Destiny Calls by Samantha Wayland (100 best novels of all time TXT) 📗

186

Destiny Calls

Chapter Seventeen

Listening to “Mass” being offered by a whackadoo preacher to a scraggly bunch of misguided zealots was about the scariest shit ever. And Patrick had seen some bad, scary shit. But this was the worst. Every invocation sent chills down his spine. His head lolled on his shoulder, still not completely within his control. He could turn it enough to watch the show, though, and it wasn"t pretty.

He was in a bad way. A really fucking bad way. While his mental faculties were making a steady, if somewhat drunken, comeback, the pharmaceutical cocktail was still running the show physically. Trying again to gather enough strength to pull against the duct tape binding his wrists to the arms of his chair, he fought a growing panic when he could do little more than twitch his fingers.

The preacher called for everyone to pray. Patrick"s eyes closed automatically and he remembered all the times he"d knelt in Saint Sebastian"s. He remembered what he"d asked for then.

The same thing he asked for now.

Health, happiness, stability. Not for him. But for Destiny and Brandon.

He knew they were together—wherever they were. No way Brandon was going to let Destiny out of his sight once they figured out he was gone. Patrick had no idea how long he"d been out cold from the drugs, but based on the dark outside the high windows above the altar, it had been a couple hours at least. Long enough for them to know something was very wrong.

He felt sorry to be causing them so much pain. He could imagine the terror he"d feel if it had been one of them goddamn fucking stupid enough to be kidnapped in the parking lot of the shopping plaza. He"d be out of his mind with worry. With fear.

Instead he was doped to the gills, somewhat calmly accepting that the old looney preacher and four young men standing not twenty feet away from him intended to kill him before morning. Not that he had a choice about the calm or the killing. Damn drugs.

He tried his hands again. More finger twitching uselessness. He hoped fervently that he could drum together enough control to flip his killers the bird as they tossed him and his perfectly innocent chair out the big door at the back of the room and into the frigid waters of Boston Harbor.

He closed his eyes again. Prayed some more.

He thought God might have heard his pleas when a bolt of lightning exploded behind his eyelids, the air thick with smoke and brimstone. That damn preacher needed smiting, but Patrick hadn"t really thought the Almighty would answer so readily.

187

Samantha Wayland

He heard the shouts, the terrified calls of the flock crying out to their minister, who was busy attempting to flee damnation without them. Nice guy.

Patrick lifted his head, delighted to suddenly be able to do so, and opened his eyes.

From the clouds of smoke he would later identify as the production of the SWAT

Team"s flash-bang grenades, came the most welcome sight imaginable.

Brandon.

He was beautiful. Like an angel. Only instead of wings and a loincloth it was Kevlar and blue jeans. Way sexier than any of the angels he"d seen before.

Brandon fell to his knees beside Patrick and radioed for the EMTs. The alarm in Brandon"s voice, the panic on his face, proved quite sobering. He drew a deep breath, taking in Brandon"s scent as he studied Patrick"s eyes before cutting his arms loose.

Brandon"s hands shook against his wrist as he took his pulse, continuing to bark their location and his medical condition into the radio on his shoulder.

Patrick opened his mouth to reassure him, instead saying what was most on his mind. “I love you, Cub. You and Kitten,” he said with a clearer, louder voice than he would have dreamed possible.

Brandon grimaced and quickly released the talk button on his radio.

He smiled at his boyfriend, so damn happy to see him, knowing full well he looked dopey. Brandon"s lips twitched.

A gurney and two medics appeared out of the smoke. Then Brandon"s boss and two other task force members followed close behind. Then Carter. McGuire. Geez, apparently everyone was in on the rescue.

“Where"s Sully?” he asked while he watched Brandon"s colleagues slap him on the back, sharing mutual relief and victory.

“With Destiny. He knew I wouldn"t leave her with anyone else.” Patrick nodded, pleased to discover he now had the head control of a six-month-old.

“Okay, I need to tell her I love her too,” he offered. It was really important that she knew. That she understood.

Brandon"s cheeks turned pink, but his face stayed passive. Their colleagues, on the other hand, looked like they thought something was really funny.

Brandon looked at the men around them and sighed. “It"s okay, Patrick, I"m pretty sure she and half the department heard you over my radio when you said it before.” Patrick couldn"t for the life of him figure out why Brandon seemed distressed about that. Everyone else was laughing hysterically.

Patrick grinned, pleased with himself.

And then he passed right out.

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Destiny Calls

Brandon thanked his lucky fucking stars that Patrick passed out when he did. The man was as high as a kite. And had been dead weight in his arms.

He watched the ambulance pull away, roaring toward the detox team waiting for him at Mass General. It was nothing short of terrifying to feel how his big, strong ox of a friend had been as weak as a baby. The paramedics had assured him that the fact he was regaining consciousness and the ability to move without any medical intervention meant Patrick was fighting it off all on his own. With a little help, he"d be fine by morning.

Brandon, on the other hand, was sure he"d aged twenty years in the past four hours.

Christ, this had been the longest day of his life.

He hadn"t planned on entering the building behind the SWAT guys. He"d been honored when two of his task force colleagues had volunteered for the entry team,