23. Nicholas

23

NICHOLAS

"How long am I supposed to wait around down here?" I asked, pacing the hotel room. We were on an island in the Caribbean, but it wasn't the island where Raven was being held.

"I say we storm the island, steal the mangos, and take back your lady love," Fox grinned. "We can have her back in a single day."

"And how do you propose we get there?" FNG asked.

"Max can fly us down," he retorted. "He's crazy. He likes to fly, and he's not afraid of a little gunfire."

"Thanks for volunteering me," Max grumbled, taking a swig of his beer. He grimaced and stared at the label. "I really shouldn't have given up drinking the hard stuff."

"It's not that easy," FNG retorted. "I've been down there. You wouldn't have liked how I got on the island. I'm lucky I can't die. You—on the other hand—would not have such great luck."

I pressed the heels of my hands to my eyes. I was fucking tired as hell. I couldn't sleep. I couldn't eat. The only fucking thing I could think about was the fact that I had been with her the night she was taken, but I was too fucking angry to stick around. It was a mistake I would regret for the rest of my life.

"You think you could outlive me?" Max laughed. "That's fucking hilarious."

"Hey, I've jumped out of a window, crashed into a car, and lived."

"I crashed a plane into the ocean and lived," Max shot back.

"I jumped out of a car just as an RPG hit the back side." He held his arms wide. "And here I stand."

"I've been drunk on nearly every flight I flew, and not only am I still alive, but so is everyone else who flew with me."

FNG leaned forward in challenge. "I electrocuted myself and brought myself back to life."

"I once drank two bottles of Jameson."

"Yeah? I was shot in the chest!"

"I was smashed over the head with a bottle of alcohol!"

"I drank poison!"

"Enough!" I shouted. They both stopped arguing and looked at me like I was crazy. "Fuck, can you give it a rest?"

"We're just having a friendly debate," FNG said.

"I thought we were listing accomplishments," Max shrugged.

Fox walked into the room with a napkin tied around his neck and a bucket of chicken in his hand. He was stuffing his face with a drumstick, the grease spreading all over his lips. "Mm, you know…I didn't think chicken would be this good in the Caribbean."

"Where the fuck did you get that?" I snapped.

He pointed with the drumstick out the door. "At the stand down the street."

"The stand down the street?" FNG asked. "Was it an actual restaurant?"

"Yeah, this particular island doesn't have many restaurants. More like street vendors," Max informed us.

"I can't believe you're eating that!" I snapped. "Are you trying to get worms?"

He cocked his head at me. "Don't only dogs get worms?"

"And cats," FNG pointed out.

"Haven't you ever heard of intestinal worms?" I said. "They pull those out of people all the time. They're fucking huge."

"Yes!" FNG said excitedly. "I once read that with tapeworms, they tie you to a table and put a bowl of milk next to your mouth and then wait for the worm to slither its way out."

"And you just…choke it up?" Max asked.

"Your mouth is like wired open or something. I think you're awake the whole time."

"That's fucking disgusting," Fox said in fascination.

"Yet, you're still eating chicken from an unknown source."

"Have you met me? My whole food plan is unknown sources," he chuckled. "Seriously, it's just a little chicken. What's the worst that could happen?"

The rest of us all looked at each other, then to him. "You did not just say that," FNG groaned. "Why would you say that?"

"Say what?"

"What's the worst that can happen?" I snapped. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Do you want a list?" Fox joked. He waved his chicken bone around. "Ooh, the forbidden words were spoken. Whatever will we do?"

"Should we find a Sharman?" FNG asked.

I knew what he was trying to say, but for the love of God. "Yes, let's call for some toilet paper. That'll fix everything."

He chuckled, patting me on the shoulder. "No, dude. A Sharman is a healer."

"No, Charmin is a brand of toilet paper. What you're thinking of is a Shaman."

The unsure look on his face was hilarious. "Nah, that can't be right."

"Then, by all means, call a Charmin and see who arrives."

"Maybe it'll be a bear," Max said, leaning back in his chair lazily. "Fuck, I could use a drink."

"Forget drinking," I snapped. "We have bigger issues than your drinking habit."

"Yeah, like finding this bear with toilet paper," Fox chuckled. "Hey, FNG, if you're interested, I still have some healing rocks left over from my…time away. Ooh, or I could teach you some Icelandic throat singing." He frowned, gripping his throat. "Although, since my return, my voice is a little raw. I'll need to practice first."

"Nobody's doing any throat singing," I snapped. "Why don't you all…go find some women to entertain you?"

FNG scoffed. "Women? Why does everyone think we'd be so easily swayed? We're married men."

"Well, the rest of us are married men," Max huffed. "Your marriage is still up for debate."

"Says the man who doesn't even know if he's married," FNG shot back.

"Hey, they were vows. They're real."

"On a beach performed by Cash," FNG retorted. "He's not even ordained. Now, if anyone had bothered to ask me, which they never seem to do, I happen to be ordained."

"Since when?" Fox asked.

"Since my travels. See, we were in Santorini on this dark and stormy night?—"

"Question," I raised my hand. "Who's we?"

FNG's face pinched. "Uh…I can't tell you that."

"Why not?"

"It's—"

"Classified," I nodded.

"Anyway, it was a dark and stormy night?—"

"Why do all your stories take place at night?" Fox asked.

"And why is it always dark and stormy?" Max added.

"Fine, it was sunny and beautiful!" FNG shouted. "Can I continue?"

"It just doesn't make sense," Fox said, walking over to him, offering him a piece of chicken. "You know I would have done anything to get you back, but had I known it was always dark and stormy, I would have sent out a few search parties with flashlights."

FNG snagged the chicken leg out of his hand and glared at him. "You know, I used to like you."

"Buddy, you still do! We're like this," he said, holding up his drumstick. "Chicken and more chicken."

I rolled my eyes. How the hell did I get sent down here with these guys? And where were Chase and Patrick? Why did they get to go out in search of information while I was stuck here listening to the peanut gallery ramble on about the most ridiculous things?

"As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted," FNG continued, "we were in Santorini and there was this couple on the beach getting married."

"Do you need a special license in Greece to get married on the beach?"

"I don't know!" he snapped at Fox. "Can I just tell the story?"

Fox huffed in exasperation. "You know, I'm not asking for a lot. Just a few more details would make the story more believable."

"Are you saying I'm lying?"

Fox's eyes widened in horror. "Never! Dude, I think your stories are amazing. Maybe you should punch them up a little. And stop portraying yourself as Indiana Jones."

Max snorted in amusement. "Indiana Jones. Like he could ever be that guy."

"I could be Indiana Jones."

"You couldn't even wear his hat."

"Oh yeah?" FNG stomped off, leaving the rest of us watching his temper tantrum.

"Now that that's over…" I muttered. "Max, I need you to get me a plane."

"No can do."

"Yes, you can. You're a pilot. It's literally what you do."

He kicked back, putting his heels up on the table. "I would. I really, really would, but then Cash would kill me. And then Christa would be upset because she's all religious. And then I'd probably end up in a casket in her church because, for some unknown reason, they have something against cremation."

"I want to be cremated," Fox said thoughtfully. "No better way to go than in a hail of flames."

"I know. And if they bury me in a box, I'm going to end up in the church first and then the whole place will burst into flames."

"And you'll still go out in flames," Fox said excitedly. "It's a win-win!"

"Not when it'll be Christa's father's church that burns to the ground," Max muttered. "And that guy already doesn't like me. You know, for a Christian man, he sure does have an evil eye."

"And what does any of this have to do with getting me a plane?" I snapped.

"I already told you, Cash will kill me."

"He couldn't even fire you! Why would he kill you?"

Max sighed heavily. "You know, I hate to point out just how little you pay attention. For an ex-cop, you sure don't put those skills to good use."

"Maybe he wasn't a good cop," Fox shrugged.

"I was an excellent cop, which you know because I lost my job helping you!"

He grinned at me. "And I'll repay the favor anytime, buddy."

"Like right now. When I need a fucking plane to get Raven back!"

"Oh, well, except right now. I promised Cash I would be on my best behavior while I'm down here."

"And since when do you ever listen to Cash?" I snapped.

He slowly looked up at me, his face contorting into a grin. "I don't."

"Exactly."

He got to his feet and nodded. "Exactly."

"Then let's go."

He clapped me on the back. "Just like old times."

"Not at all like old times."

He cocked his head to the side comically. "It's sort of like old times."

"Fox, it's not at all like old times!"

I stomped to the door. Why the fuck had I chosen him to help me?

"You know, I think you and I are remembering these old times differently!"

"Are you sure about this?" Fox asked.

I glared at him. "Since when do you question so much?"

"Well, technically, we'd be stealing a plane, which I'm totally okay with, but you…"

"Me, what?"

"Well, you're more straight and narrow while I'm wide and dangerous."

"I'm wide and dangerous," I said defensively."

He snorted in amusement. "Sure."

"Um…do you not remember our time together in the military?"

"Well, sure, you were like that then, but this is now. You're more…"

"More what?"

He frowned, then snapped his fingers as it came to him. "I'm chicken from a street vendor, and you're chicken from a fancy restaurant."

I took great exception to that. "I am not a fancy restaurant."

"Well, maybe not fancy, but definitely not a street vendor." He pointed across the airfield to the man checking over the plane. "He's a street vendor. You could never be a street vendor."

"What makes you think that?"

"Well, you did get disgusted when I was eating my chicken. Besides, in order to be street vendor worthy, you need a certain grunge appeal. Do you like murdering people?"

"If the occasion calls for it," I gritted out.

"Hmm, what about torture?"

He already knew I didn't have the stomach for torture. I didn't play with my kills. I took them out and ended things.

"See? You're so not a street vendor. Sorry, but you just don't have the right stuff."

"Can we focus on the job ahead of us and stop talking about street vendors?"

"See, a street vendor would never ask that," he pointed out. "Now, since you don't like torture and you're not big on killing," he said mockingly, "how would you like to go about stealing the plane?"

"Well, I thought we would wait until he leaves and then steal the fucking plane," I snapped.

"Right, right. We could do that."

I already knew he had a different plan in mind and I wasn't going to like it. "What do you want to do?"

"I'm so glad you asked," he grinned. "So, the first thing we need is a distraction."

"I'm guessing that'll be me."

"Au contraire, mon frère," he chuckled. "We'll both be the distraction. See, we'll go out there—I'll be singing, of course?—"

"Of course."

"And then we'll do a little dance, kill the bad guys, and walk away without anyone the wiser."

"What about all the attention we'll draw?"

"Well, we'll kill them too. That's the best part of the plan."

I stared at the excitement on his face with a bored expression. "No."

His face fell, then turned to confusion. "No?"

"No."

"But…is that like a no, we'll think about it? And then you decide you like my plan?"

"Not in the slightest."

"Oh. So, maybe a no, but you really mean yes."

"Fox, I mean no."

His confusion quickly morphed into a smile, then he burst out laughing. "Man, you almost had me." He slapped me on the back and started walking across the airfield. "That was a good one. Let's go."

I sighed and followed him. There was no arguing with him when he was like this. I ran to catch up, hoping we could get this over as quickly as possible.

"So, what's the?—"

He turned and grabbed me by the arm, flinging me out as he started to sing "It's A Hard Knock Life" from Annie . I thought he was going to throw me across the tarmac, but then he jerked me back to him, pulling me flush against his body. I had no idea what he was doing, but I heard he did this with a few of the other guys.

"What are you doing?" I hissed.

But his eyes were closed as he poured his heart and soul into the music, dancing me closer and closer to the plane. I saw the technician staring at us out of the corner of my eye, but I still wasn't sure what Fox hoped to achieve by dancing.

"Are you going to pull your gun?" he hissed, then returned to singing.

I looked at him funny. "Why would I pull my gun? I thought we were distracting them with dance?"

He sighed heavily. "Scottie would know what to do."

"Sorry, I wasn't trained in dance fighting."

He stumbled, nearly making us fall to the ground. "Dude, this is not dance fighting. This is making love to the music through killing people."

I yanked myself out of his arms, thoroughly disgusted by his words. "Do not ever say something like that to me again."

"Nick—"

"What the fuck is wrong with you?"

He huffed. "Well, for starters, you're fucking this whole thing up. It's not that hard. I pull you into my arms, we start dancing, and then you kill people. It's a thing!"

"It's not a thing!"

"It so is! Now, give me your hand and let's get to work."

I stood there, completely refusing to give in, but the longer I stared at him, the more I realized he wouldn't give in. Rolling my eyes, I put my hand in his and allowed him to pull me back into his arms. It was so fucked up, so very wrong, but as the music left his lips and he spun me around, I saw my opening. I pulled my gun just as he spun me out, firing twice and taking out the technician. He fell to the ground, never even realizing what was happening. I didn't see anyone else around.

"Fox, I think that's it."

"Hold on. The song isn't over yet."

"But—"

"Shh," he hissed, then continued singing. I went with it because I didn't know what else to do. When I saw someone approaching warily, I knew this wasn't over. One man turned into five. Bullets flew and Fox continued to twirl me around the floor.

I mean, pavement.

"We still have one more," I told him.

"The song's over."

"Just one more!"

"Fine, I'll start a new song, but we don't stop dancing until I'm done singing."

I didn't recognize the next song, but it didn't matter. I killed the last man less than ten seconds into the song. I tried to tear myself from his arms, but this was Fox. He refused to release me.

"Get ready for the big finale."

"The what?"

I yelped as he lifted me at the waist, holding me high above his head as he spun us around. At first, I held onto his hands, but during the final turn, I held my arms wide. I wasn't sure why. It didn't make any sense, but I couldn't help myself. When he set me down, he bowed, and then I bowed.

And when I stood, Max was staring at me just a few feet away, his arms crossed over his chest.

"He got to you, too."

I cleared my throat and tugged my shirt down. "Well…shall we go?"

My face was beet red, but even worse, when I turned to the plane, I saw Chase and Patrick standing there, thoroughly enjoying the show.

Chase looked me up and down, then grinned. "You know, when I loosen up, I go for a beer."