Angel: An SOBs Novel

by Irish Winters

“Absolutely. You name the day and I’ll make it happen, sir.”

  “I just might do that.” President Adams cleared his throat. Papers ruffled and Chance could imagine him signing documents while he chatted. “Chance, it’s been brought to my attention that you have a friend of mine staying with you at the moment. To be honest, I need you to do me a favor.”

  “Already done, sir.”

  “Well, good.” Satisfaction radiated all the way from the East Coast. “Put him on the line. I’d like to talk with him.”

  Chance caught himself before his big mouth asked, ‘Him?’ He offered a clipped, “Yes, sir. I’ll get him for you,” instead of ‘Shit. Not him!’ Covering the mic on his phone, he glared at Kruze. “President Adams wants to talk with his friend, and it’s not Victoria Hex.”

  A bottle rocket went off behind Kruze’s eyes. “Told you JJ was one of the good guys.” It took him less than thirty seconds to bring Julio Juarez to the phone. The damned man suppressed a smile, the jerk!

  “You have friends in high places,” Chance said as he handed his phone over to one of America’s best kept secrets.

  “I do,” Julio said simply. “Mr. President. What may I do for you, sir?”

  The conversation was terse and succinct, no more than one “Yes, sir,” and an “Understood” before he handed the phone back. “President Adams would like to talk with you, Chief Sinclair.”

  Umm, okay… “Yes, sir,” Chance said, his voice gone hoarse while his brain tried to connect the dots. What kind of work did Julio do that the President of the United States would be personally involved? Shit, was he CIA? Something darker, blacker than the SOBs?

  “Chance, it’s been a pleasure and an honor to finally talk with you. Agent Juarez has my permission to share several items of interest. Could you make him comfortable until my men arrive to escort him back to work?”

  “Yes, sir, I can do that.”

  “And Chance,” President Adams’ tone dipped low. “I was sure sorry to hear about your mother passing away. I had the privilege of working with Scarlett during my re-election campaign, and not a day went by that she didn’t make me look good. Everyone loved her. You three boys were the brightest lights in her life. She was proud of each of you, but it was clear that you were her favorite. I hope you know that.”

  A knot wound around Chance’s throat so tightly he could barely speak, “Yes, sir. I do know that.” I always knew that.

  “I’ll be seeing you.” And just like that, the President of the United States was gone.

  Chance turned on Agent Juarez, now rubbing his uncuffed wrists. “You bastard. You’re CIA?” He nearly said ‘too’, but that would’ve outed Victoria Hex, and right then, Chance wasn’t sure who knew what about who.

  Julio extended a hand and a humble nod. “Special Agent Julio Juarez at your service, Chief Sinclair, and yes, I’m like you. For the last couple of years, I’ve been assigned to an operation no one outside the Oval Office is privy to.” Lifting a clenched hand to his mouth, he cleared his throat. “May I please have a drink of water? It’s been a long day.”

  Chance leveled a shrewd eye at the man. “Do you know…?”

  “Miss Hex?” Julio asked, a quiet sparkle in his dark eyes. “Yes, but it’d sure be nice if we discussed this somewhere” —he scrubbed his palms up and down his biceps— “warmer.”

  “You bet.” Chance wanted to bat the I-told-you-so grin off Kruze’s smug face. “Let’s head upstairs.”

  Julio offered his fists. “Put me back in cuffs first. I cannot break cover.”

  “We can do that,” Kruse offered. “Shall I bring Vicki?”

  So now it’s Vicki, huh? You dog. “Yes, bring her, but keep her cuffed,” Chance muttered. “And stop drooling on her.”

  Kruze’s cheeks flushed bright red. “I’m not drooling on her.”

  “Yes. You were,” Julio said evenly, his voice stern.

  Damned if Kruze didn’t turn redder.

  Chance double-checked Zapata’s cell to make sure he wasn’t going anywhere, then told Gallo to, “Guard.” His dog jumped to his feet, growling at the man in the cage.

  This had turned into one hell of an interesting day.

  Chapter Fifty

  “May I get you another cup of coffee?” Suede asked her two unexpected guests.

  Julio lifted a palm in denial, but Miss Hex tilted forward, her cup extended. “Yes, please.”

  Despite her shaking hands, Suede poured a full cup without spilling a drop. Never in a million years had she believed she’d be sitting here with two of the most lethal people on the planet, well, aside from Chance and his brothers.

  Miss Hex was as badassed as Chance, only in a skin-tight, black leather kind of way. She was a sleeker version of Cat Woman without the psychosis. Vivacious. She must really enjoy her job.

  For now, the group sitting around the coffee table in Chance’s living room seemed oddly comfortable. Miss Hex and Julio had removed their jackets. Kruze had re-bandaged her wounded right hand, but she assured Chance her fingers still worked. She’d be okay. He didn’t look like he believed her.

  Thank goodness Domingo Zapata wasn’t here. That would’ve been too, too much.

  “We knew Mick Tennyson worked with Patrone and the Rio Boys, but York and Zapata?” Chance shook his head. “Didn’t see that one coming.” He still needed to talk with Suede about her connection with Zapata, though. Another thing he hadn’t seen coming.

  “Zapata’s been tight with York several years now, but that wasn’t why he was in Portland.” Julio was incredibly soft-spoken, but the steel in his voice was hard to miss. As an undercover operative in a Colombian cartel, he had to have seen and done things Suede could never imagine.

  Miss Hex took a tiny sip of coffee. “You boys threw us a curveball when York went missing. That really pissed off Patrone and Gonzales, though I doubt they knew you were behind the end of their glorious plan for the Pacific Northwest.”

  “Glad we could help,” Chance said simply. His palm settled over Suede’s kneecap. She had no business sitting in on a high-powered meeting like this, but he’d said yes, and Julio had agreed, so here she was. Trying to be helpful and ready to serve. Refreshments. Only refreshments.

  “Why’d Zapata take out the Port Commissioners?” Kruze asked.

  Julio offered a nod to Suede as he replied, “Patrone ordered him to ramp up the heat. Things unraveled fast for Mick, Miss Tennyson. By the time he saw the video on national TV, he already had ten dead commissioners on his hands, a murdered wife, and a missing daughter who’d made him look bad.”

  “We’re certain the missus was murdered?” Kruze asked.

  Julio nodded, his dark eyes boring into Suede. “I’m sorry, Miss Tennyson, but yes. She was strangled before she hit the water.”

  Suede blinked at this graphic news, feeling the first hint of grief, and something else, for her mother. They finally had something in common. They’d both been murdered. “That means Mitchell Franks is still alive.” Her pulse skyrocketing.

  Chance’s hand smoothed over her kneecap as if he’d read her mind. “Not for long, Suede. Not for long.”

  “But do you know where he is?” She had to know. “Right now? How do you know he’s not coming here?” For me?

  “Because McQueen’s office is working on locating him. Pagan will help, too. He’s good with computers. You’ll see. We’ll get Franks before you know it.”

  “I’ll always help you, sister,” Pagan’s voice rose behind her from the far left hallway. She knew he’d been shot, but he’d refused to let her bandage his wound, which was kind of funny since he’d bandaged her butt. His hair was still wet from his shower, and he looked tired. But he also looked mean. His eyes held hers captive for one long minute before he said, “No one’s getting to you. No one.”

  That promise should’ve calmed her nerves, but she knew Mitchell Franks, and just thinking about how he knew her made her skin crawl.

  “Come sit down, Baby Brother,�
�� Kruze offered cheerfully.

  That merited a dark scowl. Pagan shot a middle finger at his brother. “I’d rather stand, smartass.”

  “I thought Tennyson was in league with Patrone, not Zapata,” Chance said.

  “No one who sells their soul to the devil wins,” Julio murmured. “Viktor never cared what Tennyson wanted. He used Tennyson to get a toehold in the States, and he used Zapata to get intel from York. Patrone’s goal was always the river and the wider markets he could reach.”

  “Tennyson will go away for a long time, possibly Leavenworth,” Kruze offered.

  Julio shook his head. “No, he won’t. If he does any time at all, it won’t be in the federal correction system. He wouldn’t last a day. Patrone has too many men inside.”

  “Guantanamo?” Chance asked.

  “Too warm,” Julio answered, not meeting Chance’s eye. But that was enough of a clue.

  Ah, so Tennyson would end up in the top-secret installation on that little frozen island in the Arctic Ocean, north of Deadhorse, Alaska, then. Chance didn’t voice his suspicion, but it made sense. Other men as ruthless as Tennyson were already housed in the top-secret facility. Had been since World War II.

  “So why’d you ring out?” Chance asked. “Why not go all the way in Coronado? It’s obvious you’re a patriot. Why didn’t you stick it out and become a SEAL?”

  “I made it three days into Hell Week when they called,” Julio said quietly. “Patrone had kidnapped my wife and baby son. He wanted an inside man working for Gonzales, and because of my heritage—my father is from Colombia—he wanted me. He said Gonzales would never suspect a loser like me, that my familia would be safe as long as I cooperated and didn’t go to my CO or the police. He wanted me in Colombia right away to begin my new life.” Julio snorted. “That’s what he called it, my new life.”

  “So you went to your CO and he contacted the CIA” —Chance waved his hand in a circle— “or someone, and you went to your new job as an undercover agent for a drug lord.”

  Julio murmured, “Something like that.”

  Suede couldn’t stand the suspense. She didn’t care if Julio worked for the CIA or the Pope. “Are they okay? Your family? Your baby boy?” Please say yes.

  Intense brown eyes met hers across the coffee table. “Yes, ma’am, they are now,” Julio said softly. “Zapata held them captive until last week, but he doesn’t have them now.”

  “Zapata had them?” She wanted to cry. “All this time?” God, no.

  Julio nodded. “He had some woman watch over them when he was away, but yes. They’ve been confined in his house all this time.”

  Suede leaned forward, wringing her hands, afraid to think what Zapata had done to them. “I’m so sorry.”

  Julio’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t be. They’re going to be okay.”

  Somehow, Suede couldn’t believe that. No one who’d ever met Domingo Zapata was ever okay afterward.

  “Which is why you didn’t leave with Benito Garcia. You’re not going back to Colombia, are you?”

  Julio said nothing, just stared at Chance, unblinking.

  “That’s... that’s years, Julio,” Kruze sputtered. “Fuck!”

  Julio’s lips pursed before he said, “Five long years, brother.”

  “Why didn’t you contact me?” Kruze’s anguish was palpable. “I would’ve helped. My brothers and I would’ve stormed heaven and—”

  “Because I didn’t know where they were, my friend,” Julio interrupted, “but now I do. Don’t worry. They are well. I am going home to them soon.”

  Kruze shoved back in his seat. “Jesus H. Christ, JJ. I didn’t know. I’m sorry. All this time I thought… Shit, I didn’t know.”

  Suede brushed a quick hand over her face, trying to hide her tears. “I’m sorry too,” she murmured. But damn. That number five kept coming up like a bad penny. She’d only been with York four years. He couldn’t have been behind all this turmoil in her life, not back then, could he?

  Julio gave her a tired smile. “We all have our burdens to share, ma’am. It’s over.”

  “Can I ever meet them? Your family?” She blinked, her weepy eyes not cooperative.

  “Perhaps someday. I think Bianca would like very much to talk to you.”

  Chance shook his head, then turned to the feisty dominatrix-turned-kitten at his left. “Why’d you shoot Pagan?”

  She turned to Baby Brother then, her lips soft and the cocky, mean-girl light in her eyes gone. “I am sorry,” she told him, her voice dripping with sincerity, “but Julio was so close to capturing Zapata, and I knew how much that meant to him. I had to draw your brother to you before he tangled with Zapata.”

  “So you shot my ass?” Pagan bit out.

  “It is a very nice ass,” she offered, and wasn’t that interesting? Something shimmered in her big brown eyes that looked oddly like—compassion? Suede brushed that errant notion out of her head.

  So apparently, did Pagan. He stuck his chin out at Miss Hex and told her, “Yeah, right. You’re a cold-blooded piece of work.”

  “You took one helluva chance. You nearly got Suede killed,” Chance growled.

  “It was a risk I had to take,” Miss Hex said as her eyes scrolled from a surly Pagan to Suede. “I truly hoped you were still recuperating from what York did to you. I didn’t expect you to be so mobile so” —she tossed her head— “soon.”

  “A risk you took?” Suede asked. “You’re mighty free with everyone else’s lives, aren’t you, Miss Hex?”

  “Please. Call me Vicki.” That will be a cold day in hell. “What choice did I have? I had to give Julio time to take care of Zapata. As it was, I nearly arrived too late. Chance could’ve killed them both.”

  “I would have, too,” Chance muttered.

  “Guys,” Kruze interrupted. “Back off. She did what she thought was best at the time for the mission. We all make choices and trade-offs. It’s the business we’re in.”

  Suede had more to say on that subject, but Chance’s grip on her arm tightened, so she let it go until later. But she did notice Kruze’s eyes rarely strayed from Miss Hex. Interestingly, she had yet to flirt with him, but she couldn’t seem to keep her eyes off—Pagan?

  “Why were you looking for Zapata?” Kruze asked Miss Know-It-All Hex with her killer bod, her forever-wet lips, and her smudged, sexy eyes.

  “For Bianca and Tomas, that is why. Patrone sent Zapata to steal them from Julio. To Domingo, it was just a job and a game, but to me” —she broke eye contact with Kruze to toast Julio with what was left of her coffee— “familia is everything. The minute Domingo touched Bianca and Tomas, he sealed his death.”

  “You and Julio knew each other before,” Chance said, not asked.

  “You could say that. Julio is my brother,” she answered with pride and a toss of her glossy black hair as she shot Pagan another coy look.

  Suede nearly laughed at the games Miss Hex played. Poor Pagan didn’t have a clue.

  “We are in the same family business, of sorts. We love our country, but we choose to love it from afar. For now, that is where we are the most effective. That is also why you must never divulge a word you’ve heard here today. No one must know we are related.”

  Suede looked closer then. They had the same shaped eyes, though his brows were thicker, and her eyes were a dark blue instead of brown. Everything about Julio seemed sadder, which was understandable. But knowing Miss Hex had her brother’s interests at heart all along changed Suede’s opinion. Maybe she was okay.

  “Are you going to kill him?” Pagan asked. “Zapata?”

  “No. He goes to South America with me,” Julio told him, his gaze on his sister. “I have one more little job, and then I am done, Vicki. The Presidente of Colombia has an army set to raid the Gonzales compound outside Cartagena today, another positioned to take down Patrone in Bogotá at the same time. It will be a bloody fight, but by the end of the week, only smoke and ashes will be left of those two kingdoms. I’ll be free.
”

  Suede stared at Julio, knowing in her heart that Julio’s last little job was to kill the man who’d terrorized his family for five long years.

  Chance lifted his cup. “Here’s to good men everywhere, though they ring the bell or not.”

  Julio’s lips pursed as he nodded to Chance. “It has been a long journey.”

  Suede caught the drift. “I’ll never see you again, will I?”

  Wrapping one big arm around her, Chance tugged her into his side. “He can neither confirm nor deny, Suede. Just be glad you met him.”

  She stared at Julio through a sudden veil of tears, swallowing hard at all that he and his family had suffered. This one tiny thing she and he had in common—their suffering—had turned him into another brother. “Thank you. I mean it, really. Thank you so much.”

  “No, Suede Tennyson. Thank you.” He winked, but the man was not prone to smile. He hadn’t yet, and she suspected it would be a long time before he did.

  Chance cleared his throat. “You never said, JJ. Why was Zapata in Portland? Who besides York and Patrone is he working for? Who exactly is El Jefe?”

  Julio stared back at Chance for a long minute as if choosing his next words carefully. “Mitchell Franks.”

  “Mitch?” hissed out of Suede’s mouth before she could stop it. “Mom’s personal assistant? That Mitchell Franks?”

  Chance’s grip tightened on her shoulder to keep her from jumping to her feet. OhmyGodohmyGod,ohmyGod,ohmyGodohmyGod. “Zapata was undercover for Patrone, but working for Franks at the same time?”

  “The bastard,” Kruze hissed.

  Which one? Suede thought, shaken to her core. They’re all bastards.

  “Patrone is very sly in his business dealings, but Mitchell Franks is” —Julio looked at Suede as if he knew precisely what Mitch had done to her all those years ago— “evil.”

  Her heart thundered. It was as if Franks was in her bedroom assaulting her again. How many times would he have his way with her? Would these awful flashbacks never end?

  Chance leaned forward, his hands on his knees. “Is worse or was worse? He’s dead, right?”