Note: I don't own Four Brother or I Coulda Been a Contender by The Gaslight Anthem

Chapter 21

There's a dirty wind blowing

There's a storm front coming

Jack always hated storms. The crashing thunder and flashing lightning made him think of a terrible fight, fists flying in every direction, blocking out the light in bursts of fury, descending upon him like a hail of bullets.

The weird thing was that even though he knew it was a memory, he never could remember the actual event he flashed back to whenever a storm took him by surprise. He couldn't even tell how old he was – just that he felt very small. All he saw were fists, no faces. Everything was backlit, like he was huddled in the dark corner of a room, maybe a closet, trying to avoid the brunt of the attack.

He tried to steady his breathing, he could feel Bobby's eyes on him, could tell he was watching him as he drove. Jack wanted to yell at him to keep his eyes on the fucking road, not on him, but it was hard to talk as he fought to keep from hyperventilating. It hadn't been this bad in a long time, not by a long shot, but it felt like the last few months were rolling right over him, wrapped up in those dark clouds, the sheets of rain, and the ominous rumbling.

And because they were in the middle of nowhere, there was no place to stop. Nothing. They'd taken a bathroom break on the side of the road a couple of hours ago, pissing into the wind, sharing a spot with a gopher or two and not much else.

The rain that enveloped them had come out of nowhere; it was like a carwash from hell but Jack was actually kind of glad that it was so hard to see out the window. The way their luck was going, a tornado was probably headed straight for them, ready to sweep them up and then drop a fucking house on them. He'd rather just not see that one coming.

XxXxXxXxXx

Remy kicked off her shoes as she fell back onto the unmade bed, a sigh escaping her throat as she settled back against the pillows, ready to sleep for a month. It had been a long couple of days. Between Bobby's return, having to shoot a bad guy in the head, and her roommate entertaining what looked like half the Chicago Bears football team in their apartment, Remy needed a vacation – shit, she'd fucking earned one. She didn't hesitate for a second when Tim suggested she beat it for a couple of days, unplug her phone and disappear.

She'd had great plans for that first night off in what felt like a year – a long soak in a bubble bath, a romance novel she'd put down months ago and had yet to finish, a couple of bottles of red wine, some soulful tunes on her iPod and the world could disappear for an hour or twenty.

Those plans were pretty much toast when she got home and found her roommate entertaining a couple of guys. Things seemed tame at the moment, but she wasn't stupid. Anne may look all sweet and innocent, but anyone who could take their clothes off like she could was well practiced in the art of taking them off more places than just a stage.

She was so tired of the revolving door of strippers she shared rent with. She did it as a favor to Bobby, of course. Girl came to town, got a job at the club, no place to stay – hey, Remy's got a free room. Yet another thing the jackass owed her for. She mentally added it to her list – it was a long list and getting longer by the second. At this rate, she was going to be joined at the hip with Bobby Mercer in the afterlife as he spent all eternity making up for all the shit he kept dumping on her.

She looked up at the ceiling and grimaced. Sticking out her tongue, she flipped the bird, pretending it was Bobby staring down at her from the mirror above the bed. She knew he'd lied when he told her he was getting rid of it. Tacky as hell.

Shifting slightly, the bed started to rock and ripple and she threw her arms out to steady herself. She'd forgotten about the waterbed. Well, truthfully, the few times she'd been in Bobby's apartment, she'd been too preoccupied to care if the mattress made it feel like they were on the deck of the Titanic.

She honestly hadn't planned on breaking into Bobby's apartment – though it wasn't technically breaking in since she had a key – until Anne offered up bachelor number two for her amusement that night. A quick "no thanks" and she haphazardly packed an overnight bag and beat a hasty retreat out of her apartment before the lights were dimmed, the music turned up and things got hot and heavy.

The light outside the window was fading and she realized she hadn't had anything for dinner. Bobby being Bobby, she figured there wasn't shit-all in the place to eat or drink and she was going to have to settle for delivery. She would have to go grocery shopping in the morning, which meant she was going to have to pass on the wine part of her plans, but there was no way in hell she was going to miss out on the bubble bath. Plus, despite the leopard print couches and the mirrored ceiling and the tacky everything else, Bobby's bachelor pad did have one thing that she coveted more than anything in this world – a huge-ass bathtub, complete with Jacuzzi jets and a built in stereo with surround sound.

Pushing herself off the waterbed, she stood, wobbling slightly as she got her balance. She grabbed her bag and headed for the bathroom, humming a Journey tune softly and grinning. A scheme was forming in her mind – she could spend her mini vacation in the apartment and start to plot the redecorating the place desperately needed. Bobby would flip out on her, she knew that, but that only served to sweeten the deal. Anything that made his face turn that shade of dark red that always threatened to send her into a fit of giggles had to be worthwhile. Maybe this whole vacation thing was going to turn out better than she thought.

XxXxXxXxXx

Angel nodded. He realized a long time ago that nodding was easier than actually listening. Sofi grinned at him as she rattled on into the phone she was holding up to her ear and he figured it was the answer she was looking for. It was always the answer she was looking for.

Man, he was bored out of his fucking mind. All he did was make a joke - one little, harmless, kind of funny joke about eloping and she'd flipped a bitch on him and screamed herself silly. He was beginning to think a year out of the Marines was making him soft, taking away his edge. He'd had fucking machine guns fired at him, his life in constant danger, and he'd rarely broken a sweat. Throw one angry fiancée at him and he crumbled like a goddamn china cup under the hoof of a charging bull.

So, take the joke, throw in her whacked out reaction, his inability to stand his ground, and now he was forced to sit in on every teeny tiny decision she made about the wedding to prove his love for her. Every damn one of them. He didn't give a shit about flowers. He couldn't care less about table linens. And who would even notice if every chair got a satin bow tied to it? Shit, what they should do was hang a little noose off the back of each chair. That would be funny as hell.

And don't even get him started on the damn colors. Pink was pink was pink. Didn't fucking matter if you called it primrose, blush, or magenta – it was still fucking pink and he still possessed a pair of balls so he didn't care if the whole damn place was bathed in the color as long as she ordered the right brand of beer, played some Marvin during the reception, and gave him a memorable night after the whole stupid affair was said and done. He was an easy man to please.

She was looking at him again as she hung up the phone, an expectant look in her eyes. Realizing she was waiting for something, probably an answer to a question that had come at such a rapid fire pace that he wouldn't have had any hope in deciphering it even if he had been paying attention, he nodded and she held out her hand, palm up.

"Um …" he started, confused and her eyes narrowed. Fuck. She knew he was zoning out and not "invested" in the menu planning that currently had her tied to the phone as she discussed it with her sister.

"Your keys," she said, her jaw clenching.

He dug into his pocket, pulling out the key ring that used to belong to his mother. He'd somehow wound up the proud owner of her minivan after they realized the cops had it impounded following the shooting. It wasn't exactly the pimped out car he always pictured himself in, but it sure as hell beat the city bus that on a good day smelled like piss and vomit.

"Baby, it's getting late," he protested as he handed over the keys. It was starting to get dark out and all he wanted to do was relax and enjoy a cold beer and watch a movie or something. Anything but wedding planning.

"I already told you, we're going to Beverly's tonight to start work on bridal favors." Her bottom lip jutted out and he sank lower in his seat.

"But, baby …"

"Don't 'but, baby' me. We have an agreement. ¿ Sí? You said you were going to take an interest. You said you were going to help." She got up from the couch and stood over him, one hand on her hip, the other pointing a finger in his face. He tried to sink back further into the cushions, but the wood frame was digging into his back and he had no where else to go. "You are full of mierda, you know that? Mi hermana, Isabella, said not to trust you. That you lied about the Marines and that once a liar always a liar."

"I'm not lying," he said carefully and looked around as discreetly as he could for something to latch onto as an excuse. The phone was sitting on the end table next to him and he picked up the receiver. "Bobby and Jack," he said, pointing to the phone. "They're supposed to call. Any minute now. I'd love to go with you, but I need to take this call."

"Of course, your stupid brother. I should have known." Perhaps bringing up Bobby wasn't the best idea. Any mention of him only ever served to make her angrier, but at least she seemed to be buying it.

She crossed her arms, the keys she was holding banging against her hip as she chewed on her bottom lip. "That little bastard is always ruining everything." She sounded defeated and Angel felt guilt creep up on him. So he lied. Didn't mean Bobby wasn't going to call tonight, just that he didn't know that for sure. Someone had to be here to take it and pass along the information they gathered, which pretty much amounted to jack shit.

Standing up, he went to her and wrapped his arms around her, resting his chin on the top of her head. "Baby, I'm really sorry. I'll make it up to you, I swear."

Sofi shifted in his arms, pulling back a little so she could look up at him. "Promise?" she asked softly, her accent almost like a purr.

"Promise," he replied, a grin forming on his lips.

She arched an eyebrow and ran her finger down his chest. "I'm going to hold you to that."

"That's the idea."

XxXxXxXxXx

Lightning flashed through vertical blinds, easily finding gaps in the broken and bent slats. Jack hesitated for a minute, his fingers stilled on the strings of his guitar, the tune halting in the middle of the chorus. He was waiting for it – the thunder – and he silently counted until he heard it, a childish habit he'd picked up from Evelyn who thought it would give him something to focus on during a storm. Something to do besides waiting for the sky to fall down around him. It didn't really help, but it was a habit nonetheless.

Bobby was pacing around the tiny motel room, holding up Jack's cell phone like he was trying to signal the mother ship or something. "Fucking thing is broken," he muttered and Jack sighed.

"There's just no signal," Jack explained for the tenth time.

The lightning had knocked out the power and the phone lines were down too, so the phone in the room was dead. The clerk at the front desk told them not to expect them back anytime soon, that things moved pretty slowly around there and the phone company was slower than molasses in January. Bobby threatened to leave and head back out into the rain and find another place, but Jack just wanted to get the hell out of the storm, lights or no lights.

"What fucking good is this piece of shit if it doesn't work when you need it to?" Bobby bitched. "Goddamn pay phone always works when you need them to. Of course, now that everyone has a fucking cell phone, you can't find a pay phone to save your life."

Jack ignored his brother's latest tirade against the injustices of technology and returned his attention to his guitar and the tune he was working on. Something about the storm finally broke through his barriers, made him need his music again. Well, maybe not break through, but the cracks were at least beginning to show.

He started from the top, singing under his breath as he gently strummed the tune. The quiet and the darkness fit the song, which was a far cry from the loud stuff his band favored. This was an old song, one Evelyn taught him years ago and it always centered him when he needed to block the crap that ran through his brain on nights like this one.

Bobby dropped the phone on the foot of the bed and sank to the floor, his back up against the mattress. He was staring out the window and another flash shot through the room.

As Jack counted, Bobby sighed. "I'm hungry."

The thunder clapped and Jack breathed out the number five. "Uh huh," he muttered, not really listening.

"We got all that food." The rain was steady on the roof and it seemed like that clap of thunder signaled for it to come down even harder.

"Yep."

"In the trunk."

"Yep."

"Fuck." Bobby leaned his head back, staring at the ceiling. "There's a bar down the street. Their lights were on. Probably got a generator."

"Yeah?" Jack put his guitar down and fished a cigarette out of the pack he had on the end table. Bobby narrowed his eyes at the cigarette but didn't say anything as Jack lit it.

Pulling himself up off the floor, Bobby groaned as his knees creaked in protest. He grabbed Jack's leather jacket off the other bed and tossed it to him. Pulling on his own coat and smoothing back his hair, he shrugged. "Well, if we're goin' back out in the goddamn rain, might as well get a beer or two while we're at it."

XxXxXxXxXx

Remy couldn't believe it. How could she be so stupid?

You would think that with all those mirrors, she would have noticed someone standing in the room. Would have maybe even seen them before they saw her. But she let her guard down. The bubble bath had relaxed her and clouded her judgment and the 80's mix she had blaring on her iPod distracted her as she bopped around Bobby's apartment in her robe, getting ready to call it a night.

She was in the family room, cleaning up a bit when a piece of paper caught her eye. It was lying on the coffee table, half folded and forgotten. Picking it up, she scanned it, not sure just what she was looking at. Before she had a chance to get a really good look at it, she was grabbed from behind, strong arms wrapping her waist, lifting her up off the ground as she kicked at the air.

She opened her mouth to scream, but a gloved hand was quickly placed over it, blocking her air and making her gag. Reaching up, she tried to dig her nails into his arm which didn't work since he had on a heavy wool coat; and she couldn't reach his face like they taught in the self-defense class she'd taken a couple of years ago. She wanted nothing more than to kick the guy in the nuts and gouge his eyes out, but all she could do was flail about like a scared little girl.

"What the fuck?" A voice sounded from the darkness as a second man stepped out from God knows where, a stack of papers in his hand.

"You want me to take care of this?" the thug who was holding her asked and it felt like ice water was pumped into her veins.

The guy shrugged and then started to walk away, but stopped suddenly. "No, wait." He took a step closer, looking her up and down. "What's she doin' here in the first place? Bet she means something to Mercer."

"Ya think?" the other guy asked and Remy fought to keep from nodding her head to agree with them. She wasn't sure what would keep her alive – meaning something to Bobby or not meaning something to Bobby. Either way she was in deep shit.

The second guy spotted something on the floor and bent down to pick it up. It was the letter she'd found. She must have dropped it when she was grabbed.

"Bitch already did half of our work for us," he laughed as he pocketed the piece of paper. "Shame to kill her just yet. She could prove useful."

XxXxXxXxXx

Bruce Willis was busting heads and not taking any names when the phone rang. Angel muted the television and answered it, expecting it to be Bobby on the other end, calling for an update.

"Is Angel Mercer there?" the voice on the other end said, and Angel gulped down the worry that suddenly knotted in his throat. This was definitely not Bobby.

"Speaking."

"Mr. Mercer, I'm calling from Henry Ford Hospital. I'm afraid there's been an accident."

O

O

O

O

A/N: Sorry this one took so long to write. But look, I gave you guys two cliffhangers! Um ... anyway, lol. Thanks for all the reviews. And a huge hug for everyone at GHMB, you guys are such great friends.