Pike clawed his fingers into the bed sheets and a pained whimper escaped his lips as Mason cleaned the flesh wound in his side. Bradley sat silently in a wooden chair by his bedside, staring worriedly at his partner.
"There," Mason mumbled, tying the gauze wrapped around the other's waist. "It's over."
Pike let out a jagged breath and slowly began to relax. Mason took a syringe, a tourniquet, and a small vial of morphine from the first aid kit. As he readied the injection, Bradley took his friend's hand in his and gently patted the sweat off the other's damp forehead with a clean rag. Pike languidly turned his head to his partner and gave a weak smile.
"We get 'em?"
Bradley chuckled and nodded. "Oh, yeah," he answered quietly. "They didn't know what hit them."
The wounded man grinned and closed his eyes, seeming satisfied with with the response. Mason eased the needle into Pike's arm and pushed down on the plunger of the syringe. When the barrel was emptied of morphine, Mason pulled the needle out and held a cotton ball over he injection site. He tossed the used syringe in the trash and grabbed a roll of tape from the kit, then applied a small strip of it over the cotton ball on Pike's arm.
"That'll knock him out for a few hours," Mason explained. "Fiona has some painkillers you can take for your leg. They'll make you a little drowsy, so try to get some rest."
"Wait," Bradley mumbled. "I'm not going with you? I could be useful."
"No," Mason answered, grabbing his mask and gear. "Salem wants you to stay and keep an eye on Pike. Besides, your leg would just slow us down."
Bradley nodded, then turned in his chair to face Pike, who was slowly drifting off into a drug induced sleep.
Mason left the two alone in the room and closed the door behind him, then made his way through the old safe house toward the main room where the others were gathered around Fiona as she worked the GPS on her laptop.
"There," she said, leaning back in her chair. "Found your boys. Looks like they're all headed toward the resort outside of town, Raya Del Sol."
"Yeah," Salem added, pointing at a small blue dot on the GPS map. "That's where they took Cordova."
"No it's not," Fiona retorted. All the men gave her a questioning look. She sighed and rolled her eyes, then scrolled to another part of the map.
"There's an abandoned church not too far from town," she explained. "They store drugs and guns there. They'd take him there."
Salem scoffed. "Yeah, well, GPS says otherwise."
"I have been studying La Guadaña for the last five years," she snapped defensively. "Trust me."
"Salem, maybe we should listen to her," Mason suggested. "I mean, she is our contact. Maybe we should use the intel she gives us."
"Look, I'm just followin' the GPS, okay?" Salem barked.
"How 'bout we split up," Einstein added. "Then if one of us is wrong, the other guys will be at the right place."
"Splitting up is the last thing we should do," Chuy replied. "Strength in numbers, man."
Salem nodded. "Chuy's right. Besides, this way, we can all regroup."
Fiona exhaled sharply in defeat. "Fine," she huffed, picking her gun holster up from the table and strapping it around her shoulders. "But you know I'm going with you."
"Whatever you say, girly," Salem said with a smirk. "It's your truck."
"Jesus, it's hot," P.I complained, yanking at his shirt collar as he walked across the sandy, vacant lot.
"It's Mexico," Castle said, strolling by his partner's side. "And maybe if you didn't wear long sleeves, the heat wouldn't be as much of a problem."
"Well, sorry," the other remarked snarkily. "I had the impression we were gonna stay in an air-conditioned SUV the whole time, but no. Fuckin' cartel decided to blow it up. And I burn easy, asshole."
Castle rolled his eyes and chuckled, amused with the playful banter that always occurred between them. After a few minutes of silent walking, P.I. threw his head back and groaned.
"Bored, bored, bored," he muttered, kicking a rock across the sand. "Wally, I'm bored."
"Yeah, I caught that," Castle replied irritably. "Don't know what to tell ya."
"Uh, Wally. Wally, Wally, Wally," P.I. said with a grin, knowing the nickname annoyed his partner.
Truth be told, Castle didn't really hate it. He hated how much he liked it, really. These feelings he had for his partner bothered him, felt so wrong to him. Being raised in an extremely conservative household, he learned from a young age to hide this "abnormality," this "disease" that plagued him. To think of P.I. in any other way besides platonically erupted a guilty pang in his chest, as if he committed some great betrayal. So, he did the only thing he could do; bury it deep down and accept the fact that whatever he wanted between them would never happen, and move on, no matter how much it hurt.
His dismal thoughts were interrupted when P.I. suddenly broke out in song.
"I came, I saw, tore down these walls
Block one way, I'll find another
You know you'll always be discovered
If it's me, you choose, I can't lose
I'm in love with you if you love me too, yeah!"
"Christ, really?" Castle complained.
P.I. ignored him, and instead began shaking his hips and dramatically motioning his hands as he sang, beaming at Castle the whole time.
"Don't ever change, and I'll stay the same
We'll be swimming in the same direction
And we'll never lose this connection
Nothing they can do can stop this army of two
We're marching to the future, yeah, it's me and you!"
"Why?" Castle whined. "Why this one?"
"Come on, Wally. You know the words."
Castle shook his head and laughed, pretending not to enjoy the spectacle. Damn, the guy had a voice. He watched as the other sang and danced vivaciously, happy that he had found a new source for entertainment and was enjoying himself, considering the circumstances.
After years of working with him, Castle had only found out bits and pieces from his past. He knew P.I. was Russian, not that it was some big secret, taking into account his name was Pavlya Ivchenko. He knew he grew up in some overcrowded, poor orphanage, but didn't know if his parents died or simply gave him up. The only way he got out was by running away because no one would take him, no one wanted him. He grew up on the streets, doing whatever it took to survive, even if it wasn't by the most ethical or legal means, and Castle saw he obviously wasn't proud of it. These acts of survival didn't go unnoticed, however, and he was arrested at seventeen for armed robbery and gang affiliation, and sentenced to six years in Vladimir Central.
Most of the tattoos etched into his skin were a result of his incarceration and life in the mafia, like the two eight-pointed stars placed just under his collar bones, the thorny rose on his inner forearm and shoulder, the dagger running down to the base of his neck, and the growling tiger head on his right pectoral. Unlike the designs bestowed on him with his consent to tell his life story, the two eyes drawn on his hips were forced onto him as a sign of humiliation.
The ink on his skin was not the only permanent mark he received during his sentence. A chance encounter with an irritable prison guard and a ferocious Caucasian Mountain Shepherd during a small skirmish in the yard left him with deep, wide teeth impressions on his left arm and shoulder. It was a miracle the beast didn't rip out his throat.
He didn't have the chance to carry out his full sentence, however. Seeing he was old enough, the state drafted him into the army. He wasn't too discouraged about being forced to enlist, knowing the military meant food and opportunity, which was more than he would ever have on the streets or in a dingy cell. He made his way up the ranks, eventually joining the Russian Special Forces and specializing in hand-to-hand combat. There, he learned to speak English. His hard work and dedication to the job should not be mistaken for esteem for authority, though. He hated being forced to risk his life for a nation he felt did nothing to help him, abandoned him, which contributed to his thirst for escape. He went AWOL, fleeing to the United States and living as an illegal for four and a half years, learning to hide his accent and make a new start. After about living so long as a civilian, he grew restless. He could leave the restraint and suppression of the Russian military behind, but he couldn't do the same for the thrill of combat. He eventually found work at T.W.O., who took an interest in his skill set. Rios seemed apprehensive to hire him, considering his background, but Salem insisted he could be an asset to the company, saying that he "could just tell," and even ended up giving him the nickname when he was unable to pronounce his full one. Reluctantly, Rios allowed his partner to hire the seemingly unwise choice of employees and they generously aided him in acquiring a green card.
Castle vividly remembered the first time he met P.I. The Russian was extremely distrustful of him at first, and equally against the idea of being partnered up. After surviving all these years by using his own wits and skills, a partner seemed obsolete and a hindrance. But if Castle was anything, it was patient. He didn't give up on him, no matter how much he pushed him away those first few weeks. Pavlya was his first partnership with T.W.O. and he was determined to make them work. Over time and with Castle's diligence, P.I. began to understand that life was different for him now, and as hard as it was to grow used to, not everyone was against him. T.W.O. promoted the importance of teamwork and camaraderie, which was a foreign concept to him at first.
Looking at him now, Castle could see his partner had come a long way. He learned to enjoy himself, let down his guard some. He still felt the need to keep others at a safe distance, but around Castle he could relax. He truly trusted him, and that was something Castle didn't take lightly.
"Oh, fuck," P.I. groaned, rolling his shoulders.
"You okay, man?"
"Don't know," he answered. "My back's killing me. I hit it pretty hard when the car rolled over. Can we stop for a sec?"
Castle looked around worriedly for a place to stop where they could have a decent amount of cover if any cartel members showed up. Scanning the desert scenery, he caught site of a structure up ahead, the top just visible over a small, hill scattered with tufts of dry grass and cacti.
"Not here," Caste answered. "Let's head just a little further and see if we can't stop at that building."
P.I. glanced over to where Castle pointed, and nodded in agreement. The building, they found, was actually a construction site for an unfinished home, multiple unfinished homes. Most likely a new neighborhood put on hold because of the growing cartel violence. Castle gently pushed open the knobless front door and check the area to make sure it was empty. All he saw were racks and tables of tools along with unfinished dry wall and flooring, so he motioned for his partner to enter.
P.I. placed his primary weapon on one of the many tool tables and began unhooking the straps of his tactical gear. He laid his vest and shoulder pad by his gun, then gently pulled the tan, long sleeved shirt over his head.
"Damn," Castle breathed, marveling at his sweat glistened, muscular back. There was that guilty pang again.
P.I. looked back at his partner quizzically. "Likin' the view?"
"What? No, it's just... You're bruised up pretty bad," Castle ruefully answered. "You're bleeding a little too. Let me help."
P.I. plopped down on a nearby stool and sighed, wiping his sweat drenched face with the back of his forearm. Castle took the small med kit from his backpack, as well as his nearly empty canteen, and pulled up a seat behind him. He uncapped the top and tipped it over to trickle a thin stream of water down the other's bloody shoulder blades. P.I. flinched, surprised by the sudden cool running against his heated flesh.
"Warn me next time."
"Sorry," Castle replied, recapping the canteen.
P.I. let out a small chuckle. "Didn't say you had to stop. Felt great."
"Oh," he said sheepishly. He continued to slowly pour the last of his water over the other's wounds, and gently pat them dry with the one of the two spare shirts he carried in his backpack. One for him, and one for his partner.
"How much farther until we reach Cordova?" Castle asked as he began to apply the adhesive bandages.
"GPS says about half a klick."
"What about the others?"
"Looks like we're gonna beat them to it," P.I. answered. "They're all about a klick or more away, except for Pretty Boy and Head Case. They haven't moved in a while, actually."
"You shouldn't call him that," Castle muttered, applying the last bandage. "Bradley, I mean."
P.I. turned his head to give him an annoyed look. "You know it's true, though. The guy's a nut."
Castle scoffed. "Just 'cause he's quiet doesn't make him a nut. He's been through some shit, you know? We all have. I think he's just got a different way of dealing with it."
"No, I've been through some shit," P.I. retorted. "That kid grew up fucking loaded, everything handed to him. I mean, come on."
"Money doesn't necessarily mean happiness," Castle said, tossing P.I. his shirt.
"Yeah, well where I came from, it certainly lifted your mood," he replied as he slipped the shirt over his head. "It's not just that, though. The guy doesn't talk to anyone. Well, besides Pike. He just sits there and stares at ya."
Castle snorted. "You don't like a guy just for looking at ya?"
"When the guy has that high of a kill rate, yeah I get a little uncomfortable when he just looks at me. I've shared cells with guys like that, you know. They're the ones you got to worry about. The quiet ones. Sure, they sit there and mind their own business and keep to themselves, but you let your guard down and you end up with a knife in your back. I swear, one day he's gonna snap and shoot up HQ or something."
"Let's talk about something else," Castle griped, slipping his pack over his shoulders and picking up his gun. "Just get ready. Cordova's not too far. Sooner we get him, sooner we can go-"
P.I. held up a hand and shushed him. "You hear that?" he muttered, squinting around the construction site.
Castle pricked up his ears, listening intently for whatever alerted his partner. A low rumble slowly grew closer, and the men looked to each other with unease. They inched back toward the center of the unfinished room, unsure of where the noise was coming from. The low rumble soon turned into a booming roar, then became an explosion as an armored SUV burst through the dry wall before them.
The two dove to the right to avoid being crushed beneath the monstrous vehicle, then scrambled to their feet. Castle quickly pushed over a metal tool bench, which both men crouched behind for cover, then tossed P.I. his machine gun since his partner's tactical gear and weapons were on the other side of the car. He then pulled the pistol from his side holster, noting he was running extremely low on ammunition. The throwing knives sheathed in the straps of his backpack would be a last resort.
They listened as the doors of the SUV creaked open and booming, threatening shouts bombarded their ears. Castle leaned out from behind the bench and began firing short bursts at the cartel members that clambered from the car and behind the cover of wooden columns that supported the unfinished building.
"How did they even find us?!" P.I. yelled over the gunfire. "We're in the middle of fucking nowhere!"
"Don't know!" Castle hollered back, shooting one of the thugs in the chest. "Just kill 'em!"
He cursed under his breath when the gun clicked empty.
"Listen," he barked. "I'm out. You gotta cover me so I can get your gear."
"Okay, I got your six," he answered as he fired blindly over the toppled tool bench. "Be careful."
Castle nodded and lowered his mask, then crouched around their makeshift cover. He put his back to one of the thick posts supporting the building, and peered carefully around it to his right. He counted six thugs, each alternating fire as they took cover behind the heavily armored SUV and tool tables. He couldn't tell exactly, but it seemed there was someone else still in the vehicle. Three men laid bleeding out on the sawdust covered concrete floor, his earlier kills. Their numbers were dwindling, though, as P.I. took them down one at a time when they attempted to advance. Looking to his left, Castle caught sight of P.I.'s gear laid scattered across the floor, the table it had previously rested on knocked over in the collision. He began creeping toward his partner's equipment, then heard the SUV creak and rock under someone's weight. A thick boot stamped heavily onto the floor, then another as a large, burly man stepped out of the vehicle, placing a thick helmet over his head. The cartel member grimaced in P.I.'s direction, then charged toward him as fast as his heavily armored body could carry him. P.I. stood up from behind cover to get a better shot at the gargantuan thug that barreled toward him, firing a long string of bullets. The metal armor clinked as the bullets ricocheted wildly off of it, and the large man swatted P.I. in the head with the back of his metal covered forearm. The contractor let out a grunt and fell to the floor, only to be hauled up by his shoulders by the gangster and slammed against the wall.
"Güero estupido," the giant man chuckled, wrapping a thick gloved hand around P.I.'s neck.
A sudden smack to his shoulder caught his attention, and the man looked back to see a balanced blade jutting out of his metal shoulder pad. He dropped P.I. to the floor and turned around, laughing when he saw Castle standing defiantly a few feet away, holding P.I.'s machine gun in his hands.
"¿Quieres jugar también?" the man condescended. Then, he charged, throwing up his arms to cover his face as Castle fired at his armored body. The smaller barrel-rolled behind the giant to narrowly escape the swiping wrecking ball of an arm that swatted at him. Castle quickly pivoted around on his knee pads and fired a long line of bullets up the assailant's back, attempting to find that chink in the armor like Salem and Rios always trained them to do. The large man's body shook and rocked as the shots clipped at the metal plates strapped to his back, but he remained stationary, seemingly unharmed from the assault. The gun clicked empty, and the man chortled in response. Castle hastily ripped another clip from his belt and worked on reloading the weapon, but went rigid as thick boots stepped just in his field of vision. Timidly, he peered up to see a smug grin spread across a tattooed, rugged face. He quickly jumped back, but in vain as the man gripped the straps of his mask and a wad of his dark hair into his grimy fist. Castle kicked and fought vivaciously in the giant's grasp, but his efforts went unnoticed and the man lifted him a few inches off of the concrete floor with ease. Since his right hand was occupied with the task of ripping the sausage like fingers from his head, Castle pulled a knife from the backpack strap with his left and repeatedly jabbed at the neck piece around the man's bulbous head. Again, he simply laughed at his feeble attempt, and gripped his left wrist tightly.
"Tus cuchillos pequeños no puedo ayudarte, mamoncete," he chided as he snapped Castle's wrist. The operator cried out in pain and released the blade, letting it clatter onto the floor. The cry then turned into a growl, and Castle continued his struggle, kicking and wriggling in the man's hold.
A saw table near the wall caught the cartel member's eye, and he hauled the crazed contractor towards it, a sinister grin spreading across his lips. With a push of a green button, the saw buzzed to life, making Castle still in horror at the realization of the thug's intentions. The man gripped his wrists in one hand and held the back of Castle's head in the other, then began forcing him head-first toward the whirring blade. Castle gritted his teeth and fought with all his strength against the immense force pushing down on him. Sparks flew as his mask made contact with the saw, and the screeching of metal-on-metal made his screams almost inaudible.
P.I. slowly and clumsily got to his feet. His head throbbed with an excruciating rhythm, and the familiar metallic tang of blood flooded his mouth from the crimson stream dripping from his nose. A harsh, jarring sound assaulted his ears, which did nothing to soothe the jabbing pain in his skull. When his vision cleared enough, he realized where the noise was coming from. The armored cartel member that nearly knocked his head off was forcing his partner's face onto a table saw. With gritted teeth, he stumbled forward, maladroitly fingered an axe into his grip. The end of the axe fell to the ground with a loud clang as the disoriented man lazily drug it off of the the tool table, but the whirring saw made it inaudible to the cartel member.
P.I. stumbled forward, trawling the head of the axe across the concrete floor as he made his way toward the thug. When he came close enough to the gangster's back, he gripped the throat of the handle tightly in both hands and, with a scream, he plunged the tip into the thug's helmet and dragged him off of his partner. The unexpected pull caused the cartel member to lose his balance as well as his helmet, and he fell to the floor with a thump, dazed and confused. P.I. placed a boot over the helmet and ripped out the axe. Without hesitation, he once again swung the axe into the air and plunged in deep into the exposed flesh of the gangster's head, making a sickening crunch. Out of adrenalin and hysteria, he repeatedly hacked at the corpse, screaming with each collision of metal on bone. After the sixth swing, he began to calm down. With a shaky breath, he peered up to find Castle rigid, watching the scene with dread. Though his mask was down, P.I. could still see the horror in his eyes. He looked back down at his bloodied axe and hands, then let the weapon clatter to the floor.
Castle slowly lifted his mask and stepped around the bloody mess that was once a person toward his partner.
"You're okay," he gently reassured, pulling the other into an embrace. "You're okay."
P.I. didn't hug his back, nor did he resist. He just stood there, grateful for someone to hold him up and the familiar scent of his friend that blocked out the encroaching smell of death that began to flood the room. Castle pulled back and held the other's face in his hands.
"You need to get cleaned up, okay?" he said, smearing some of the splattered blood from his partner's cheek. P.I. looked up at him confusedly, then nodded and followed him to the unfinished kitchen of the home. There, Castle sat him down on the dusty counter top and relieved him of his ruined shirt, then tossed it aside. He turned the knobs of the kitchen sink and was relieved to find the water running. Ripping the left sleeve from his shirt, Castle ran the fabric under the cool water trickling from the faucet, then returned to his partner who stared blankly at his bloodied palms. Castle held his cheek with one hand, and with the other gently cleansed his face of brain matter and blood. P.I. closed his eyes, the cool feeling of the water against his face snapping him back to reality.
"That fucker break my nose?" he muttered. "Hurts like a bitch."
"Don't think so," Castle answered, dabbing the cloth over the bridge of P.I.'s nose. "He fucked up your eyebrow pretty bad though. Let me fix you up."
Castle retrieved the bandages from his pack as well as the last clean shirt he carried, then returned to to his partner, where he began mending his slashed brow.
"Never killed like that before, Wally."
"I know," Castle replied. "It's okay."
"He was... He was gonna... I had to."
"I know. You saved me, P. You did good."
"These guys are crazy," P.I. breathed. "They're crazy. They want to kill us. They like killin' us. I had to, Wally."
"Hey, hey," Castle said, holding the other's face. "You don't have to feel bad about that. They attacked us. They were asking for it. It's us against them, and you won. That simple. Don't you dare feel guilty."
"I don't feel bad," P.I. murmured. "I liked it.
Castle looked at him quizzically, not expecting that particular response.
"I liked it, Wally," he continued. "It felt good to drive that axe into that fucker's head. There's something wrong with me, Wally. I'm... I'm just like 'em."
"No, no, no," Castle argued, burying P.I.'s face into the crook of his neck. "You're nothing like them. You had to. You had to to save me."
He began to feel the other's spine shudder under his palm, and his shirt began to dampen.
"It's just us," Castle continued. "That's what matters. We're okay. We're okay thanks to you. You got me?"
He felt his partner's face nod against him and a weak smile spread across his lips. P.I. pulled away and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.
"You tell anyone I cried," he said, sniffling his nose. "And I'll fuck you up."
Castle chuckled and patted his shoulder. "Yeah, okay. My lips are sealed. I'm gonna get your gear, okay?"
P.I. once again wiped his eyes and nodded. The other made his way across the room where his partner's equipment laid strewn across the floor, as well as the bodies of mutilated cartel members. He scooped up the other's vest, gun, and mask, then approached the larger corpse near the table saw. Castle looked down at the bloodied mass that was once a face with disgust and crouched down beside it. He gripped tightly to the balanced blade jutting out of the corpse's shoulder pad and ripped it out, then picked up the one lying on the floor where he dropped it when the thug had fractured his wrist.
He examined the joint, which now began turning a dark hue, and sighed in frustration. This was going to complicate things. Hopefully, if they got to Salem and the others they could mend his wrist, but right now P.I. was his main concern.
After picking up more weapons and ammunition from the fallen gangsters, he turned his attention toward the armored vehicle lodged into the unfinished home. It most likely would still run, and along with not having to trudge through the sand, the SUV would provide better cover and protection for him and his partner.
He returned to the kitchen, where P.I. remained seated on the counter top, and laid his items next to him.
"After you're ready, let's check out that car," Castle said. "If we could get it out and running, that'd save us a lot of time and energy."
"Sounds like a plan," P.I. replied as he slipped on the clean shirt and began applying his gear. He snapped the buckles of his mask together and threw his machine gun over his back. The two returned to the center room of the home where the SUV sat jutting out of the wall.
"I'll drive," Castle stated, hopping into the driver's seat. "You push."
"Whatever you say," P.I. answered as he placed his hands on the grill of the vehicle. "Oh and Wally, dear? Make sure it's in reverse."
Castle rolled his eyes, and turned the key, making the engine roar to life. He put the SUV in reverse and pushed his boot down on the gas pedal. The car jerked and fought against the debris underneath it, but eventually got free of the rubble and fell out onto the sandy ground. P.I. pumped his fist in victory and laughed, then ran over to hop into the passenger seat.
"This is more like it!" he exclaimed happily.
"Yeah," Castle agreed. "Let's get Cordova and get the fuck outta here."
"Holy Mary, Mother of God!" P.I. shouted with a grin. "Thank you Jesus, we have A/C!"
