16. Tatum

CHAPTER 16

TATUM

B rody leads us through the lower level with ease. The hallways twist and turn intricately, and Brody confidently takes each fork in the road as if he knows the layout by heart. I'm not sure how much care or concern was placed in the underground lair's layout, because there's not much rhyme or reason to any of it. One hallway is lined with offices. A left turn later, there's a vast armory locked behind glass walls. We pass a cafeteria, a coat closet, and, finally, what appears to be a library. We stop at a dead end, but Brody draws a star-shaped design on the wall. A keyboard appears, and Brody types the word " Periwinkle ," for some reason. The wall slides back, and the sound of scraping concrete makes me wince. Walking past where the wall once stood, we're led into a large warehouse, the lights unbearably bright and reflecting off the glossy white walls.

There are eight beds on either side of the open-spaced area, and Brody leads us down the center of the room. Between each bed is oversized machinery, with monitors displaying numbers and words I don't understand.

"Wow," Scotty breathes, slowly turning and exploring the room with wide eyes. "What is this place?"

"Somewhere I don't like to hang around too long," Brody answers with a nervous laugh. There's a desk at the end of the room, and Brody's heading toward it. "Broussard is calling it Project Stepford." He points at a monitor behind Scotty. Looking over my shoulder, I see what appears to be a man's face, but there's no real life to him. No hair. No emotion. No life inside his eyes. It almost looks like a mask.

"What the fuck?" Scotty whispers.

"Robots," Brody answers. "They're building an army of assassins." Behind the desk, he flips a switch on the side, and the floor rumbles around us before a set of white tiles slide open, revealing a staircase. I don't know where the hell these people got their funding. This must have cost millions.

"Tatum?"

I look up, surprised to see Brody giving me a sympathetic smile. He opens a desk drawer and pulls out a flashlight before tossing it to me. I manage to catch it, though I don't know how as I'm absolutely useless when it comes to the art of sport.

"Scotty and I are going to check the armory. You're down there," he says, pointing at the stairs.

"Excuse me? You expect me to go down there alone? Number one, I don't know what the fuck this place even is. Number two, with the unnecessarily complicated layout, I'll probably get lost and die down there. Fuck, no."

Brody sighs. "It's not a big room, queer boy. Smaller than Barb's office back home," he says. He nervously clears his throat and looks away. "There are half-built robots down there, and they creep me the fuck out. Just walk down the fuckin' stairs and take a look. It ain't that fuckin' hard, man." He's got his hands in his pockets, shoving them as far as they'll reach. " Please , Tatum?"

My eyes widen, because never once have I heard that word leave Brody's mouth. In all the time I've known him, I've never seen him look fearful either, but that's exactly what I'm seeing now. I give him a nod, because the look on his face is unsettling, and I don't want to look at it anymore .

"They're not going to come alive and try to kill me, are they?"

He quickly shakes his head. "They're harmless. I just don't like the look of them. It's fuckin' creepy, man."

"Okay," I say, my breath shaking.

"Wait!" Scotty shouts, grabbing my hand. "Back at home, you never answered my question."

"What question?"

"If you die, can I have all your clothes?"

I growl at my alleged biffle and jerk my wrist out of his hold. "One, two, fuck you," I growl at him, turning around before making my way toward the dark stairwell.

"Three, four, love you, whore," Scotty calls out from behind me.

I flick on the flashlight and angle it down. "Scotty," I say, not looking back.

"Yeah, Tater Tot?"

"You can have everything but my Abi's Boy crop top. If I somehow meet an untimely end down here, bury me in it." And with that, I start my journey down the steps.

There aren't that many stairs, but I still take them two at a time, wanting to get this over with and get back upstairs. Once I reach the bottom, I shine the light across the room. The place is a hellhole. There are random robotic body parts strewn across the floor. Eyeless heads on shelves like bowling balls.

I walk around the room, not expecting to find anything consequential. I can understand why Brody didn't want to come down here; it's got a super creepy vibe, and I just want to search it as quickly as I can and leave.

Once I've checked the pile of body parts to make sure he hasn't been buried in plastic arms and metal legs, I breathe a sigh of relief and turn to leave. I make it one step forward before I'm flying face first into the concrete floor. There's a wave of pain that spreads through my nose, and something wet touches my lip. Wiping it away, I lift my hand into the flashlight's reach and groan. Fabulous. I'm bleeding. My goddessdamned nose is probably broken. Just my fucking luck. It feels like someone's smashed my face with a hammer, and I can barely see straight.

I rise to a kneeling position, turning the light around the room. I suck in a gasp when I spot the reason for my topple. Behind me, there's a woman lying motionless on the floor. She's wearing a white lab coat and a pair of white high heels. Her head is turned away from me, and there's an empty syringe lodged in the side of her neck.

Ahead, there in the corner, I hear the soft sound of whimpers. "Merciful," I think I hear a voice say, but it's too far off for me to be sure. Standing, I aim the flashlight toward the corner, holding my breath. Hoping against hope. Pleading with Rinna.

He's cowering in the corner, arms tucked around his shins. His lips are moving, but his eyes are closed, so I'm not sure who he's talking to. As I approach, his voice becomes clearer.

"Merciful Tatum," he's saying. He's holding a phone I've never seen before, and once the screen comes into focus, I'm surprised to see my smirking face staring back at me. My profile picture. Somewhere along the way, Abi's stolen a phone, and he's used his strength to conjure my familiar face. It's a realization that leaves me floored. Bewildered. In absolute amazement of the weight of Abi Kincaid's love.

His hands are shaking, and the sight of him like this is enough to make my breath hitch. His skin has lost every trace of color, he's got sweat pouring down his face, and I think he may have popped a suture, because there's a big red stain seeping through his hospital gown. I've never seen him this fragile, and it sends a protective surge through me. For six months, Abi has taken the dominant role in our relationship. He's provided me with comfort and safety. Now, it's my turn to return the favor. Kneeling in front of him, I cautiously touch his cheek, not wanting to frighten him.

"Abi," I say softly. "Baby, it's me." His lips are still moving, but no words are coming out. I press my forehead against his, wanting him to come back to me. "It's Tatum."

He pauses, but only for a moment, then he launches back into his nearly wordless ramblings. I move to stand because Brody's right upstairs, and I'm going to need his help lifting my gentle giant. I only make it an inch or two before his hand jolts forward. I squeak from surprise when he wraps a hand around my wrist, holding me in place.

"Merciful Tatum," he says, and then, "hallowed be the little one's name."

Is he praying to me?

"Yeah. It's me, Daddy. I'm right here."

"Glory be to the little one," he says. "Amen." When the words are out, I press a chaste kiss to his lips. His eyes are closed as he reaches for me, so I grab his hand and bring it to my face. He makes a strange expression before mumbling, "Is wet," which means absolutely nothing to me. I have no idea what he's talking about. He pulls his hand back, and something stands out when it travels past the flashlight.

Jesus and Joseph, his hand is covered in blood. My blood, probably. His body rocks forward and he catches me off guard, grabbing the back of my head and pulling me closer until our foreheads touch. His eyes still haven't opened, so he hasn't seen me yet, but that doesn't stop him from whispering, "Tatum?"

"It's me, baby. I'm right here."

His hand touches the back of my head, probably wiping blood through my hair, but I don't give a shit about that. He could shave every strand of hair from my scalp for all I care. As long as I still have him. His lips pucker like he wants a kiss, but I pull away.

"My mouth is probably bloody. I think I broke my nose," I say.

His eyes flutter behind the lids, but he still isn't looking at me. "It hurts? "

"It's not too bad. You know me; I'm a glutton for punishment."

He slowly nods. "Good. Don't care if you've bathed in blood. Just care that you aren't in pain." His eyes flicker again, and I can tell he's trying to open them, but they must be too heavy. "Tatum. I can't."

"Can't what?"

"Kiss you. Touch you. Worship you, little one. Hurts to move."

"Should I come to you?" I ask. He doesn't answer, just lifts his arm and holds it out.

I don't want him to have to taste my blood, but I don't have many options for cleaning my face. So, I lift the tail of my shirt and spit on the fabric, using it to wipe my mouth. Each time I accidentally touch my nose, it feels like someone's taken a sledgehammer to it. Once I've gotten my face as clean as I can get it, I lean in, my palm pressed flush against his cheek.

"Hey, Abi," I whisper, placing a closed-mouth kiss on his lips. "Missed you."

His mouth parts, and he's trying to come back to me, but every move he makes must be agony. Not wanting him to hurt any more than he has to, I make the rest of the journey for him, opening my mouth and touching his lips.

This kiss isn't like the ones we share in bed. There are no dueling tongues or clashing teeth. Just two sets of lips that rise and fall. Two pairs of hands, softly roaming. Mumbled offerings of love and daddy and little one. Him and me. The kiss lasts ages, but it's still not long enough. Once we're apart, his eyes are finally open, and he's staring intensely at me.

"What's wrong?" I ask. "Are you in pain?"

He nods. "A bit." When he looks around the room, it's like he's seeing it for the first time. "I do not like this room. Never have. I thought I heard your voice. When I woke up, I could hear you so clearly. I followed after you, but you were always just out of reach. "

"That's how you ended up down here?"

He nods. "You weren't here, though. I waited. Waited so long. Why did it take you so long to find me?" he asks, sounding drained. "Why must I always wait for you to catch up with me?"

"You don't have to wait anymore," I promise. "I'm yours from here on out, remember?" Leaning closer, I kiss the side of his face. "You never have to wait for me again. We're in this together now, side by side."

"Do you promise?" There's so much hope in his expression, I can hardly stand it. Why does he always seem so surprised to find my feelings are just as big and beautiful as his? Can't he see what he does to me? Doesn't he know by now?

"I fucking swear it." The phone he was holding before is now resting at his side, my feisty face displayed proudly. "I'm assuming this belongs to the woman with the needle in her neck?"

He snorts out a laugh, but winces like the action pains him. "I followed your voice to find you, but you weren't here. Asked her to call you. Told her to find you, but she said no." He lifts his hand and motions toward a dark patch of the room. I aim the flashlight where he's pointing, illuminating a small desk. There are papers and file folders scattered like there's been a scuffle, and when I look back at Abi, he's staring down at the unconscious woman.

"She said nyet. No calling the little one. No telling you goodbye. She had the serum on her desk, and I did what I had to do to get to you. Took her phone. Tried to call but could not remember your number. So, I pulled up your profile. Your beautiful profile picture, Tatum." He's got his hand out in front of me and it's shaking with nerves. There's no hesitation on my part—I don't think, just act, dropping the flashlight and grabbing his hand. "I just wanted to see you again before ..."

"You're not dying," I say, my voice firm. Wanting to put a smile on his dreary face, I add, "The Goddess is hellbent on making my life absolute torture, so I'm pretty sure I'm stuck with your big hairy ass for the rest of my life."

And there it is. A smile. It's not terribly big, and it isn't all that bright, but it's enough to make my heart race. "You will never get away from me," he threatens through his weakened voice. "If you run, I will find you."

"You always do, you possessive bastard," I say playfully before giving him a quick kiss. Grabbing the flashlight from where it fell earlier, I aim at the stairs. "We need to get you back to your room. You just had surgery, baby. You need to rest."

He gives me a nod, and before I can stop him, he's got one hand on the floor, slowly and methodically pushing himself up. I want to demand he stop, because the last thing I need is him falling down and banging his head again. So, I rise with him, grabbing his arm and pulling it over my shoulder for support. He tries to shake me off, telling me he's strong enough to do something as simple as standing up on his own, but then his legs wobble and he loses his footing. I catch him, thank Goddess, but it's a close call. As I lift him, he's muttering words like nyet and telling me I'm ruining his swoon-worthy moment, whatever the hell that means. Fuck, he's heavy.

"Tatum," he says, once we're standing. He's panting in my face, out of breath, but standing strong. "This was going to be the part where I picked you up and slid my finger where it belongs." He stares down at his hospital gown and sighs. "Alas, I've failed you."

"Don't worry, you'll make up for it later. Once we get to your room, you can finger me as long as you want. Days. Weeks. Doesn't matter." For emphasis, I take him by the hand and guide him to my ass, enjoying the firmness of his grip. "I meant what I said. I'm staying right by your side. If your silly little agency has a problem with it, they can get fucked." I squeeze his hand. "I'll never leave you again."

A set of feet are descending the stairs behind us, and I'm thankful Brody's finally pushed past his irrational fear of inanimate robotic body parts long enough to help me save his alleged best friend's life.

"Tatum!" Abi barks, then something pierces my neck. It's a feeling I know well, from the many times Fee and Abi drugged me during my first few months with them. Abi's in front of me, his face going redder by the second. Looking over my shoulder, I expect to see Brody. Instead, Agent Meadows stands behind me, holding a syringe in his hand. The drug hits faster than it ever has, and when I turn my attention back to the man I love, the last thing I see as I drift into nothingness are his panic-stricken eyes.