Stereo Blast Volume 1 [MxM]

Chapter 3.4

No longer high on adrenaline, though it was still running through his veins, the pain and the cold crept up within him.

He held the blue vial in his hand and up to his face. The blue liquid was the same as before. Nothing had changed. The dreaded feeling came to him again. Whatever had happened tonight couldn’t have been a coincidence. Cleo had known Taylor was looking for him and had called in his own military swat team. They couldn’t be working for Cleo, that would be absurd.

But was even more absurd, was the fight the woman had put out to get this one vial. She’d known what she was looking for. She’d searched Taylor even though he could kill her then.

Even to the death, she wanted to get her hands on this.

Taylor held onto it tight as he swam to the shore of Kitro District.

And just as he reached land, a figure ran out from the dark.

It was Ryan.

He was by Taylor’s side, but the seconds were blending into one. Taylor gasped one more time, his hand enclosed over the vial, and slumped on his side. In the back of his head, he thought about how this wasn’t over. They would come looking for him after they find out about their crash helicopter and their killed officers. That is if they didn’t already know and they were sending help now.

“We—we gotta get out of here—” He gasped out, but Ryan pulled his soaking wet body into his lap. His warm hands pressed against his cheeks and he didn’t have the strength to pull away. To be honest, he enjoyed the soft touch and if he wasn’t worried about their safety he would have been glad to lay here for hours.

Ryan shook his head. “Just hold on. Don’t talk. You’re going to be okay.”

His voice cracked and his hands were shaking just as bad as Taylor’s, but he was doing a better job at hiding it.

“They’re—” Ryan covered his mouth with his hand. Taylor blinked his heavy eyelids and tried to hang onto the familiar touch. He didn’t want to slip away into the darkness yet. He wanted to be with Ryan for a few moments longer.

Ryan stared into his eyes and there were so many questions inside them that he couldn’t answer. He didn’t know where to begin and didn’t know if he really had any answers. The night had turned so fast that he was still putting it all together for himself.

“Oh—Oh shit.” Ryan pulled back Taylor’s jacket and cursed once more. The blood had soaked right through the makeshift bandage and was running down his side. Ryan’s shirt was soaked with it too. “f**k. f**k!”

He pressed his hand to the wound. Taylor let out a grunt and tried to move away from the burning touch, but Ryan only held onto him tighter.

“It’s going to be okay,” he said, but it sounded more like reassurance for himself than Taylor. He was okay with that. He closed his eyes, holding onto the sensation of Ryan’s warm touch and pushing the pain to the back of his mind.

He jerked when Ryan moved him, but he held still. Ryan’s hands worked over his wound, untying the wet cloth, exposing the wound to fresh air.

He heard fabric ripping and then Ryan was tying a new bandage around his waist. It didn’t matter. He was slipping away. There was nothing he could do and though it made him angry at himself and the woman and Cleo and everyone involved, he was okay. He was okay to let Ryan take care of himself this one last time.

It was never going to happen again.

That was a promise.

The last moments were sounds of the crashing river, the rippling of the flames still burning, and the silent sky. The city smelled the same and the water soaking his clothes smelled close to sewage. It was too familiar, too much like any other day that it made him question if this was a dream or if this was reality.

But as he drifted off into the bitter darkness, he heard Ryan’s soft sobs.

This wasn’t a dream.

And then he was gone.

***

Taylor sat up gasping and clutching his chest. He sucked in a large gulp of air and frantically searched the room with his eyes. He saw his small corner kitchen, the busted and patched up window in his small living room, and the huge wall in his bedroom that made it possible to see the entire apartment. The bed he lay on was his own, covered in black sheets that he’d bought from a small shop downtown and a turned upside down crate beside his bed was his nightstand. It was all his, but it felt different. Strange.

He touched his sheets. Scratchy. Same. Different.

The touch to his palm sent spikes down his arm and pinpricks down to his toes. He shivered, rubbing his arms.

The night before seemed so unreal, it was a clear, but distant vision in the back of his mind. The images flashed before him and he was panting as if he were there right now. It had felt like he’d woken up from it though the light flooding room told him almost an entire day had passed. It could be more, but that night was hours past.

He rubbed his head and ran his hand down his face, scrubbing until his skin became sore. The blood still felt like it was there.

And then he remembered. The shot to his side and falling into the river.

He pulled back his blankets and lifted his shirt. The old bandage had been discarded and a thick medical rag was taped over it. He touched it with a firm hand and hissed as a jolt of pain rippled through his side. It would be a while before he could go anywhere and a long time before this was healed. He could get treatment, but it was f*****g expensive.