp. For the first time since he arrived here, he allowed himself to feel helpless for a moment. What on earth would he do if Kurt was right? If Sheridan simply planned to hand him back over to Hunter at the end of this and all he had to show for his trouble was a missing tooth? The things he'd said to Hunter for the sake of it all…that he loved him. Emery shuddered, pulling his arms into his lap. He'd truly never get out from under him ever again. He'd be forced to do something drastic…

  Emery quickly sucked up his anxiety and lay back on the bed. It wouldn't do him any good to wallow. He lay there staring at the ceiling and tried to comfort himself with thoughts of what it would be like to be free.

  He sat up, half asleep and badly startled when his door opened. His heart stopped hammering once he realized it was just Kurt, but then confusion set in. Emery pushed himself to the edge of the bed, feet on the floor as he looked up at his captor intently.

  Kurt slowly walked over and sat on the bed next t
o him, looking stiff and solemn. "Earlier… Were you going to kiss me?"

  Emery swallowed. He's here to kill me, he thought half seriously. "…Yes…I suppose I was."

  "Why?"

  "I-I…" Emery shook his head, embarassed. "You're very attractive…you were touching me and I was—I simply wasn't thinking. I'm sorry."

  Kurt met his eyes, then reached out and pulled him close with a hand on the back of his neck, pressing their lips together firmly. Emery was stunned. His back arched in surprise, his hands grasping at Kurt's shirt sleeves to steady himself as a wave of thoughtless excitement crashed over him. It should have been terrifying. It should have felt wrong. It shouldn't have been so arousing, but it was. Emery still had to jerk back, however, a hand on his face and a grimace of pain as his jaw pulsated from the agitation.

  "Sorry," Kurt rasped dazedly. He abruptly looked overwhelmed and ready to pull away but Emery stopped him.

  "Forget it," he instructed, and before Kurt could come to his senses Emery climbed up, straddling his lap and fisting his hands in the front of his shirt as he kissed him hard. Kurt gave himself over instantly, moving back a little on the bed and raising his hands to grip Emery's slender hips. He was submitting, and Emery had never found anything so sexy. With a quick motion he reached down and pulled the shirt off of the man beneath him. His body was sculpted like some sort of Greek statue, muscular and smooth and Emery went from wondering what in the hell he was doing to wondering dear god, why hadn't they done this sooner?

  Kurt's hands crawled up underneath his shirt and kneaded into the small of his back, making him feel hot and frenzied. He ground up against Kurt and forced a strangled growl out of him, canting his head to the side as Kurt leaned forward and bit down gently at the skin of his neck, trailing kisses down his throat to his collar bone. Emery tried to hold back a moan, but then remembered that they were alone here and ceased to bother. The air was icy from the approaching winter and the poor insulation of the building they occupied but Kurt's kisses felt like fire and Emery wasn't the slightest bit cold when his own shirt was pulled away and his pants were undone.