Tank tended to think that their crew revolved around Clover, since everyone had a romantic connection with him, but Boar was the glue that kept them together, and without him, their group had been falling apart. Pyro had only joined Tank’s crew in the first place because Boar had insisted that they owed a debt of gratitude. But by the time they paid it off, Boar had managed to gain Drake’s trust. And that meant something, since Drake wasn’t one to make friends easily.
The man had never had a boyfriend before Clover, and stayed guarded even around his chosen family, let alone strangers. Clover’s presence had been the revelation that had finally changed him, and seeing Drake so open with the boy always made Tank all mushy inside. So maybe, despite what had happened with Apollo, once they got Boar back, their life could begin to heal, because right now they were all open wounds on the verge of fatal infection.
Drake believed all that had transpired was his fault, and even though everyone had made their own bed that night, there was no denying that he was the one with the biggest grudge against Apollo and that it had been his bloodlust for revenge that pushed everyone off the cliff. They wouldn’t be playing the blame game anymore, but that was the truth, and they all had to get over that hurdle.
But because denying this was impossible, Drake would never forgive himself. Unless they got Boar. Tank was pretty sure Drake could eventually understand that despite what had happened, they could heal. If Boar died, there would be no coming back.
If the worst happened, Pyro would never forgive any of them and would descend into overdosing one day. Clover would live with a broken heart, and Drake would put that bullet through his head.
The memory of that gun under Drake’s chin had Tank nauseated.
Drake had made so much progress in the years since they’d met, yet he’d regressed to a suicidal mess. Boar wasn’t some golden ticket to a future without bad choices, but his presence would be the Band-Aid everyone needed.
Tank’s hiding spot was well-protected by a thatch of bushes and provided that necessary bit of high ground to watch the road through binoculars. He’d donned gloves and a balaclava to minimize the chances of someone spotting him in the dark, but so far the traffic had been minimal, with only a couple of vehicles driving back toward the nearest town, none of them a van. So he waited, breathing in the scent of pine and moss, wrapped in a jacket, because staying still like this made him lose way too much heat.
It was deep into the night, and whatever those vultures had planned for after the fights, it clearly kept them busy, but time was ticking. Tank had left Drake their usual sign—a fluorescent pink bag pinned down by a stone—to indicate a convenient parking spot close to where they were meant to meet. The white van would have been too conspicuous so far away from people’s homes, so Tank was glad that he’d found a forest ranger’s path not far from here.
He stiffened when something creaked nearby, his skin flushing, hands hardening in preparation for a fight, but the familiar whistle, yet another signal he’d taught Drake once they’d started working together, made him relax and answer in the same way.
Drake was finally here, his footsteps just rustle of grass, with the slightest bit of a crunch whenever he stepped on dried wood or cones. It hadn’t rained for long enough that even he couldn’t remain perfectly quiet in this terrain.
“He must still be in there. They’re holding him as some modern-day gladiator. It’s fucked up,” Tank said, lowering the binoculars to look at the dark silhouette.
Drake kneeled next to him. Tank smiled when he saw a rifle in Drake’s hand. Boar, as the best sniper of the group, was usually the one to handle that part of the job, but Drake wasn’t bad at it either. “Good thinking. You think you’ll be able to hit them in the dark if push comes to shove?”
“Can’t imagine anyone driving fast on this road. It’s like Swiss cheese. Where are Clover and Pyro?”
Tank took a deep breath and straightened, realizing how little he’d talked to Drake in the past few months. “They’re in my pickup. It broke down. You can pick them up later, once our target’s on the move. There can be no more fuckups.”
Drake remained still, squeezing the rifle. “I shouldn’t have left.”
Tank exhaled, shifting when a small piece of wood digging into flesh became too much of an irritation. “No, you shouldn’t have. What did you even argue with Clover about?”
Drake gave a raspy sound, hesitant, as if he were worried about Tank’s reaction. But Tank had chewed through so much shit tonight already nothing could possibly throw him off guard.