Desperate Enemies 3 Adam Carpenter (books like beach read .TXT) 📖

“Why? We kill him; it's over. He's come here, threatening us. It's self-defense.”

“No, it's not, you're talking murder,” Parker said. “It's just like what happened all those years ago at Number Two. That solved nothing. It started. . . this.”

Aaron turned one way, another, jittery, pointing the gun at Parker. “And you, you selfish fuck, you're in on this with Converse or with someone else, you just want what's yours and you don't care about anything. . .or anyone. You screw my lover and expect me to sit back and let you have your fun?” Aaron lifted the gun, aiming it directly at Parker's chest. Aaron was drunk, more so than Marc thought, standing there in a daze, wondering what he could do to help. But his feet were frozen; he couldn't move.

“Aaron, don't!” Paolo screamed.

Maybe it was the sound of his lover's pleading voice or maybe a rational part of his mind, but just then Aaron's wrist went limp, the gun no longer aimed anywhere but the ground. That's when Rich rushed him, strong arms wrapping around Aaron's body. A jittery Aaron screamed out, panicked at the sudden move, and he and Rich went down to the carpet. Marc saw Converse shield himself behind Russell.

“No, no. Stop, someone. . . help them. . .”

Paolo was screaming helplessly.

Marc couldn't move.

What was happening before his eyes occurred in slow motion.

A blurry flash of a third person leaping forward caught Marc's eye. It was Parker, landing squarely atop the grinding bodies of Rich and Aaron, muscled arms struggling to pull the two men apart and somehow trying to wrestle the gun away from whoever had possession of it. But then an explosion rocked the room as the gun blasted, once, twice, a third time, shots ringing out, a splat of blood spurting all the way up to the ceiling fan, still turning, twisting in the air.

“Oh my God,” someone shouted as the wrestling match on the floor ended, bodies slack. Someone in the group fainted; Marc heard the body drop.

Hesitation hovered over the group, no one sure how to proceed. Then Dane and Sawyer burst forward, pulling Parker off, revealing the two bodies beneath him, neither of them moving. Marc saw all that red blood. . . draining, pooling. He saw the twisted tangle of limbs, the pale expression of death. That's when he too fainted.

* * * *

Two days after the disastrous gallery opening, the once young, sexy, vibrant Aaron Walters was laid to rest in a peaceful, sorrowful ceremony attended only by close friends and family. Only one member of the Eldon Court community could not be there to say good-bye, as Rich North was still recuperating from his gunshot wound, his collapsed lung still causing him to be listed in critical condition. Converse's team had taken a hit as well, as the persnickety Russell Allen had taken a bullet that would have otherwise hit his boss in the head; the taller man's heart had been pierced and Allen was dead.

Wonderland had been drenched with rain for days, as though the clouds cried for the unnecessary loss of life, for the pain and sadness which had been unloaded upon the residents of Eldon Court. For Dane and Sawyer, the shock of Aaron death changed them; Aaron was Dane's brother and he'd already once lost another. For Jack and Edgar, the loss of their friend brought a newfound determination to stop the so-called progress of the Wonderland Palaces. For Marc Anderson, he was saddened by Aaron's death, worried about his friend, Paolo, and how he would survive without the love of his life. But mostly he worried about Rich and his recovery, and, in the back of his mind, he still wondered about that tense moment at the gallery when Rich and Parker arrived at the same time. Had they been together? No confirmation, but he knew, in his heart, he knew.

Would Marc be able to trust Rich again?

Could life return to normal on Eldon Court?

Would Danvers Converse's plan to destroy them come to fruition?

Marc knew he could no longer hide inside the house. He had to face the future, and to do so, he had to face the truth of the past, no matter what it revealed. Finishing his morning coffee, the memories from the gallery and the fears that lurked inside his dreams buried for now, he realized he had only one destination in mind.

The hospital.

Rich was coming home soon.

Marc wondered if either of them was ready for that.

* * * *

Rich North hated hospitals, always had, even when he'd only ever been a visitor. Now that he was a patient and had been forced to call Wonderland Medical Center home for the past week, well, hate had taken on new meaning. There was only one exception to make his stay more comfortable: the cute young male nurse who gave him sponge baths.

It was nearly noon on this Monday, the start of a new week, the sun was shining inside his room, teasing him about being released, leaving Rich frustrated. He wished he could just be outside, perhaps on the beach, instead of sitting dirty in his bed all these days, the damn tubes still connected to him, the beeping monitor the doctor's form of water torture. When his door opened and he saw the male nurse, whose name was Christof, he smiled.

“First friendly face today,” Rich said.

“Yeah, Margo and Tricia sent me in, they said you respond better to me,” Christof said, his thatch of white-blonde hair and bright smile a highlight of his winning bedside manner. He moved to the edge of the bed, checked the chart and laughed.

“What's so funny?”

“The doctor's note. Says she can't wait until you're released.”

“Well, finally she and I agree on something.”

Christof pushed the discarded food tray out of the way, brought over his own tray of sponges and warm water he'd rolled in with. He helped Rich with his gown, sliding it down his torso,