CHAPTER 2

“Are you done chasing your tail?” Lawrence’s soft tone put his friend at ease, which was visible in the posture of his shoulders. “Come on, spill the beans to your good ol’ uncle.”

“Old, my ass.” Brian huffed a short laugh, then his voice became serious. “My best friend’s name popped into my mind after more than two decades, and I can’t figure out why now.”

“Best friend, huh?” Lawrence sensed the tension was about to tighten his friend’s muscles and darken his mood again, so he tried another joke. “I thought this position was filled by me, at least this is what you’re telling everyone.”

“Childhood friend, more like the protective older brother I never had.” Brian’s voice was tinged with melancholy, so he sped up the pace a bit, to let some steam out. “We used to do almost everything together, Albert was a permanent fixture in our home.”

“Oh, this is what my competitor’s called!” Lawrence exclaimed, flashing a grin in his friend’s direction as he easily kept the quick pace the other one set. “Tell me more about him, you made me curious.”

Brian let out a short laugh again. “You know what’s funny? Bart used almost the same words earlier, when I brought the subject up for the first time since we’ve known each other.”

“Well, you know what they say about great minds.” Lawrence continued in the same lighthearted voice from earlier. “And, since I know your dear husband was as curious as I am now…What does Albert look like? What was his favorite movie, color, book, music genre, and food? How about desserts? Was he straight or gay?” The biker guard ran a hand over his face to hide his embarrassment “Fuck, sorry, man, this sounded…”

“Hey, buddy, don’t beat yourself over this, it’s not the case.” Brian reflected for a few seconds before continuing. “Firstly, I’m happy you finally express interest in a guy, even if he’s someone I last saw more than twenty years ago. Secondly, you made me realize I don’t know almost anything about Albert. I mean, none of the small things that, at the age we had back then, really mattered.”

“How come?” Lawrence frowned. “He was your best friend, right?” The frown deepened as the man tried to figure out a logical explanation. “Well, some kids like to keep things to themselves, maybe it was his case, too.”

“On the contrary, Albert was a chatterbox, but we mainly talked about school, homework, and the books we read. Both of us were geeks, but…” It was Brian’s turn to frown. “I think you’re right about him keeping things to himself. You see, even at that young age, I had a very clear idea about what I wanted to do in life, while Albert was very elusive about his plans for the future.” The man’s expression changed, the shadow of a smile playing on his lips. “He gave me my first nickname, Night.”

“Oh, brother!” Lawrence exclaimed, bursting into a fit of laughter. “Man, were you a ninja warrior or something? Anyway, it’s much better than Spare Parts, if you ask me.”

“My last name is Knight, and I’m dark-haired, while Albert was blond, and I nicknamed him Light.” Brian’s smile became brighter.

“It makes perfect sense, now that you explained it. Night and Light, like yin and yang. It means you complemented each other of sorts.” Lawrence nodded, then his eyes went wide, as a thought crossed his mind. “Not very long ago, right after you celebrated ten years since you came to The Base, you told me something while we were running.”

“Yes.” Brian answered hesitantly, trying to see where his friend was going. “I said that, at least since I came here, everything that happened to me, no matter how insignificant at first sight, turned out to be a piece from a bigger puzzle, and also a lesson learned.” He paused and swallowed hard, then continued in a bit harsher voice. “Even me being stupid enough to take Cole in, when I knew how dangerous this could be for my expecting fiancé and younger brother.”

“I told you back then and I’m telling you now: stop blaming yourself for that. Forgiving and giving a helping hand to someone in need it’s what makes the difference between humans and Neanderthals. It wasn’t your fault that your ex was such a disgusting piece of shit.” Lawrence stopped and stared into the other one’s eyes. “Back to what’s keeping you awake tonight, you are thinking about Albert after all this time happens fora reason. At least that’s what I think.”

Could this reason be a reunion? The question popped into Brian’s mind about an hour later, when he was back in the bedroom, an arm wrapped around Bart, who pressed his back into the librarian’s chest. It would be great to meet each other after all this time, catch up with one another’s lives. The thought put a bright smile on the man’s face, as he drifted asleep.

************

Pale face, with still handsome features, marred by a few bruises starting to fade away, a split lip that was almost healed, dark bags under chocolate brown eyes void of any emotion that stared back at him. That was what Albert saw when he looked into the mirror from the adjoining bathroom in his sister-in-law’s house’s guestroom.

Son of a bitch, the man cursed when he felt a sharp pain in his left cheek, the most damaged part of his face, made him flinch. If Mike was still around, that pile of dirt wouldn’t have dared to lay a finger on me, he bitterly continued the trail of his thoughts. Mike would have ripped the guy’s arm from his shoulder and beat him with it.

Albert’s shoulders slumped as he turned around and stepped out of the bathroom. Unfortunately, Mike, a brave police officer, was no longer among the living, his life claimed by a bullet shot by a damn coward, like the one who put those bruises on his face. At least, the fucker who did it was also dead, taken down by Brei-Ayn, Mike’s wife and his partner.

The couple was related to Albert through his deceased husband, Clayton, who was Brei-Ayn’s older brother, and, even from the first second he set foot in their house, they liked him. It didn’t take very long for the initial feeling to turn into a deep affection, the two kind of adopting Albert, who, at that point, was alone in the world after the untimely death of his only relative, two years before he met Clayton.

When, two years into their marriage, the two men told Brei-Ayn and Mike they decided to adopt a boy and a girl, twins, victims of severe parental neglect, they couldn’t be happier, especially since the woman suffered her fourth miscarriage in a row and was still depressed. She volunteered to help her brother and his husband with advice and whatever else they might need, and was a blessing in disguise for the two.

She still is, Albert smiled, leaving the room. He walked to the end of the hall, then stopped in front of a door. After listening intently for a few seconds, he opened it and, from the door frame, contemplated the two twelve-year-old children sleeping serenely on their beds, a tender smile brightening his features.

A few minutes later, on the way to his room, Albert shook his head, wondering what he was thinking about when he let that fucker Rick into his life. Three years passed since Clayton died, and he was doing fine by himself, with Brei-Ayn and Mike being there and helping him to overcome the grief, and the children

The leather-clad, brick-like biker was as different from Albert’s deceased husband as the day was from the night. Bearded, long-haired, with a guttural voice, inked skin, rough manners, no desire to settle down and having a place of his own, and little to no love for children, Rick was everything Clayton wasn’t.

According to the shrink Albert started to see over the past few months, it was precisely this what drew him to the biker. Each time he went there, the man let the psychiatrist talk, politely listening to their theories, but, deep down, he knew the answer: he craved something his supportive in-laws or the children couldn’t give him: the physical intimacy, the feeling of a warm body resting next to him, of a strong arm protectively wrapped around his waist.

Rick gave him that at the beginning of their relationship, and that was why Albert forgave him so easily after the first beating. Thinking with the heart of the man in love, and not with the mind of the one in danger, he considered it a slip, an isolated incident. He was bitterly wrong, of course, but, when he finally realized, Rick’s hold on him became too tight for him to escape.

Albert stepped into the room serving as his temporary bedroom for him, plopped down on the bed, head buried in his hands. Scenes of the abuse he endured at the hands of his biker boyfriend’s hands flooded his mind, and it took all his strength to push the dark memories back in the furthest corner of his mind.

I have more important things to focus on, Albert thought, standing and heading to the nightstand. He took the paper from the top of the furniture piece, sat on the bed again and started studying it with great interest. Detailed directions to that sanctuary for the victims of domestic violence, names of the people to contact once he’ll get there, and a couple of emergency phone numbers—Old Jim’s nephew or whoever the guy was really thought about everything.

The name of his only friend from that hellhole biker colony brought a pale smile to Albert’s lips. The man, owner of a tattoo parlor, had the reputation of a hermit, but he took an instant liking to the blond, vulnerable newcomer, who, with his soft voice and warm, kind eyes, didn’t seem to fit into that loud crowd or share their hobbies, limited to drinking, swearing, fighting with one another or against other biker gangs, and doing drugs.

For quite some time, Albert limited his interactions with Old Jim to replying to the man’s greetings and a short conversation about weather. This was mainly because, although he didn’t possess an impressive physique, the tattooist was, for some odd reason, respected, feared even, by all the inhabitants of the biker colony.

Eventually, Old Jim’s manners, his smooth, heavily accented, but cultivated voice, and great love for books and reading won Albert over. To his great surprise and shock, Rick didn’t object to him being friends with the owner of the tattoo parlor, and used this opportunity to sneak out of the colony and visit his children, left in Brei-Ayn’s care, every day.

Smiling, Albert remembered how he spent hours on end listening fascinated to Old Jim’s stories about the Bratva, the Russian Mafia, their most powerful and respected leaders, and the numerous times they collaborated with the local and federal police in dismantling child trafficking rings and rescuing the innocent victims.

For some time, Albert thought Old Jim’s stories were just that, until one day, when he brought the subject of the Mafia helping the authorities in a conversation with Brei-Ayn, and his sister-in-law confirmed the information. She added the old tattooist must have been a very important person in the Bratva’s hierarchy; not everyone had access to that kind of stuff or permission to talk about it.

Well, Albert said to himself, going back to the sheet of paper in his hand, I guess we’ll never know. Elias, the de facto boss; Ardan, the founder; Lothier, the chief of security; Fergus, the head of the HR department. At this point, the man huffed a short laugh. Really, he thought, why would a sanctuary for domestic violence victims need something like that?

Carter, the psychiatrist that specialized in domestic violence and sexual abuse trauma; Peyton, the school’s principal; Ira, Elias’s right hand; Digger, head guard at the gates. No last names, Albert frowned, as he continued reading, only nicknames, given names, and the position each of them holds in whatever this is.

Albert shrugged. Well, I guess they have good reasons to keep their identities secret. Brian, the librarian. The name made the man softly gasp, as a hopeful smile spread on his face.