Stronger and more resilient than he seemed, Clover wasn’t a frail flower that lost its petals at the faintest gust of wind. When he’d first declared he wanted to get stronger, they’d all expected him to give up after the first grueling training session with Tank, but he’d trudged on, sweating, cursing, but determined to keep up with everyone as best he could. Drake had taken him under his wing, intent on teaching him basic self-defence first, but Tank hadn’t spared Clover either.
Still, Boar couldn’t help but look at Clover’s pretty features, his pale skin and slim frame without a desperate need to protect him from the whole world.
“I’m a bit nervous,” Clover said out of the blue, and surely that was the understatement of the century.
For the longest moment, he wondered whether he shouldn’t hide his true feelings in order to nip Clover’s anxiety in the bud, but whenever he tried to make himself say the simple words of support Tank would have offered, his tongue turned into a wooden appendage and refused to move.
Boar swallowed hard and glanced at the boy’s hunched shoulders.
He owed Clover the truth, even if it meant the boy could change his mind and make them call off the entire plan. “Me too.”
Clover stared out the window, chewing on his lips as if he were a nicotine addict desperately trying to get his kick out of a cigarette-replacement gum. “Isn’t this routine for you?”
Boar squeezed the steering wheel, focused on Tank’s pickup ahead. It should feel routine. He’d done dozens of dangerous jobs—assassinations, interceptions, abductions—the list was long, but with Clover in the picture, the stakes had become sky-high. “I don’t usually have to worry about the others involved. They can handle themselves, but you...” He took a deep breath, giving himself two seconds to study Clover’s profile and the way smooth white hair brushed against his cheeks. “You’re not used to this. I worry what would happen if you panicked.”
Or if one of the guys lost their cool because of their fear for Clover. They were about to use him as bait to get rid of the insistent buyer, but what had made sense in theory felt riskier with every mile they drove.
Clover didn’t protest, or claim that he was as capable as everyone else, which was a good sign. He understood he had a long way to go if he wanted to be proficient at combat. Instead, he stroked Boar’s forearm with the same gentle fingers that could clutch flesh so hard in a passionate embrace. Boar still had nail marks on his back to prove it.
“I’ll just have to do my best. Drake is right. We have to face them, or I’ll be running forever.”
Boar’s stomach twisted with rising anxiety. “You need to stay calm and trust us. You have the tracker inside you, it’s loaded up so the battery won’t die. I mean, we will deal with it then and there, but just in case we got separated… we will find you,” he said, though he wasn’t sure whether he was trying to persuade Clover or himself.
Up ahead, Tank switched on his indicators and pulled into a parking area, so Boar followed his lead, trying to ignore the antsy-ness trailing up and down his back. He hated that they needed to part, that he couldn’t close Clover in his arms and hold him until all of this blew over, but that was the reality of the situation, and they needed to forget about obstructive sentiments.
They were only about twenty minutes’ drive away from the abandoned factory on the outskirts of a small town where they’d arranged a meeting with Clover’s buyer, under the pretext of giving him up for the outrageous sum of money Tank had taken time to negotiate.
Boar knew it was all to create the illusion that they were serious about the trade, but he still didn’t know how Tank had managed to discuss details, send pictures of Clover’s naked body to confirm the quality of the ’merchandise’ and then fall asleep with the boy in his arms. He wouldn’t have been able to pull that off.
He was somewhat glad that he’d be going to the factory first, to find a vantage point to oversee the exchange and intervene with a rifle if needed, but at the same time, the necessity of parting from Clover was making him itch to call it all off. What if everything went wrong, and these were their last moments together? Highly unlikely, but possible. This, he could not say to Clover.
Anyone who took part in the trafficking business deserved a bullet in the head, so he hardly felt remorseful about what he was about to do, but he’d rather avoid putting the boy at risk regardless. Earlier that day, he’d even proposed that Clover didn’t have to be present, since they’d already baited the buyer with his pictures, but Drake was quick to point out that the bastard would likely send some goons to stay anonymous. If that were the case, they’d have revealed themselves as a threat and lose their chance to ensure Clover’s freedom.