Unbreakable s8-2

by Stephanie Tyler

  “I figured,” she said softly. So reluctant and he couldn’t blame her.

  He started, leading her. “What’s your connection to the OA?”

  Drea stared up at him, her amber eyes troubled. “Danny’s my ex. Danny Laurel. He’s the enforcer of the New York chapter of the OA. Wherever I move, he’s got people . . . following me.”

  “Because he doesn’t want to be your ex?”

  She nodded, chewed her full bottom lip for a second. “You bought a world of trouble when you kidnapped me, Jem.”

  “Don’t you worry about me.”

  Her face clouded when he said that, but she schooled her expression quickly. “Right. Because this is what you do. You save people.”

  “Right.”

  “So you guys could just put me somewhere to start over. Maybe you know someone who could just switch the names on my medical license? It’s not like I didn’t earn it.”

  “I know someone who could do that,” he agreed. “But if you stayed with us, you really wouldn’t need to. Course, you couldn’t work in a hospital either, but I’m betting we could keep you busy.”

  She nodded, relaxed her hands a little.

  “We’re getting ahead of ourselves. Tell me more about Danny. I know you didn’t just meet him one night and ended up not being able to shake him.”

  “No, that’s not the way that happened. We went to school together in New York. I was raised in Hell’s Kitchen by my grandmother. At least until my mom got her shit together—pretended to. Grams never would’ve given up custody, but she had a bad heart. She died when I was twelve and I went to live with my mom. God, it was horrible.”

  He’d been there. Wanted to get into bed with her and give her a hug, but couldn’t afford to let her stop talking. And if he got closer to her, he’d be kissing her.

  “Danny was . . . he saved me when we were in high school. He got me out of my house when I was just a freshman. And I couldn’t have stayed there, not much longer. His father was a member of the OA, so Danny was a legacy, although he still had to prove himself. But his father didn’t care that Danny moved a girl into his bedroom. And I was never so grateful for that kind of permissiveness. When my mom came around, demanding I come back, Danny and his father . . . they made sure she was too scared to ever try to get me again. Talk about out of the frying pan.” She had her arms wrapped around her knees, and her hands were white because she clutched them together so hard. “At the time, I needed him. He was my whole goddamned world. And as long as he stayed that way, we were fine.”

  Her voice got thin in the dark. He reached over and turned the light on dim, and she nodded her approval, looked around as if she expected to see Danny in the room. And Jem would motherfucking kill the bastard when he saw him. And he would make certain their paths did cross again.

  “I tried to separate from him. He knew I wasn’t comfortable with the club stuff. Didn’t want to become anyone’s old lady in any way, shape or form. I had to pull myself up and out of that shit. Too much poverty. I had to break the cycle. And I did.”

  “You were in the Army.”

  She didn’t seem surprised that he knew. “I was a reservist. Paid for my schooling.”

  “You lied about the loans.”

  “You were doing background checks on me. I’m surprised you didn’t find that.”

  He grinned. Held up his phone with her Army record. “I did.”

  She shook her head. “Maybe I should’ve stayed in. Danny couldn’t touch me there.”

  “So why didn’t you?”

  She shrugged. Didn’t want to tell him, not yet, and he’d respect that as long as he could. But if it meant the OA would come knocking at his door sooner rather than later, Drea would have to spill.

  “Danny’s still in New York, right?”

  “Yeah, but he finds me every time, because of my medical license. I chose Tennessee because the charter’s pretty small. I figured they wouldn’t bother me all that much—their violence seemed pretty low-key. More petty stuff like robbery. Small-time. But it didn’t stay that way. They saw pretty quickly that taking care of me the way Danny wanted entitled them to a lot more of the club’s respect. Danny made sure they got in on some of the drug business. Pretty soon, I was on call constantly for them.”

  “Dammit, Drea. You should’ve gotten out of there.”

  She glanced at him. “I don’t like running. And I can take care of myself, you know. Those guys . . . they don’t force me to do anything but fix them up after they’ve been fighting. A few bullet holes here and there.”

  “I’m sure dating’s a real bitch.”

  “Honestly? I haven’t even bothered trying.”

  “Worried about him?”

  “More like burned by him. I dated him in high school and it’s still haunting me, Jem. One mistake like that and . . .” She shook her head. “It’s been thirteen years and I can’t shake him. My past will not stay past. Do you know what that’s like?”

  He glanced up at the ceiling and gave a full-body sigh. “Little bit.”

  “Did your brother really beat up three OAs?”

  “Without breaking a sweat.” She gave a low whistle and he smiled. “Sometimes the good guys do win, you know.”

  Of course, they had to have enough bad in them to do so, but he kept that part to himself. She’d discovered that already.

  “You’ve got a lot of security here?” she asked now.

  “You mean, besides me?”

  Her next words were so soft he barely heard them, but they were enough to make him go cold. “If they find me, they’ll break my hand, smash it with a hammer until they pulverize the bones. And they make good on their threats.”

  He was out of his chair and next to her in seconds, her hand in his as he stroked the nimble fingers. “I will kill them before they touch you.”

  “Can’t keep me in your sight forever.”

  “Watch me.” He got into bed with her. Pulled the covers off and yanked her close to him, her body so hot against his.

  “Boundaries?” she inquired.

  “Were made to be crossed,” he finished. “Consider yourself crossed.”

  “Why don’t I mind hearing that from you?” she asked, then pulled him in for a kiss before he could do so first.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  A week passed. A week of Avery sleeping for most of the time, thanks to pain pills and Drea’s insistence that she listen to her body, because sleep equaled healing.

  The antibiotics that were preventing infection were also not helping in the staying-awake department. She was aware that Gunner rarely left her side, only conceding when Drea and Grace came to check on her. They’d bathe her and change her bandages . . . didn’t make her feel helpless, which she appreciated, even though she was helpless, and more than a little high from the meds.

  “Gunner’s mad I won’t let him do this,” she remembered saying.

  “Honey, he understands,” Grace reassured her.

  “Things are healing well,” Drea told her another time when Avery complained she was itchy.

  Now she realized she was wide awake and staring at the ceiling. This was good that she wasn’t in a fog any longer, but she was still tired. And every time she closed her eyes, she saw Landon’s face. Heard his voice. It made her body throb more.

  She glanced over at the night table, where Drea had left her pain pills. She’d started reducing them, with Drea’s help, and the two she’d taken earlier that afternoon had obviously worn off. Although she wanted to do it without their help, there was no way.

  “No reason to suffer, baby. Take the goddamned pills.” Gunner’s voice, low and rough, still made her tingle, even now. She took that as a good sign.

  “Here, let me.” The bed dipped and he came around to her side, fixed the pillows so she was more upright, which actually made the pain lessen. Then he handed her water and pills and watched her take them. “You hungry yet?”

  “Not really.”

  He prod
uced some crackers that he must’ve brought in with him earlier. “Have a couple—can’t take too much of that shit on an empty stomach.”

  “Thanks.” She nibbled on one as he got back into bed next to her. The glow from the TV was enough light, the house was alarmed and no one was getting past Jem or Key or Dare—she knew they’d be taking shifts watching the house tonight.

  And obviously, Gunner wasn’t planning on sleeping. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

  When the words slipped out, they surprised her. She hadn’t been thinking about S8 or anything like that, just eating the cracker. The pills hadn’t even started taking effect yet, so she couldn’t blame them. And even though what she said could’ve been construed as anything, Gunner knew exactly what she was talking about—she saw it in his eyes.

  “Forget it. I don’t mean that,” she said quickly, but Gunner’s gaze held hers, his blue eyes locked on to hers.

  “I’m not forgetting anything, Avery. You have every right to say that, to feel that way.”

  “I might feel differently tomorrow.”

  “No one said you’re not allowed to change your mind.” His voice was gentle, but his eyes held an anger she knew wasn’t directed at her. And he didn’t seem surprised by what she was saying. “We’re all in this together, just like you said.”

  “Just because I said it.”

  “You know that’s not true—not with this group.”

  The pain pills were working, the empty stomach aiding that along. But she continued eating the crackers, mainly because her stomach was growling. “Is everyone okay?”

  “Worried about you, but they’re all fine. No signs of anyone or anything suspicious. We’re in a good place. Everyone wants you to take your time and heal.”

  She wanted that too, thought she’d want revenge so badly that it would heat through her like a white-hot fury, forcing her out of bed and into planning mode. By now she should’ve been insisting that they find Landon, stop him from ever hurting anyone again, the way she had that first night.

  Instead, she was thinking about giving up S8. The fact that she could think about letting Landon take something else from her pissed her off.

  * * *

  “I have to tell you something, Gunner,” she started, and she looked wary.

  “I’m listening.”

  “When Landon was attacking me . . . he showed me a folder. He whispered, so you wouldn’t hear. The folder showed a list of times and coordinates that a cargo ship with underage women was leaving Mexico for . . . shit, I don’t know where. Or when. He said it was soon and I couldn’t concentrate, couldn’t see . . .”

  He pulled her close, hugged her to his chest as quiet sobs racked her. Gunner hated that Landon tried the same psychological bullshit that he’d used so effectively on him.

  He hated that it had worked.

  “I should’ve told you earlier,” she murmured when her breathing had calmed down, but she still wasn’t looking at him.

  “There’s nothing we could’ve done without more information. And you don’t even know what he was showing you.”

  “It was a cargo dispatch. I know what they look like.”

  He tugged gently, forced her to look at him. “You’ve let Landon wrap you up in this. You’re not responsible for what the traffickers are doing.”

  She shrugged, moved back to the pillow. He ran a hand through his hair. “I know you’re worried about me. But we have to stop keeping secrets. I started that, I realize, but I thought we agreed, secrets will kill us.”

  She curled up around the pillow, looking so pretty and so vulnerable. He knew that was all a smokescreen, that underneath it all, Avery had more strength than any of them. She had more of Darius in her than anyone realized, and that in and of itself could be very good . . . and also, very destructive.

  Right now he felt like that sense of justice was killing her. “I understand what you’re doing, Avery. I did it myself.”

  “When you were with Josie,” she murmured. “That’s why you wanted to go back to Landon.”

  Why he’d been pissed that Josie saved him.

  He blinked again and realized that he was in goddamned pain, but there was no smoke or chanting. He’d made it through, with barely any memories of what had happened to him. But he had no doubts as to why he’d been beaten and left for dead in the first place.

  His only question was why they didn’t finish the job. It wasn’t like Landon to leave things undone. Landon hated sloppy.

  “Maybe you should’ve just let me die,” he told her.

  “If you mean that, I’ll throw your ass out the door right now.” Her eyes snapped fire and no, he didn’t need this shit from some bossy thing.

  “I’ll show myself out.” Would’ve too, if he could get up off the damned bed. His ribs felt like they were in goddamned pieces, and every time he tried to move, fire wrenched through his body.

  Her hands were on his shoulders, pressing him down firmly. “Why are you being such an idiot? Most people are grateful to be saved. Or don’t you know that?”

  “You have no idea about my life or what I should be grateful for,” he told her. “Where’d you find me?”

  “You were near the back door, in the grasses. Petey found you,” she told him. Petey, a bloodhound who’d remained firmly curled at his feet. “You were lucky.”

  “Yeah, lucky,” he echoed. Tried to get up from under the heavy quilt. Somehow it was easy enough for the petite woman to push him back down.

  “Stay.”

  “I’m not the fucking dog.”

  “You’re acting like an asshole.”

  He stared at the ceiling, trying to piece together what had happened. The last thing he remembered, was Landon telling him that he was done.

  The last thing he’d said to Landon was, “If you ask me to come back, I would.”

  “Landon brainwashed you,” Avery said now.

  “You think that all of this is Landon’s fault,” he started. “You want to believe that I’m a victim, dragged in against my will. But that’s only a partial truth. That only applies to this last time, when I went back to Landon to save you and the others.”

  “So tell me.”

  “And risk having you never look at me the same way again.”

  “That could never happen, Gunner. I know who you are. In here.” She pressed a hand to his heart. “And here.” A hand to the side of his head. “Whatever you did that you think was bad, you’ve more than made up for it.”

  “Never.” His voice sounded hollow. “I liked working for Landon. Especially at first. He was better than Powell. And I was able to justify what I was doing because we were giving criminals a new life, letting them escape justice. I didn’t see their victims. And I got to blow the shit out of human traffickers. I got to save women and children. I was the good guy, and I told myself that the end justified the means.”

  “I think it probably does,” she told him. “That’s why I feel like such shit for not being able to see a damned line of numbers. I went through all that torture for nothing. If I’d been able to get those numbers . . . it would’ve been worth it.”

  He knew exactly what she was saying. Didn’t agree, but understood. He didn’t want to tell her, didn’t even want to think about it. But he had to. Talking about it, remembering it was the only way to make sure he wasn’t doomed to repeat the same mistakes.

  He’d been so damned young that first time he’d taken down a trafficker. For two years, he’d roamed the goddamned globe, pulling off smaller jobs, helping Landon’s merc for hire, Declan Moore. Dec was a good mentor, was in it for the money and the explosions.

  “You’re taking down bad men,” he’d told Gunner.

  “And leading others across the border.”

  Declan shrugged. “Karma. Give a little, take a little.”

  Declan was killed the week before the transfer. Gunner swore to Landon that he was ready, that he wouldn’t fuck anything up.

  But he’d fucked u
p big-time. Gotten the client arrested and nearly gotten himself killed in the process. By the time he’d made it back to Landon’s three weeks later, after hiding out in random safe houses, his name was mud and Landon was furious.

  “But he called you back,” she said. “Is that when you tattooed him?”

  He went cold. “I never tattooed him.”

  “Good.”

  “Why’d you think that?”

  “I needed something to focus on. He had the tribal sun on his shoulder . . .”

  Gunner stood, took two steps back as if someone had physically pushed him. “Was it a new tattoo?”

  “No. It was actually faded. Looked like it needed a touch-up. Gunner, you’re so pale—what’s wrong?”

  “Landon doesn’t have any tattoos.”

  * * *

  As soon as Avery told him about the sun tattoo, Gunner was up, grabbing for his laptop, pulling up a picture of Landon. “Was this him?”

  “Yes, it was him. The guy from that picture’s the guy who hurt me. I’m sure of it,” Avery insisted.

  “I believe you.” He got up and called into the living room for Jem, keeping his voice low. He wasn’t ready to let the others in on anything. Not until the three of them dealt with this new information.

  “Dude, what’s up?” Jem asked, his voice rough from sleep.

  “Come in here.”

  Jem did and Gunner motioned for him to close the door. Since he held the small surveillance camera in his hand, he did so. Placed it where they could all see it but remained standing.

  “Landon’s brother—any way he could be a twin? Identical twin?” Gunner asked, and Jem froze.

  “Fuck me,” he said finally, and Avery covered her mouth with her hand. “You think he’s pretending to be Landon?”

  “I think he’s been around, watching me for a lot longer than I realized,” Gunner said grimly. “Drew Landon’s a bastard, but he’s not a liar.”

  “The question is, if Donal’s pretending to be Drew . . . where is Drew?” Jem asked.

  “Last I saw him was right before you grabbed me in Bali,” Gunner told him. “I saw him hours before. No tattoo. He was heading back to his island.”