Bringing It Home (Code Of Honor Book 3)

by Reese Knightley

  He gazed down blindly at the rollaway Fraser had given him. His friend had taken his key, waited for the apartment to be empty, and had packed all of the things he’d need. Fraser had also packed the weapon Maddox had given him.

  “Next!”

  Triton stepped up to the counter and picked up the ticket he’d bought online with his credit card the day before. The clerk gave the bruises on his face a double take, but thankfully said nothing. It took only a matter of minutes to declare his weapon and check his luggage.

  Carefully shrugging his backpack over his shoulders, he walked to the double glass doors. The Amtrak out of Dallas to Oregon would take almost four days. The price of the ticket had been ridiculous, but it was cheaper than flying and it was the only thing he could afford.

  The train pulled into the station, and Triton made his way across the concrete span between the building and the locomotive.

  Clutching his ticket, excitement raced up his belly at the daringness of what he was doing.

  “You fucking think you can fucking leave me, you bitch?”

  Clay!

  He whirled around. A fist caught him in the cheek, sending blinding pain into his face.

  Clay grabbed onto his wrist and twisted, bringing him to his knees, and a piercing pain in his arm took his breath away.

  The kick to his ribs cemented his fate, and he fell to the ground with a scream. He managed not to hit his head, but the jarring restarted the pounding headache from his earlier concussion.

  “Hey! What the hell are you doing!” someone shouted.

  “Leave him alone! I’m calling the police!” someone else yelled.

  Triton heard the voices through a haze of fog when he was released.

  “At the ranch, my fucking ass,” Clay snapped. “Get up and get to the truck.” Clay kicked him one last time and then turned on the good Samaritans.

  A couple of men, one a security guard, and a woman approached.

  “Just a misunderstanding. I’m a bounty hunter,” he heard Clay say.

  Struggling, he rolled upright and got to his feet with his good hand, and he grabbed his backpack and stumbled to the idling train.

  “Oh yeah?” Another security guard, attracted by the yelling, joined the first one. “Let’s see the paperwork.”

  “It’s in my truck.”

  “Well, the train won’t be taking off for fifteen more minutes. I suggest you get that paperwork and meet me back here.” The guard placed a hand on his weapon.

  Triton went to hand the porter his ticket, but his hand shook so badly, he dropped it. He frantically glanced over his shoulder, and Clay was glaring at him with murder in his eyes.

  “I’ll fucking find you!”

  “That’s what I thought. You better get going. I’ve already called the police,” the security guard interrupted Clay’s tirade.

  The kindly Amtrak porter picked up his ticket and helped him up the stairs while also keeping a wary eye on Clay.

  “Triton! You’ll be sorry!” Clay screamed.

  Sirens filled the air and Clay took off running toward the parking lot.

  Stepping inside the train, waves of nausea crashed over him and he made it to the small bathroom to throw up. With his one good hand, he pulled an extra shirt from his pack to wrap it around to try and keep his arm close to his body.

  He cried the whole time, sobs wracking his frame. The intense pain made him want to pass out. He gazed into his eyes in the mirror. He didn’t recognize the face staring back.

  A knock sounded and a soft voice said, “Hey, I saw what he did. I have some ibuprofen if you need it.”

  He slipped open the door and saw the kindly porter. He took the prepackaged pills and swallowed a few down with the small bottle of water. The porter helped him get his luggage settled and into a seat in the back of one car.

  The train hissed and the horn blew. A few people ran for the train, having purchased last minute tickets. One man caught his eye, looking familiar. Was that Clay? Was it Auto? But then the person was gone too quickly for him to get a good look.

  It took too much effort to sit straight up, so he curled inward into a ball and muffled his sounds of pain. They were coming for him. He huddled deeper beneath the blanket.

  How had Clay found him in Dallas? He’s a bounty hunter, he has connections. Using his credit card to purchase the ticket had been stupid. That must have been how Clay had found him. Shit. Shit. His ticket would take him to Klamath Falls. But from there, he had to take a bus to the small town of Fern, Oregon. He’d pay cash for the bus ride. Perhaps that would throw Clay off his trail.

  His wrist throbbed, and he rocked, cradling it to his chest. There was no way he could make a living now. He couldn’t support himself with a broken wrist, and he wouldn’t be able to massage Diesel either. He was useless without his arm.

  “Always fucking shit up,” he whispered, resting his head on the train window. “I can’t go to Diesel now. I’ll get there and find a way to get back home.”

  Sitting in the back of the train car, he never had to leave his seat other than to go to the bathroom. The kindly porter brought him food trays and bottled water.

  “I don’t know what happened, but you’re safe in here.”

  “There’s a big guy after me. I think he jumped on the train. Can you check?” He described Clay, Auto, and a few of the gang that hung around the apartment as best as he could.

  “I’ll check,” the porter said.

  His wrist grew worse as the hours passed, and a woman who took up the seat next to him was kind enough to help him wrap it tighter. She ended up being a college student with some basic first aid knowledge.

  “You really need to get that looked at. You might need a metal plate thingy.”

  “I have to wait until I get to Oregon. I have insurance.” Maddox and River covered him and all of the ranch hands.

  “Sir?”

  He looked up and the kindly porter was there. “There’s a few big men on the train, but I can’t be sure if they are any of the ones you fear. Because of privacy, I’m not at liberty to give their destinations.”

  “Okay,” he whispered through swollen lips.

  “I’ll keep anyone who doesn’t have a ticket for this car out of here, I promise,” the man assured him.

  “Thank you.”

  “I took the liberty of bringing some more ibuprofen.” The porter held several unopened packets with two pills each.

  “I can pay you.”

  “It’s not necessary.” The porter smiled and moved away.

  Triton took the pills and tucked the others into his backpack. The nice girl got off the next day at Union Station in Los Angeles, California, and helped him with his luggage.

  He pulled on one of Fraser’s sweatshirts with a hoodie to keep his face hidden. There were so many people, he couldn’t be sure if Clay or Auto or one of their buddies were nearby.

  He rechecked his rollaway and boarded his connecting train. Making his way to the back, he huddled there, shaking until the train pulled out of the station.

  He made friends with the couple across the aisle. The man was a nurse and took a look at his wrist.

  “The swelling isn’t too bad. You may have only sprained it, but get it checked first thing when you get there.”

  “Thank you.”

  Triton

  Three days later, he caught the bus going east out of Klamath Falls. It was storming by the time the driver drove down the main street of Fern, Oregon, and dropped him off at a small, enclosed bus station. The air smelled clean and fresh. The little town sat quiet in the setting sun.

  For the first time in for what seemed like forever, a peace settled over him. The inside door gave way and he stepped into the warmth of the small, enclosed station and smiled at the girl behind the glass window.

  “Meeting someone?” she called out, and he held up his phone signaling he was going to call.

  But peaceful or not, he was still scared.

  Wh
at if Diesel was furious? What if he told him to turn around and go home?

  He stood inside the station looking at the rain running down the outside of the window. It was getting dark, and he needed to decide what to do.

  One thing he hadn’t told Fraser was that he’d spent every dime he had getting here and didn’t have enough money for a hotel. He eyed one of the benches in the station, it looked big enough to sleep on. It would be just as easy to text Maddox to transfer money into his account, but his cousin had already given him a loan that Clay had demanded the very next day.

  His cell phone buzzed and he wiped at his eyes before answering.

  “Hello?”

  “Triton? I wanted to know if you’re going to be home for Spring break.”

  “Hi, Bull.” He grimaced. “No, I promised Fraser I’d spend it with him,” he lied, and sniffled. Bull wouldn’t think anything of it, Triton had lied for the past few years about spending his breaks and holidays with Fraser.

  “Okay.” Bull sounded sad. Triton stiffened his legs to keep from shaking. There was no way he could go back to the Triple R and not have Clay follow him and cause harm.

  “Clay called the house five days ago and asked for you. He seemed to think you were here with us.”

  So that’s how Clay had known to check his credit card purchases.

  “Is everything okay?”

  “Everything is fine. What about you? Are you okay? You sound funny.” Bull sounded worried.

  “I just have a cold, nothing to worry about. Love you. I’ll call soon.”

  “Love you too, kiddo.”

  He bit back his tears. It took a few minutes to one-handedly tucked his phone away in his sock and pull his pant leg down.

  He pulled his coat around his body tightly, careful of his arm, and stared out the window. The darkness threw his reflection back.

  Damn it. He still needed to call Diesel. He glanced down at his pant leg and gathered the energy it would take to dig the phone out again.

  “Did you really think Clay was going to let you leave?”

  Whirling around at the sound of Auto’s voice, Triton stumbled over his luggage before he righted himself.

  “Leave me alone, Auto, or I’ll scream.” His words came out in a terrified whisper.

  Auto sneered, lifted his hand, and Triton’s breath stuttered at the weapon. Auto stepped close and shoved the muzzle of the gun into his side. Triton felt the hardness dig through his coat.

  “Do that? And I’ll shoot you and the pretty girl behind the counter too.”

  Stunned, he stared at the psycho. “You’d do that?”

  “Yeah, I would. Did you really think I’d let my secret cock sucker get away? Move it. Not to mention, Clay is furious. You were supposed to pick up a payment from the shit you sold to the salon.” Auto waived the weapon slightly.

  “I don’t work there anymore, I got fired, remember?” he stalled.

  “The owner doesn’t care about that, he still wants his drugs.”

  Triton hefted his backpack over his shoulders and grabbed his luggage with his uninjured hand. Woodenly, he walked toward the door.

  “I-I-I’ll go back,” Triton stammered. “There’s a bus out in the morning.” He’d go back, but he was calling Maddox the minute he landed back in Texas.

  “It’s too fucking late for that,” Auto snarled near his ear. “When we get outside, you and I are going to find a nice, quiet place where I’m going to teach you a lesson.”

  No! God no.

  The rain slashed at him when he stepped outside. Nobody in their right mind would be out in this storm.

  Auto grabbed him by the back of his shirt collar and yanked him along. Triton bit back a scream when his wrist was jarred.

  He lost his grip on his luggage and slipped in the wet dirt. He cried out and was pulled up by the collar of his sweatshirt.

  “This will do,” Auto snarled and shoved him over a wet metal bench that sat around the corner of the building.

  Shoved to his belly on the cold, dirty bench, his cheek smacked the surface. Stunned, his mind grappled with what was happening.

  He screamed when his pants were yanked down.

  Diesel

  The knock on his door sent Molly on a tangent.

  “Calm down,” he ordered her gently, and she quieted with a whine. He glanced at the clock. Who the hell would be knocking at eleven-thirty at night? Pulling on a pair of sweats and a t-shirt, he made his way to the front door.

  Through the curtain, he saw the outline of a man. The sensor lights had kicked on. He pulled the edge of the curtain aside and saw Deputy Sheriff Memphis Bains of Klamath Falls on his porch.

  “Come on in out of the rain,” he said to one of his oldest friends and swung the door wide.

  “Evening, Diesel. How’d your appointment go?”

  “Evening, Memphis. It went good.” It didn’t even phase him that Memphis knew his business.

  It was small town living. Everybody knew everybody and pretty much everybody’s business.

  Memphis shut the door and took off his boots on the mud mat near the front door and tucked his rain slicker onto the coat tree.

  Diesel led the way into the kitchen and turned on the individual coffee maker. Filling the container at the sink faucet, he popped in a coffee pod.

  “What brings you by?” He snapped a mug on the small silver stand and punched the button.

  “We had some trouble at the bus station earlier.”

  “No kidding?” He leaned a hip against the counter.

  “Yeah, surprise to me too. We get maybe three people in and out of there a week, no traffic to speak of ever.”

  “What happened?” He handed one cup to Memphis while he started another for himself.

  The smell of freshly brewed coffee filled his kitchen, and he pulled creamer from the fridge to pour into the black brew when his own cup was finished.

  “A homeless kid was getting beat up. Would have been raped, but Sally saw what was going on and pulled out her shotgun. Ran off the kid’s attacker.”

  He turned from stirring creamer into his coffee and smirked at Memphis.

  “That sounds like Sally. I wouldn’t want to come up against Sally with her shotgun.”

  “Yeah, no, me neither.” Memphis wrapped his hands around the mug as if to ward off the cold and took another sip of coffee. “It’s a mother of a storm out there.”

  “It is. You take him to the shelter?”

  “No, I had to take him into Fern Community Hospital.”

  “That bad, huh?”

  “Yeah, that bad.” Memphis took a slow sip of coffee before he spoke again. “Weird thing is, he keeps asking for you.”

  “What?” He slowly sat his cup down.

  “Yup, Bill called, said his patient keeps asking for a Diesel. You’re the only Diesel we know.”

  “Any ID?”

  “Sally said he arrived with a rollaway bag and backpack at the bus station, but she can’t find them, and there was no wallet or ID on him. Just a cell phone found tucked in his sock.”

  “Get the phone open?”

  “No, it’s password protected. Bill can’t get it open to call anyone.”

  “And he asked for me by name?”

  “Yup. When Bill asked who he could contact, the kid whispered, ‘Diesel.’”

  “I suppose I could come down and see if I know him.” Fern Community was a quick ten-minute drive. Who the hell could it be? Diesel grabbed two to-go cups for the coffee.

  “I figure with the amount of people you know, it’s possible.”

  That was true; he’d practically grown up with the whole Fern community. He handed Memphis one of the coffee cups and headed into the living room to the mud mat by the front door.

  “How’s the brace working out?”

  Diesel rapped his knuckles against the apparatus and grinned. “I feel like the bionic man.”

  Memphis chuffed. “Good deal. Then you have no excuse not to come to poke
r at the end of the month,” his friend said, just as he had for the past three months.

  Truth was, he’d not only missed poker, but he’d missed his friends.

  “Yup, I think I’m going to make it.”

  “So Ted said.” Memphis grinned.

  “Did he tell you I’m gonna make potato salad?”

  “Oh my god. If it’s your grandmother’s recipe, you better bring enough. I get first dibs.”

  Zipping up the front of his rain coat, Diesel pulled on his boots.

  Memphis stomped into his own boots and then pulled the curtain aside. “Raining like all hell out there.”

  “Yup, and this isn’t the end of it, there’s another storm front set to move in tomorrow.” He lifted his keys from the hook near the door. “It’s going to be a really wet April.”

  “I’ve a feeling if Sally hadn’t interrupted that attacker, I’d be investigating a rape and murder in the morning. Sally said the poor little thing didn’t stand a chance against the size of his attacker. Blond haired, blue eyed, slim build.”

  Diesel froze. Every fucking muscle in his body went into a deep freeze. His breath stuttered and he stared at Memphis.

  “What?” Memphis frowned.

  “It can’t be,” Diesel whispered.

  “What can’t be?”

  “Let’s go.” A low growl left his throat, and he snatched open the door.

  Diesel

  There wasn’t another soul in the hospital except the night staff when he entered with the sheriff. The hospital only held seventy beds and was one level.

  They rounded the first corner when he heard voices. Turning the second corner into one of the two hallways of the small hospital, he found the nurse, Jessie Jennings, shouting at a big guy in a black sweatshirt hoodie.

  “Sir! Sir! You can’t be in here!” JJ yelled, and Diesel quickened his pace.

  “Stop right there!” Memphis shouted, running. “Police!”

  The man glanced at them, then turned and ran.

  Memphis took off after the guy.

  Diesel reached the room and stepped inside.

  He lost every bit of air in his lungs at the sight of Triton in the hospital bed.