Josephus was everything Berfende was not. His complexion was smooth, but sallow. He had tiny pig-eyes, was heavier, paunchy, and he couldn’t seem to hold still. His fingers rolled into fists then splayed like they were hurting. Maybe he had arthritis. Kruze hoped they hurt like sons of bitches. “Sorry, General, but—”
“General Berfende! Not just general! Where is she? I was told you’d have her collared and leashed by the time I arrived.”
Kee-rist! The need to put a fist in this guy’s pretentious face was strong. Instead, Kruze rolled his shoulder and let discretion rule—for now. “Yes, of course, General Berfende. My apologies. You’re right. I should’ve had Ms. Banks on her knees by now, but Mr. Lantz thought it’d be better if I took you to her. As far as the hovercraft you came in on, I’ve made arrangements for a helicopter to take you back to New York. It’ll be quicker. I figured you’d want to leave as soon as you had Banks. Right this way.”
He gestured toward the basalt columns hidden by the forest, knowing full well Berfende couldn’t see beyond the wall of trees. There was no helicopter, and the only way these two asshats were leaving Maine was in body bags. Or not. Bears were hungry scavengers. They needed a snack.
Berfende’s chin came up, his nose with it. For the time being he was mollified. Kruze walked at his side until they were deep in the forest. He circumvented Vick’s location, knowing Chance was either already there, or soon would be.
As they walked, Berfende and Josephus talked to each other in their language, one Kruze didn’t understand well enough to know what they were saying. He kept both men to his right, opposite his injured side. He didn’t need them noticing any blood that might be leaking. So far, the antibiotic hadn’t done squat, and Kruze worried. Black shadows dogged at his peripheral now, and every step grew harder and heavier. His body ached, and it wouldn’t be long before he stumbled or fell. He needed this job done.
Pagan should’ve gotten Bree out of that cave by now. If everything went as planned, they might already be at his place. Pagan would make sure she ate and rested. She might already be taking a warm shower. But if things hadn’t gone smoothly…?
Kruze shook that possibility off. He refused to second guess the simple task Pagan had been given. He trusted his brothers. The Sin Boys were Sullivan’s right-hand men for a reason.
But not knowing for sure she was taken care of, was hard. Kruze couldn’t bear the thought of losing her. That would kill him. Swallowing the knot in his throat, Kruze aimed for the basalt wall, listening to Josephus’ and Berfende’s boots squish while they plotted and schemed. Kruze was sure they were talking about him, that they planned to kill him.
Let them try.
After a solid hour of hiking, they arrived at the bottom of the wall. It was an awesome natural spectacle. As expected, Berfende’s hands went to his hips, and his head tipped back as he glared all the way up those fantastic, basalt columns. Which looked more like black turrets, now that Kruze thought about it. Basalt turrets guarding a basalt castle wherein a fairy princess lived, guarded by her brave and loyal golden dragon. Maybe dragons. And what the hell?
Kruze wiped his sweaty forehead and doused yet another trip down fuckin’ fairytale lane. He seemed to think foolish stuff like that whenever Bree came to mind. She was definitely the princess he’d once accused her of being, but he was no white knight, and there was no golden dragon. Only an ugly job that needed to be done before he could see her pretty face again.
“What is this?” Berfende demanded haughtily, gesturing at the basalt.
Lifting his head, Kruze let his gaze wander to the top of the wall. It seemed a helluva lot higher now, but it was only a hundred feet or so. Maybe less. Straight up, yeah, but not a mountain by any means. Just a wicked outcropping of razor-sharp basalt in the middle of nowhere, that ran for miles to his left and followed the river at his right. Unless you wanted to walk for days, the only way out was up.
“See that dead tree all the way up there, General Berfende?” Kruze leaned into the prickly guy and pointed to the top and to his right. “I stashed Banks in a cave right below that tree. Don’t worry. She’s tied up, not going anywhere. Plus, that cave’s close to the top where the helicopter’s wait—”
SMACK! Berfende slapped Kruze across the face. “You idiot! How do you expect me to get to her now? I will have you hung!”
First, I’m gonna be burned alive. Now hung. Make up your gawddamned mind.
Rolling his shoulder to shake off that slap, Kruze bit back his anger. “I secured her where bears couldn’t get at her, sir.”
“B-bears?” Josephus croaked from Berfende’s other side.
Kruze nodded, his cheek hot, his rage barely under control, but sticking to the plan. “Yeah. Grizzly and Black Bears prowl this forest. I’m surprised we haven’t encountered one yet. They’re done hibernating, and they’re hungry as hell. But they can’t climb this kind of rock. It’s too sharp, and it hurts the pads of their feet. Lantz didn’t warn you about bears in Maine?” Kruze rubbed his chin. “Bet he didn’t tell you about mountain lions, wolves, or jackalopes in these woods either, did he?”
Kruze couldn’t resist throwing in that last threat. Jackalopes were a taxidermy scam that put antelope horns on jackrabbits. Greenhorns were easily fooled.
Berfende scoffed as if he were tougher than any animal. Josephus’s face, on the other hand, had gone white. He was having trouble breathing, was nearly apoplectic.
Kruze put a hand to the guy’s shoulder and asked, “You okay?”
Josephus pulled an inhaler out of his jacket pocket and took a couple puffs. “Yes. Yes. I am g-g-good.”
Didn’t sound like it. Kruze forgot about him when his earpiece whispered to life. “Bree is now secure,” Pagan reported. “You doing okay, brother?”
Kruze tapped his earpiece twice, signaling affirmative, and damned glad she was out of danger.
“Copy that. Don’t take all day. This woman misses you. She’s up in your bedroom, taking a shower. I told her I’d have you on the line by the time she was done.”
“What are you smiling at, you imbecile?” Berfende shrieked.
Kruze let his lungs fill with the sublime knowledge that the woman he loved was out of harm’s way, before he lied and said, “I’m thinking what you’ll say when you finally have what you came here for, General Berfende.” And you are so going to get everything you asked for.
“But… but how…?” Josephus gestured at the wall even as his eyes darted into the trees behind them. He was looking for bears now. Well, good. Let him look for jackalopes, too.
It was time to tweak the general again. “No worries,” Kruze exclaimed. “If you guys can’t climb, I’ll just hurry up there and drop her down. The fall will probably kill her, but I’m guessing that’s what you wanted, right?” He shrugged as if killing women made no difference to him.
“No!” Berfende turned that one syllable word into lightning. His thick, dark brows clashed into one hell of a unibrow. “You must not harm her! She is to be my queen, you imbecile. My one and only queen. I have great things in store for Brianna Banks. How hard can it be? If you did it, so can we. Come, Josephus. We are men. We will climb this little pile of rocks.”
“But General,” he whined. “I am not as fit as you—”
Berfende turned on his unwilling accomplice and bellowed, “We. Will. Climb. If this American infidel can, so can we. We are warriors. Besides…” His eyes slithered up that wall like snakes on black ice. “She must only cower to me, not this American pig. Where is the collar?” Without looking, he extended a hand to Josephus.
A wave of dizzying spots swarmed Kruze. He had to slap a palm onto the smooth basalt wall before he fell over. Kee-rist, this wasn’t good. He’d planned to get Berfende and Josephus inside that cave before he ended them. He just wasn’t sure he was strong enough to make the trip up again.
Until Josephus reached inside his neon-yellow jacket and produced another gawdda
mned metal-pronged, studded dog collar and a son of a bitchin’ chain leash. Rage took over then, and Kruze could do anything.
“Ah, yes,” Berfende purred like the bastard he was. “Keep it for me, my friend. Once I conquer my queen, I will bleed her, then you will collar her. She is, after all, just an American dog.”
The grin on Josephus’ face turned salacious, as if he were getting a piece of Bree, too. What the hell did bleeding and collaring a woman really mean?
No fuckin’ way. It was all Kruze could do to keep his expression blank and his hands off his pistols. “You first, General Berfende.” You fuckwit! “Josephus, you’re next. Take it easy.” He covered his mouth and coughed to conceal his disgust. “I’ll follow, but just to make sure you gentlemen don’t slip.”
“Yessss,” Berfende hissed. “Yes, of course. Stay behind. But close. I will have your head if we fall.”
And I will have your ass if you ever lay a hand on Bree! Kruze ran a quick hand over his head, fighting for patience to endure these two fuckers. There was no way they could reach Bree now. But Kee-rist, Kruze wanted to end them so badly, he could taste it. They needed to suffer. Senator Sullivan had said end Berfende with prejudice, and by damn, Kruze meant to follow that order with explicit precision. These vicious bastards had terrorized her and damned near starved her to death. They’d tortured Mehmet, killed him in front of her! By God, at the end of this day, Berfende and Josephus would know they’d messed with the wrong woman. Kruze wanted them out of view for a reason. They’d beg for death by the time he finished with them. Kruze would make damned sure they suffered.
Chance picked that moment to chime in with a quiet, “You need a hand, brother?”
In Sin Boys code, that usually meant he was offering applause. Kruze glanced over his shoulder as Berfende stuck a soggy but pretty boot into a fairly decent foothold and hoisted his rear-end up. Josephus had yet to even touch the wall. He kept fussing he wasn’t good enough to climb “such an extraordinary mountain.”
There stood Chance, hidden in the shadows a few yards away on the deer trail, dressed in black and gray cammies, prepared to assist. Man, he looked good and healthy. Robust. Happy.
Chance was the big brother Kruze had never strived to emulate. Yet Chance had survived a ton of shit in his Navy career, and look at him. Still valiant and as strong as one of those two horses he’d bought Suede. He’d fathered a son, for the love of God. He had everything Kruze wanted. And in his big brotherly way, like it or not, Chance would always be there for him.
For the first time in years, Kruze wanted that assist from his brother, not just a ‘Hands-off. I’ve got it. Let me do things my way.’ He offered the barest nod and dropped one hand to his pant leg long enough to send Chance the okay sign.
Chance came back with a murmured, “You plan on doing this quick and dirty, or are you really going to babysit those bastards all the way up? Sinclair did say end them with prejudice, Kruze. Pagan’s already got Bree. She’s safe. Vick’s right now in chains on an FBI helo out of here, courtesy of Sullivan. Let’s end these bastards together. Finish them and leave what’s left for bears to clean up. It’s time you went home.”
The black basalt wall shimmered, and Kruze looked down at his boots. He was so damned sick and tired, and he loved Bree with every piece of his broken, beat-up heart. But he wanted to be the one who ended Berfende and Josephus. They’d traumatized her. They still planned to torture her. They deserved to die as painfully as Kruze could manage.
Right on cue, his earpiece crackled to life. “Kruze?” Gawddamn, it was Bree. “Come home to me, honey. I need you. Robin and Baby Bean need you, too.”
Baby Bean. Not fair. Pagan shouldn’t have let her do that.
“Sweetheart,” mumbled out of Kruze’s big mouth before he realized what he’d done.
Berfende was maybe ten feet up the stone face by then, but the bastard heard, damn it. “Traitor!” he shrieked. “Who are you talking to?” A tiny, pearl-handled derringer slid into his palm, and—
BLAM! Kruze shot the son of a bitch. A bright red splat blossomed in the center of his forehead. He let go and tumbled backward. In the seconds it took the general’s body to brush past Josephus, he had a Walther PPK in Kruze’s face.
Kruze never blinked, just fired. Trusting muscle memory. Trusting Chance. Trusting God.
But sometimes things didn’t work out like a guy wanted. The kinetic force of Josephus’s round blew Kruze off his feet. He lay there dazed, blinking up at a beautiful blue sky framed by basalt black and green pine boughs. Until Chance leaned over him and spoiled everything.
“There, are you happy now? They’re both dead, but you’re… God, you’re… No!” Chance ripped Vick’s vest off Kruze’s shoulders. His button-up shirt went next, the one he’d worn when he’d met up with Bree at that… that…
Kee-rist, he couldn’t remember where he’d been or why he’d been there. That night seemed so long ago.
The energy pouring off Chance intensified like a flash fire. He’d already secured Berfende and Josephus’ weapons, then slapped his blow-out bag on Kruze’s belly. Chance bellowed at Pagan to, “Send a helo! Need medics! Bring Bree! Help!”
“Not Bree,” Kruze whispered. He was caught in a maelstrom of burning fire. Everywhere he looked, the lovely scenery was turning to ash. Black consumed the pines and the sky. Even the black basalt mountain seemed blacker. “Chance,” he ground out. “Please... D-D-Don’t let her see me like this. She’s been through so much, and I… I can’t lose her, too.”
Chance leaned down, so close they were nose to nose. “That woman loves you, gawddamnit. She deserves to be here when you need her.”
“But I… I…” Kruze was having a hard time focusing. Chance was a blurry mess of grays and blacks, charcoal, and—tears? “I’ve hurt her so much. I can’t… just can’t.” Kruze slapped a floppy hand over his eyes. Every muscle in his body had gone limp and cold. “Don’t let me hurt her again. I’m okay, honest. Just…”
And suddenly Bree was there, in his face and arguing. “Just what, Kruze? Die? Let me and Robin mourn for the rest of our lives because we lost you again? Because you never let us in?”
There was no way Bree could be there. He’d just talked to her. She couldn’t have gotten there that fast. And he had let her in. She was the only one he’d let in since… since…
Kee-rist! Since someone else, damn it. Not like he was anything to cry over, but once, just once, Kruze wanted his damned, messed-up, miserable life to count for something good and wonderful. Like Bree, not the body he’d left behind in Panama, the woman whose name he couldn’t recall at the moment. Not the endless line of women he’d used between then and now, either.
“But sugar, B-B-Bree…”
“Shut the fuck up and live!” Bree had morphed into Chance, and damn. He’d turned into a growling pissed-off beast. “Nothing matters now but you staying alive. Stay with me. You’re going to live, gawddamnit.”
Kruze doubted it, as hard as Chance was pressing on his neck. Felt like Chance had his knee stuck in his carotid artery. Swallowing was difficult. Breathing was impossible. Funny, not-funny thing about the shot Josephus got off. It missed Kruze’s face by… that… much…
But it had hit his neck. And that warm feeling? If his carotid had been hit, it was dark, oxygen-rich blood gushing out of his body like water gushed from a fire hose. Kruze knew the odds. In combat, it’d only take a minute or two to bleed out. If hemorrhagic shock didn’t set in first, an air embolism would get him. He was dying. Bree didn’t need to see that.
His arms flopped uselessly to his sides. It seemed unequivocally fair. A cosmic trade of sorts. His life for Bree’s. The world started buzzing. Darkness closed in. Chance was pressing too hard on his neck. That had to be what the noise pounding in his head was. Sounded like a herd of buffalo. A stampede.
Then… nothing.
Chapter Thirty-Three
“On my way, brother,” Pagan
snarled.
“Where are we going?” Bree had barely spoken with Kruze when Pagan pulled the phone away. She was in Kruze’s command center, his office, at his luxurious cabin. A row of handsome bookcases lined one wall. A solid oak desk faced the door. Behind the desk, a cork bulletin board boasted a ton of yellow sticky notes she planned to read some day.
But Pagan was angry. His finger was still on his earpiece when he told her, “I’m going out. You’re staying here. Call this number.” He slapped a business card at her with one hand, grabbed a large rucksack with the other. “Tell the man who answers Kruze needs medical assistance STAT.”
Her heart climbed up her throat. “He’s hurt?”
Pagan was already halfway out the front door, the rucksack slung over his shoulder “Yes, but don’t worry. He’ll be fine. He’s always fine. Chance is with him and—”
“STAT doesn’t sound like nothing to worry about. Those were gunshots I heard, Pagan! He’s been shot, hasn’t he? I’m going with you.” Try and stop me.
“No, you’re not. I’m taking the jetpack, and I’ve only got one. I can’t carry you and the supplies he needs. Lock the door behind me. Don’t open it for anyone. Stay. Here.”
She watched the door slam behind Pagan. “But I need to be there,” she told the solid oak. “What have I done? I never should’ve interrupted him. Kruze is injured because of me. He might be dying.”
Lord, no. Frightened out of her wits, Bree folded her legs and stared at the door, her heart locked on the man she loved. She couldn’t think. Could barely breathe. She should’ve gone with him when he’d left the cave earlier today. He should’ve told her he was leaving. She could’ve helped him track Berfende—somehow. She loved Kruze more than she’d ever loved any man in her life. Lord, she should’ve told him she’d marry him when he’d asked. But now—
Despair roared over Bree, shaking her like a rug caught in a mean dog’s teeth. She might never get another chance. It might already be too late. She wrapped her arms around her waist, sick to her stomach. She could lose him forever. Acid poured into her gut at that awful reality. Anxiety slapped her down. Like she could feel any worse?
Damned (SOBs Book 4) Page 26