by CJ Bishop
But Colton continued to carry the guilt. Most often, it remained dormant. Now and then, though—especially when Shay was mentioned, and he saw how much Cory still hurt from the loss—the guilt crawled out of hiding and filled up his beautiful eyes.
Fuck. “Colton…” Cory sighed. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to bring that up, it’s just… shit can happen out there, and it happens fucking fast. If Clint insists on taking Axel, then… then I want to go, too.”
“What?” Colton’s face pinched. “No. You need to stay right here. Clint will have Axel’s back. You know Clint would never let anything happen to him.”
“I would feel better if I—”
“Well, I wouldn’t.” Colton returned to the kitchen, his breath quick and uneven.
Cory followed and set the coffee cup on the counter, untouched. “What if something does happen to him?” Cory swallowed. “I could help watch his back.”
Releasing a shaky breath, Colton faced him. “And what if something happened to you? Do you know how many people that would destroy? Besides me? Clint, Axel, Cochise—they would never forgive themselves for taking you with them. Your dad and Angelo… they already lost one son when they lost Shay. Why do you think your dad doesn’t want you out there anymore?” Tears shimmered. “And what the fuck do you think it would do to me? I fucking love you, Cory—you’re my whole fucking world.”
You’re such a shit, Corrigan Romero. The reprimand came in the voices of many.
“You don’t have to worry,” he whispered. “My dad, Clint, Cochise… you know none of them will let me go, no matter how much I…” He smiled small for Colton’s benefit. “… stomp my feet and throw a tantrum.”
Colton swallowed thickly and pulled the younger man into his arms. “I know you’re capable of doing this job and any other, but…” He held Cory tighter. “… but I saw what Axel and Kane went through this last time… what they go through every time the men are out on a job… and I don’t want that to be our life.” He loosened his hold and cupped Cory’s face, stroking his thumbs over his cheeks. “I feared for your life once—and that was enough. Too much, even. I don’t know how they do it, but I can’t. I swear I’d have a fucking nervous breakdown if I had to worry about you so much.”
“You don’t have to.” Cory kissed him and touched brows. “My family will never let me engage in that life again.”
Kissing him deeply, Colton whispered, “Hooray for your family.”
Hooray, indeed, Cory thought with an unintentional sour note. He would never admit it to Colton, but he missed that life. His dad, Angelo, Clint, Cochise—they all had a hand in raising him to be a hardcore gangster. Now, he was supposed to just flip a switch and stop being who they raised him to be?
How the fuck did they expect him to do that?
• • •
“We’ll be leaving out of the San Antonio area.” Clint spread out the roadmap on the counter and circled the city in black marker. “And the sanctuary is just south of Calgary, Canada…” He traced a rough route across the map, calculating the miles. “That’s roughly two thousand miles. Probably a little more because we’ll need to keep to the backroads and off the interstates.”
Donald leaned against the sink, phone in hand. “It says that Calgary is about one hundred and fifty miles from the U.S./Canadian border.” He looked up. “Do you know how far south of Calgary the sanctuary is located?”
“No,” Cochise answered. “But he said just across the border. Maybe fifty to a hundred miles on the other side.”
Clint nodded. “Probably.”
“It says here that Calgary is about fifty miles east of the front ranges of the Canadian Rockies. Maybe it’s located in that general area, near the Rockies.”
“Could be,” Clint said. “I’d think they would want it in a secluded area. Officially sanctioned or not, there are always people who hate immigrants. The States are riddled with them, but you can bet your ass Canada has its fair share as well. People are the same everywhere.”
“We’ll know more when we get to Texas and Alvarez provides a thorough briefing,” Cochise said.
“Yeah, I think he has a couple of routes mapped out for the two teams. We’ll look them over when we get there.”
Leaving the map on the counter, the two gangsters retreated to the back porch alone.
“What’re you thinking?” Cochise asked when Clint walked to the edge of the porch and clamped his hands to his hips, staring across the spacious yard.
Clint spoke low. “Whichever route we choose is going to take us through Montana.” He turned around. “Braden settled in Montana, didn’t he?”
“The last I heard.” Cochise frowned. “You’re thinking of involving him in this?”
“He’s old school. The best of the baddest.”
“He got out for a reason.”
“That was years ago.”
Cochise shrugged. “Doesn’t hurt to ask. But don’t expect a warm welcome.”
“I don’t.”
“We need to pay another visit to Malcolm.”
Clint nodded. “We’ll do that tomorrow.”
The Egyptian stood beside Clint and gripped the porch rail, a hardness seeping into his face, cinching his brow—and betraying the conflict within. Cochise—like Clint—despised decisions without options. This job provided no options—they had to do it. Not because Alvarez had them by the balls, as was the case the last time—but because conscience required it of them. In the old days, maybe they would’ve walked away, accepting that they couldn’t save everyone—and not even trying.
Those days were long gone. Lack of conscience was no longer a luxury they could afford.
The demand of this upcoming job wreaked havoc on the Egyptian. The last time out had broken him in ways only a trained eye could see. Clint saw it. So did Kane. Coming home had been his saving grace—returning to the one place where he could rest, heal, and reboot.
That process had only just begun when they got the call to head out again.
Cochise would get the job done, no question about it. His mind and body would automatically shift into “combat” mode—it was his heart that concerned Clint. Back in the day, that was the one thing that never came into play—for either of them. But again, those days were long gone. Cochise felt a powerful duty to his family, and in his mind, he was failing them by leaving again so soon after returning home.
Clint understood. He battled the same sense of failure. Especially with Hope. The sting of Luke’s words lingered. The boy hadn’t meant to wound him… but the truth of what he’d said hurt like hell.
Flushing the thought from his mind, Clint cleared his throat. “How are Kane and the kids handling this?” He put no stock in their behavior in Clint’s presence. They wouldn’t be as open and honest about their feelings when Clint was there.
Cochise exhaled. “Fine.”
“Kane, too? Did you talk to him again?”
“No.”
“No… what? He isn’t handling it fine? Or you didn’t talk to him?”
Another breath escaped the Egyptian and he seemed to deflate. “Both.”
“Are you going to talk to him?”
Cochise bent forward and rested his elbows on the rail. “Yeah.” He sighed.
Clint suspected he had more to say but nothing else came out. These things couldn’t be pried out of the man. He would talk when he was ready.
“I should head home,” Clint said. “I want to spend as much time as I can with my kids before we have to leave.”
Cochise nodded. “Go.”
“We’ll pay another visit to Malcolm first thing in the morning.”
“Yeah.” Cochise straightened. “Braden?”
“I’ll contact him today.”
“Let me know how it goes.”
“I will.” Clint walked down the porch steps. “Talk to Kane. Don’t leave unresolved issues between you two when you leave.”
“We’ll talk.”
“All right.”
Clint headed for home while the Egyptian remained on the porch. He was still outside when Clint entered his house through the back door.
• • •
Cochise lingered a few minutes more, then stepped toward the door, halting when it abruptly opened, and Kane emerged. He looked around. “Clint went home?”
“Yeah.” Cochise cleared his throat. “I was just about to come inside.”
“Not yet.” Kane crossed the porch and took the Egyptian’s former spot at the rail. “I feel like there are things we need to talk about… but I’m not sure what they are.”
Cochise stared at the back of his head, noting the slight catch in his voice that suggested he did know what they were. Kane typically spoke his mind—it wasn’t like him to dance around things that needed to be addressed. Cochise lowered his eyes to the man’s hands, resting together on the wooden rail, as he absently twisted his engagement ring.
“I agree.” Cochise walked over and gently gripped his shoulders. “And we will talk… soon.”
“Why… why not now?”
Pressing a kiss to Kane’s head, Cochise whispered, “I’ll tell you later… when we talk.”
Kane turned around and hugged his waist. “How much are you not telling us?”
“What?”
“About the meeting. About what the agent said. You told us you didn’t know how dangerous it would be, but that wasn’t entirely true, was it? And if you’re not telling us the whole truth… then that means it’s worse than you want us to know.”
Cochise curled his arms around Kane’s shoulders and engulfed him in a bear-like hug. His lips raked Kane’s ear. “It is dangerous. But nothing we can’t handle.”
Kane held him tighter, burrowing his face into the Egyptian’s neck. “I love you so much.” His words trembled. “If something ever happened to you…”
“It isn’t.” Cochise crushed his body against him, fingers digging into his back. “If the devil wants me—he’ll have to come up from hell himself to get me. And even then, he’d have a fucking fight on his hands.”
Kane shuddered inside his arms. “I know he would—from me.”
Cochise smiled small; Kane may be a pacifist, but he would go to war with all of hell for those he loved. And that was one of the many things that made him the perfect “life mate” for the Egyptian.
Loosening his arms, Cochise kissed him on the mouth. “It’s freezing out here, you should go back inside.”
“Aren’t you coming in?”
“In a minute. I need to speak to Zoe.”
“Zoe?” Kane frowned. “What about?”
“Can you ask her to come out here?” he asked, sidestepping Kane’s question.
“Yeah.” Kane returned inside, and Zoe emerged moments later.
“You wanted to talk to me?” She huddled inside her warm jacket. “Is everything all right?”
Cochise shifted and let out an uneven breath. “I, uh…” He cleared his throat. “I need your help with something.”
“I’ll help if I can. What is it?”
Cochise fidgeted, entirely out of his element as he did his best to explain his dilemma.
CHAPTER 9
“Grandpa!”
The man walking up the path to the large cabin halted, his thick-treaded boots crunching in the snow. He turned around—and a snowball exploded against his chest.
The nine-year-old little girl—bundled from head to toe—burst into giggles. “Gotcha!”
“Oh, you started something now.” He dumped his armload of firewood on the ground and scooped a handful of snow.
The girl squealed and dove behind the snow-covered stack of firewood.
“Come out and take your punishment.”
“No!” the child squawked, then jumped up suddenly and launched three or four snowballs in a row—all but one hitting its target. She must’ve stocked up on ammo before attacking—smart kid.
Her grandpa surged ahead, overwhelming her shelter. She shrieked and took off through the field of snow that blanketed the front lawn. He laughed and pelted the back of her snow parka with lightly packed snowballs. She went facedown in the snow and didn’t get up. His grin vanished.
“Beth?” He ran forward, plunging through the freshly fallen powder. “You okay, sweetheart?” He scooped her up and she burst into laughter, quickly shoving a handful of snow down the front of his shirt.
She squirmed from his arms and ran for the house, leaving a trail of giggles floating on the crisp winter air as she climbed up the wide porch steps and turned around, panting and grinning, her cheeks flush with the cold. She laughed harder as the older man did a jig on the lawn, trying to get the snow out of his clothes.
“I’ll get you for that!” he growled and plodded through the snow toward the cabin.
Beth laughed and shook her head. “No, you won’t!” She raced inside the house.
“Brat!” he hollered and gathered up the discarded firewood and climbed the porch steps. He brushed as much snow as he could from the chunks of wood and entered the cabin, dumping the short logs in the bin next to the fireplace.
His granddaughter had already shed her parka, snow pants, and boots. She cuddled on the sofa beneath a fleece throw, her face half-covered, eyes squinted as she watched him stoke the fire, little giggles filtering through the blanket.
Tossing a couple of logs on the fire, he turned his head and scowled. “You’re going to pay for that, you little devil.” He straightened and peeled off his jacket and gloves, tossing them across the wood box, then kicked off his boots.
“Huh-uh.”
“Uh-huh.” He crouched over and hooked his fingers into claws and wriggled them at his granddaughter.
“No!” she squeaked and scooped the cover over her head, laughing. “Not the tickle bear!”
“Yes, the tickle bear.” He growled deep and rough.
“No-no!” Beth squealed and began kicking her feet before he touched her.
“Yes,” he spoke in a gruff voice and attacked her with tickles.
Beth kicked and twisted and rolled, squalling in laughter. “Grandpa—stop!”
“No way.” He rubbed his beard stubble on her cheek, making her laugh harder. “Not after what you did—”
His phone began to beep.
Retreating from the tickle-fest, he dug his phone from his pocket and tensed.
Beth’s face crinkled. “Why is your phone doing that?”
“Uh…” Her grandpa cleared his throat and walked to the fireplace. “Why don’t you go fix us some cocoa, honey,” he mumbled as he stared at his cell phone.
“With marshmallows?” she piped up.
“Of course.”
“Yippee!” She hopped off the sofa and raced into the kitchen in her stocking feet.
As his mind spun, he heard his granddaughter in the background—filling two mugs with water, the clicking of the microwave oven door, beeping, whirring.
His heart thumped with force.
He laid the phone on the mantel and left the living room, taking the open log stairs to the second floor, and went to his bedroom. He unlocked the bottom drawer of his desk, reached deep into the back of the drawer and disengaged the secret compartment, retrieved the item hidden within, and placed it on the desk.
A second cell phone—the screen blinking with a silent call.
Picking up the phone, he accepted the call but remained silent.
From the other end of the call came a distantly familiar Southern drawl. “Braden?”
• • •
“Cowboy…” The gruff voice came through the line with an air of reservation. Nine years had passed since the man had gone away, yet a clear and bold image of the former gangster formulated in Clint’s head; a towering mountain of a man reminiscent of an ancient highland warrior—the ragged vertical scar running down the left side of his face completing the vision.
Braden said no more, waiting for Clint to explain why he had called.
“How have you been?” Cli
nt asked, choosing a personal route.
“Fine.”
“And your granddaughter?”
“Fine.”
“She’s, what… about nine or ten now?”
“Whatever you want—get someone else.”
“Wait,” Clint jumped in before the man hung up.
“Wait for what?” Braden growled. “When I got out—it was for good. I’m not coming back.”
“I’m not asking you to,” Clint said. “But we’re going to be coming through your state soon with some… precious cargo. We just need a few extra eyes and ears… because we won’t be coming alone.”
A notable pause from the other end of the call. “What do you mean precious cargo?”
“Trafficking victims,” Clint spoke low. “Children. Some quite young. Families taken at the border. We're moving them to a safe place, but the journey will be treacherous—they’re not going to just let us walk away with their merchandise. They’ll be on our asses the entire way.”
Confused vibes rippled through the line. “Since when are you in the rescue business? The only rescuing the Sanitini mob was known for was Nathan taking in the occasional waif. I’ve never known you or the Egyptian to take care for anyone but yourselves and the family.”
“Things change,” Clint murmured. “People change.”
“Not in my experience.”
Clint looked into the living room, his gaze falling on Axel—sitting on the sofa, Hope in his arms, Luke beside him with his head on Axel’s shoulder. Braden understood family—he left because of family.
“We’re not those men anymore,” Clint said quietly. “We have families… children.” His voice strained and vision swam as he stared at his little family that he cherished more than life. “I understand now… why you had to go. I didn’t understand then, but I do now. Family is everything.”
• • •
Had he stumbled into an alternate reality? Braden wondered as he struggled to process what the cowboy was telling him. The cowboy and Egyptian—family men? They were Nathan’s two most ruthless enforcers. As hard as it was to believe the cowboy had “settled down”—it was a greater task believing the same of the Egyptian. Back in the day, Braden had taken the man to be—quite literally—soulless. That wasn’t to say he didn’t like him, but when he looked in his eyes, death and destruction were all he found.