Redemption: Triple R Security, Book 3

by Imogen Wells

  Rick picks up one of the files, passing it to me. “This is the file from the last op your brother and I did.”

  I take it gingerly, flipping it open and scanning the few pages inside. “How did you get this? I’ve never been able to find any details on his last mission.”

  “I have my ways. The reason you’ve not been able to find anything is because our last mission wasn’t official, Jess. But you knew that, didn’t you?” Rick picks up another file, which I hadn’t noticed before, but is one I recognise.

  I snatch the folder from Rick, checking everything I’d collected over the years is still inside. “This is mine. From my apartment, so how the fuck do you have it?” I snap, waving the folder in front of him.

  “As I said, I have my ways. My point is that you’ve been looking into what happened to your brother since he died. What I need to know is why?”

  I roll my eyes at his ridiculous question. “I’d have thought that was obvious but let me spell it out for you. I don’t believe the utter bollocks that your lot and my father spewed to us about Christian’s death.” I watch as Seb bristles at my jibe at this country’s army. In all fairness, my snide comment pretty much counts for every army all over the world. Every move they make is political on some level, and the fact they have special ops at all should be enough to tell people not everything they do is within the laws and morals of society.

  “Please don’t insult my intelligence, Rick. All of us here know the army engages side missions, special operations that are classified, need to know, top secret, all of the above and none of which are official. You just said so yourself. My mother might have swallowed their bullshit about how my brother died, but I didn’t. As for my father, he’s happy to ignore the reality and bury it beneath the mountain of other corrupt and illegal shit he’s been involved with over the years. He’s a master at making shit disappear.” Bitterness creeps in as I think about how my father covered up what happened to me to protect his name.

  I open the file Rick gave me again, noting the name of Major Richard Cole and the details of the surveillance operation Rick and Christian were briefed on. There’s nothing here to make me think that this was anything other than what is stated.

  “As you can see there was nothing out of the ordinary or unusual about the op, Jess. Everything there is exactly what we were instructed to do. A simple surveillance operation and report back our findings.”

  Looking up at Rick, I ask, “If that’s true, how did my brother end up dead?”

  Thirty-One

  Rick

  Jess’ folder, although slim, is thorough and she did her homework. Unfortunately, her efforts were met with the same result; your brother was killed in action.

  Only this time, I have no intention of giving her the standard line issued by the army for those killed during manoeuvres. Today Jess will finally get the truth she’s been seeking.

  “Six months after Ryder lost his platoon, all except Seb, Operation Zeon landed on my desk. A straight-forward surveillance op like so many I’d done before. But something was off from the beginning, and I should have listened to my gut.

  “On the morning of the briefing, my partner never showed, and Kuffs was drafted in as his replacement. The Major and I had words about it. I told him something didn’t feel right, that Kuffs was a good soldier, but he’d never done anything like this before and hadn’t been through the training. It was all brushed aside, and the op went ahead.”

  As I begin my account of what happened during that op, I get lost in the memory.

  After being dropped at the entry site, Kuffs and I made our way to the confirmed location for conducting our surveillance with instructions to be at the extraction point in 48 hours at 0600 hours. Our objectives were clear, monitor and record foot traffic, along with vehicles and equipment in and out of the small building.

  For the first twenty-four hours everything was quiet, barely any movement at all, but the following morning with the arrival of a large truck, everything changed. The trucks arrival brought chaos, and the place was overrun with men, more than the small building should have been able to house.

  Kuffs and I couldn’t believe our eyes when they started unloading the truck. Boxes upon boxes of military grade weapons being carried into the tiny house. It was almost as though they weren’t expecting the delivery or not at that time at least, and it took them by surprise.

  With so many people racing about outside and us busy trying to record everything, neither of us noticed the small group that broke away.

  By the time we realised our position was compromised, it was too late. I created a diversion for Kuffs and thought he’d got away, but about an hour after my capture, they brought him in, dropping him in a bloody heap at my feet.

  For the first couple of days, they kept us fed and watered. They even provided me with medical supplies to treat Kuffs’ wounds. At the time, I considered the possibility it was some mind game meant to lull us into a false sense of security.

  But by the third day, their attitude towards us became openly hostile. It’s like someone had flipped a switch, and now, we were being treated as true prisoners. The food and water we’d been getting two, sometimes three, times a day dwindled to only once or not at all. When it did come, the food looked like the scraps you’d feed a dog and the water was stale.

  They interrogated us individually at first, but when they weren’t getting the answers they obviously wanted, they upped the ante.

  “You know, when you join the army, they train you on how to handle being questioned under duress, torture, but it doesn’t come close to the reality.” I pour myself another whiskey, feeling eyes on me the whole time. I’m conscious that I’ve never spoken to anyone about some of these details, and I can feel beads of sweat dotted along my forehead and my hands are clammy. Knocking the drink back, I put the glass down, rubbing my hands down my thighs, and continue my story as the whiskey burns its way through my body.

  “For three days straight, they quizzed us with barely any rest, and when we did begin to wane, they’d wake us right back up again with loud noises, bright lights, anything to keep us conscious.

  They knew who we were, our names and that we were soldiers, and they kept asking about someone called The Archer—”

  A gasp beside me halts my words, and I look to see Jess with her hand over her mouth.

  “Jess, what is it?”

  She begins shaking her head in disbelief, her hand still cupping her mouth. “Oh my god,” falls from her lips, and she jumps up out of her seat and starts pacing. Suddenly, she stops, hands now on her hips and turns to me. “You’re sure they said The Archer? They used that name specifically?”

  “Yes, I’m sure. Now, tell me what the hell is going on.”

  “Fucking hell!” She spins away muttering under her breath, “It can’t be a coincidence, right? Has to be him.”

  I go to her, stopping her pacing with my hands on her shoulders and looking her in the eyes. “Jess, do you know who The Archer is?” She tries to look away, but I give her shoulders a shake, bringing her focus back to me. When her eyes meet mine this time, I see sorrow, remorse, pain and a bright spark of anger that strikes out like a bolt of lightning. “Tell me,” I demand as my own anger begins to rise, and my grip on her shoulders tightens in anticipation of her answer.

  “Yes, I know who The Archer is,” she says, her voice quiet and eyes glassed with unshed tears as she becomes lost, staring right through me.

  “Who, Jess? Who is The Archer?”

  Now completely lost to whatever memory or thought is running through her mind, her answer is detached and devoid of any emotion.

  “My father.”

  Everything stops. The room warps and my heart ceases to beat as her words penetrate my wrought mind. My legs turn to jelly beneath me, buckling at the knees and dropping me to the floor like a man praying at the altar. There’s a commotion going on around me, but one I’m privy to only from outside my own body. Ethereal like when
your soul leaves your body for the final time, and you see the devastation you’re leaving behind. But really the devastation is laid out before me.

  Nothing makes sense, yet everything makes sense. All at once, the remorse, the guilt, the pain, everything I’ve endured slams into me. It rips through me, opening wounds that never really healed.

  I’ve spent years punishing myself for Kuffs death, for not being there for my wife, refusing to allow myself the pleasures of life, except for my son, and now, the woman I’m falling in love with, the sister of the man I thought died because of me, is telling me that Archie Collins, her own father, is who those men were after.

  Unable to contain the rage coursing through me any longer, I let out a roar. It’s guttural and tears its way up my throat, coming out strangled as I swipe an arm across the coffee table, knocking glasses and papers flying. Nowhere near enough to calm my demons, I twist my body and flip the table, sending it crashing to the floor.

  “Get her out of here now.” Is shouted above the sound of another thundering roar as it rips out of me.

  Gripping my hair with both hands, I drop to the floor. My head falls to my knees as grief engulfs me, and I let it. I let the grief have me as the first tear dampens my jeans. Like my tears seeping across my jeans, my grief infects me until I’m completely cocooned in it. It’s all I feel.

  The sound of faint voices whispers over me, barely more than a gentle breeze against the fog in my brain, but when I hear Jess’ angry words, they glide through the fog like a ship through the sea.

  “Move out of my fucking way, Seb.”

  “No, you need to leave.”

  “The fuck I do. Now let me through.” I sense a standoff, but the tension remains like a rubber band pulled taut and ready to snap any minute.

  I can just make out Jamie’s voice but not her words a second before Jess drops to the ground in front of me, her knees to mine. My hands, fisted tightly, rest atop my thighs, and Jess closes her own over mine.

  “Let it go, Rick. Just let it go. Don’t let it feed from you. Release all the guilt and grief, then pull it back, refocus it and use it to find answers. To get justice.” Her words open the flood gates I’ve held locked, and sliding my legs open, I pull her to me. Gripping onto her tightly with my forehead resting on her chest, I let it out.

  Jess holds me while I release my demons, purging them from my soul.

  When my mind finally returns to me, I know what needs to be done. But right now, Jess is going to do a little story telling of her own. Aside from needing to know, whatever that cunt of a father did to her is only going to fuel my mission for vengeance.

  “Tell me. Tell me what he did to you, JJ.”

  Thirty-Two

  Jess

  “No.” My whole body goes rigid, and I try to pull away. Rick holds fast, his grip on me tightening and refusing me the opportunity to run. I know what he’s asking me. I know he probably has a good idea of what happened to me, but I also know that my father sealed that record watertight.

  “JJ,” he scolds, tone demanding yet remaining gentle. And his use of my nickname for the second time has my heart almost climbing outside of my chest in pain, but something more than that too. Love. And arousal. Somehow, this man has the ability to rip my heart out and turn me on at the same time. Somehow, our entwined pasts have come together and lit up the sky, our hearts, bodies and minds. In our combined tragedy, in our grief, we have found love.

  “What, Rick? What is it you want to know, huh?” I snap, trying to push his arms away again, but he doesn’t give me an inch of space, not even to inhale fully.

  “Everything,” he whispers, looking up at me.

  I sigh, dropping my head back and looking up to the ceiling for a couple of short breaths, in and out. I feel his hold on my waist loosen, and instead, he entwines our hands together as I look back down to him.

  “When I was seventeen, I went to some lavish party at one of my father’s fellow court-house corrupters. And before you ask, I’m not giving names, so for the purpose of this story, my father’s friend’s son is suspect A.” I wait with a raised brow for him to acknowledge his agreement, and he does, begrudgingly, with a barely there nod. “Suspect A and I were already acquainted having attended the same private school, so I was comfortable in the company of him and his two friends. It wasn’t until much later that I discovered my father had been attempting to make a fucked-up marriage deal with his ‘friend’s’ son. Obviously, that went out the window after that night, but he made up for it a few years later. Anyway, cutting a long story short, suspect A and his two arsehole friends raped me that night. They did a good job too. Not at all worried about leaving evidence or bruises. I guess they thought they’d be home free with a corrupt father, two if you count mine, in the bag, along with the marriage offer on the table, it couldn’t have been easier.” I pause, needing to move position as my foot has gone numb. Pins and needles tingle in my toes and sole of my foot, and Rick reaches out a hand, massaging it for me and bringing it back to life.

  “Thanks,” I say, moving to sit beside him, only he has other ideas and shifts me so I’m sitting between his legs, wrapping his arms around me. It’s an intimate and possessive position and knocks away the easy, non-emotional and detached telling of my story, but I flick that shit aside and continue.

  “Look, the rest of the details aren’t important. All you need to know is that my wonder-fucking-ful father made sure it never even reached the courts. He waved a shit load of cash at the families of the boys, men really, and forbade me from ever talking about the whole incident again. He also sealed my records, but that’s not news to you.” I feel Rick tense behind me. “I know you checked, Rick. I set up an alert system through a friend at the nick to let me know any time someone searches my name.”

  He chuckles. “Very clever. Let me guess, Roxy?”

  “Of course.” The light moment, eases some of the tension in Rick’s body but not completely. “I might not have gotten the justice I deserved, Rick, but I did get my own kind of justice.” I turn around to face him, getting to my knees.

  “What are you talking about, Jess?” he asks, with a frown and raised brow.

  “Let’s just say that me becoming a cop wasn’t a career choice but more of a means to an end,” I tell him with a mischievous wink. Seeing that he’s going to ask the next obvious question, I intervene before he can. “It’s a story for another time. Another of my demons. I made peace with what they did to me. Karma may have had a helping hand, but I don’t let what happened control my life. I won’t give them that kind of power, Rick. Men like them, that’s what they thrive off, what they lived for.”

  Rick frowns, and I realise that I should have been more careful with my word choice.

  “Lived for?”

  “Please leave it. I’m not ready to share that story yet, Rick.”

  “Fine, but I won’t forget about it. And your father?”

  I turn away from him with a tired sigh. Tired but not defeated. His fingers grip my chin, turning me back to him.

  “J—”

  “I’ve never been able to get enough evidence to have him taken down. Everything I know is just circumstantial, hearsay, and he has some very high-up, influential friends. But I’m promising you, right here, right now, that if my father had any involvement, no matter how small, in the death of Christian and—” I pause, swallowing thickly and lay a hand on Rick’s chest, just over his heart before continuing, “And what happened to you, then I’m going to fight till my dying breath to bring the rain and make him pay for it.”

  Rick’s brow furrows at my words, and I can see that I’ve pissed him off. “I don’t need you to protect me, or fight my battles, Jess. For fuck’s sake.” He tries to move back, and it’s my turn to stop him from running away.

  “Hey. That’s not what this is and you fucking know it. Stop being such a macho man, Rick.” I push on his chest and climb up to straddle him. He resists at first, but slowly relents and eases back, elbo
ws propping him up from behind. “This isn’t your fight alone. Having someone in your corner doesn’t make you less of a man. It doesn’t matter who that person is, just as long as they are prepared to fight for you, for what you believe in, for what’s right. You don’t want me to protect you or fight your battles because you think it’s a man’s job to do those things for a woman, but you need to remember that I don’t need you to save me, Rick. I don’t need a man to save me. I need a man who will stand beside me in battle, not in front of me.” I grasp his stubble covered chin, loving the feel of the course bristles on the pads of my fingers, and bring his eyes to mine. “Whatever it is you think you need redeeming for, your wrong. We all walk the line, and we all seek redemption in one way or another for things we’ve done wrong. The need for redemption isn’t an admission of guilt, Rick. It’s an acceptance that sometimes our actions aren’t always right in the eyes of God or the law, but they are made for the right reasons.” I lean down and touch my lips to his, tasting the salt from his tears, and it breaks a little piece of my heart. “You can be the biggest and strongest man in the world, the best of the best, but there’s one thing you can never win against, Rick, and that’s God, fate. When your number is up, there’s no one that can stop Death from collecting his prize.”

  This time when my lips touch his, I don’t stop. I kiss him fully and deeply and baring my fucking soul to him. There’s a moment’s hesitation from him before he gives in and kisses me back. It’s a kiss that speaks a thousand words, and each and every one is burned into my flesh. Before we have a chance to get lost completely, Seb interrupts us.

  “Sorry, man, but you need to take this call.”

  “Fuck,” Rick curses, closing his eyes for a second. “This better be important. Who is it?” he asks. I climb from his lap, allowing him to get to his feet.