Touch & Geaux (Cut & Run, #7)

by Abigail Roux

  He had converted three of Zane’s shots to blanks, though having done it without the proper equipment they might still pack a little bit of a punch. He’d taken the bullet out, leaving nothing but the charge, and packed them with newspaper to seal the powder in the case.

  That wad of newspaper would come out like any other projectile, and the muzzle blast would still be powerful. It wouldn’t kill him, though.

  He was just finishing the round that Liam would be firing at him, creating a makeshift hollow-point that should expand and break up when it hit the resistance of the vest. He cut the hollow of the jacket to weaken it so it would expand like a flower on impact, rather than penetrate deeply. Without the vest, the sharp petals of the flower would slice through flesh two to three times the size of the original bullet.

  If Liam missed, it was going to be ugly.

  He lifted his head as Liam stepped into the room. The man looked around at their preparations, an eyebrow raised.

  He stopped in front of Digger and Owen. “What in God’s name is that?”

  “Ketchup. And some other stuff,” Digger answered. He and Owen had spent all morning filling quart bags with the concoction. “Barbecue sauce, Crisco. Chocolate powder and water.”

  Ty’s nose curled as the list went on. It sounded like something Digger would cook and serve at home.

  They put enough of the sauce in each bag to let them remain slim when sealed and flattened. Then they duct-taped the bags to the outside of the Kevlar vest.

  Liam picked up one of the bags and squished it. “Marines are disgusting.”

  “Hey,” Owen grunted.

  “I have to agree right now,” Nick said. He had a quart tub of Crisco and had been mixing it with diaper cream and chocolate powder to make face paint. The diaper cream had an especially unpleasant smell. “We’re putting this on our faces.”

  Liam shuddered and poked at the vest Ty would be wearing.

  “What about the back?”

  Digger shrugged. “We got no way of doing that without wiring Ty with some small explosives.”

  “Fuck no,” Ty said immediately.

  Liam snorted. “It’ll have to do.”

  The vest itself was white, made to look like a T-shirt beneath other clothing. It reduced one layer, but with the Kevlar and the slimy bags of fake blood, Ty’s mobility would still be cut down. He wasn’t meant to be mobile, though; he simply had to stand there and die.

  His stomach tumbled with nerves and he wiped a hand over his face. “Did you scout the location?” he asked Liam.

  Liam sauntered over and sat opposite him, nodding. “I have a nice little nest all set up on—”

  “Don’t tell me where,” Ty interrupted. “If I get nervous, I’m afraid I’ll look at you.”

  “Okay. There’s graffiti everywhere, so I put a big black X on the pavement where you’re meant to stand. Try to get as close as you can to it, yeah?”

  Ty nodded. He picked up the bullet he’d just finished and held it up for Liam to see. “Hollow-point round.” He held up another, one he hadn’t messed with. “Armor-piercing round.” He waved them together. “Do not get these mixed up.”

  Liam chuckled, then leaned closer, sighing heavily and meeting Ty’s eyes. “Tyler, if I wanted you dead, I would have done when it was easy to kill you.” He plucked the fragmenting round from Ty’s fingers. “We have no way of marking it.”

  “No. Any etchings on the outside will fuck with the spin. Hell, I’m even afraid to mark it with a Sharpie.”

  Liam was humming, turning the bullet over. He clutched it in his hand, then patted the back of Ty’s neck, pulling his head to press their foreheads together. Ty closed his eyes. Months of their time spent together in arid camps in Kabul and damp training installations in the south of England came back to him. He’d trusted this man.

  “You did this for me once,” Liam murmured. “It’s time I return the favor.”

  Ty nodded, swallowing hard.

  Liam’s voice dropped lower. “And if you want to stay dead, I’ll always be a call away.” He released Ty and stood.

  Ty sat back, eyes still closed as he fought for calm. He felt Liam moving away. The front door opened and snicked shut again, and just like that, Liam Bell was gone.

  Ty took a deep, unsteady breath and glanced up.

  Zane was standing in the bedroom door, watching him. “You okay?”

  Ty nodded.

  “I’m about to make the calls,” Zane said. The activity in the room died down, everyone stopping to look at Zane. “Is everyone ready?”

  Ty looked around, taking in the faces of the men he’d called his friends, the men he’d loved like brothers and spilled blood for. And then Zane. The only man Ty had ever truly given his heart to. If there was anyone to make a last stand with, it was the men in this room.

  “We’re ready.”

  Zane sat astride Liam’s Honda Shadow, a bandana with a menacing skull printed on it pulled over his face. Ty sat behind him, his hands looped over Zane like a seatbelt, tied at the wrists. They had a pillowcase over his head, a large smiley face drawn on it.

  “Trust me,” Digger told him. “This is New Orleans. Nobody’ll bat an eye.”

  “Let’s kick it, Garrett,” Ty said in Zane’s ear.

  Zane didn’t waste more time with goodbyes. He gunned the bike away from the house, winding their way through the streets toward the hulking wasteland of Six Flags New Orleans.

  The noise of the motorcycle signaled their arrival, and that was exactly how Zane had wanted it. All eyes on them. The front gate of the park had been cut and left ajar, and Zane used the bike to plow through it. He came to a halt in the park entrance, stunned by the shape of the place.

  The map had shown a happy amusement park set up in a vague circle around a center pond. On the far side was a large body of water, abutted by an area of the park called Pontchartrain Beach. It was a long, wide thoroughfare, and that was where Zane had told Valencia and Gaudet to meet him.

  But the map hadn’t prepared him for the park itself: an urban badlands, left to hold its own against the elements and urban explorers with spray paint.

  “Jesus, Ty, you know how to pick them,” Zane muttered.

  “Is it as creepy as it feels? ’Cause I can’t see shit through this thing.”

  Zane nodded.

  Main Street Square was built to mimic the architecture of the French Quarter. It boasted stunning colors and Creole townhouses with sweeping galleries, but it was all covered in graffiti and debris. Weeds encroached. Huge pots sprouted weeds and saplings, and many had “NOLA Rising” written on them. Zane couldn’t take his eyes off the crumbling façades. Left to their own devices, the buildings had begun to tear themselves apart.

  “Zane,” Ty whispered. His arms tightened around Zane’s chest. “We can’t linger.”

  Zane gave a curt nod and maneuvered the bike through the trash and detritus along the causeways. Other parts of the park were in even worse shape, and Zane pushed the motorcycle faster, not liking the feeling the park gave him. When they reached the bend that began Pontchartrain Beach, Zane stopped the bike, and Ty pulled his hands over Zane’s head so they could dismount. Zane grabbed the rope between Ty’s hands and looked at him. The garish red smiley face grinned back.

  He walked Ty ahead of him, jerking him by his arm, shoving him around debris in his path.

  Five men in pristine suits stood to one side of Pontchartrain Beach, their backs to the swampland behind them. Under an awning on the other side of the wide causeway, Gaudet and his very large son stood with two men in uniform. And Ava. Her eyes were red and her face was puffy. She took an involuntary step toward them when they appeared. Her brother held her back.

  Zane pulled Ty closer, standing just behind him, a gun jammed into his ribs. Faded blue waves were painted all over the pavement, as if he and Ty were submerged in some surreal river, and several feet away was the large X Liam had marked on the ground.

  Zane stepped b
eside Ty and turned him, then swept the pillowcase off Ty’s head. He met his eyes one last time, trying to memorize every fleck of gold, every imperfection and quirk. There was fear in Ty’s eyes, and Zane’s resolve almost left him. But he shoved him, making him stumble toward the X.

  “Xander,” Mateo Valencia said. He stepped forward, his arms spread wide. “Or should I say, Zane?”

  “Call me whatever you want. I’m not here to chat. I’m here to end this.”

  “A position I share,” Valencia said. He ran a hand along the scar on his cheek, the one Zane had given him years ago. “Tell me why I should not just kill everyone here and leave?”

  Gaudet pulled his gun, and his men followed suit. “You can try it.”

  “That’s exactly what I want to avoid,” Zane shouted. “One death! That’s all we need here. And I have just the man for it.” He gave Ty another shove, closer to the X. “Commander Gaudet, you know this man as Tyler Beaumont. He has information you need, am I right?”

  “That’s right.”

  “And Mateo, the only thing you need is the man who killed Antonio. Muerto. Si?”

  “Claro que si.”

  “So what’s the problem?” Zane asked.

  “What is it you’re getting out of this, cowboy?” Gaudet asked.

  Zane opened his mouth to speak, but Valencia beat him to it. “He is one of ours. A thorn the FBI inserted into our paw. A thorn we removed and sent back to them with poison in him.”

  Zane hated the sound of that, but he kept a stony face.

  “And I want out from under de la Vega. This is my ticket. Do we have a deal?”

  “It is agreeable to me.”

  “And I’m guessing you want out of my city with a free pass, huh?” Gaudet asked.

  Zane nodded.

  “Fine.”

  “Let us get this done with,” Valencia called.

  Zane took a shaky breath. Nerves were building. “Gaudet, what is it you want to know?”

  Gaudet stepped forward, but not too far from the protection of the others. “The information you gathered, Beaumont. What happened to it?”

  Ty shook his head.

  Gaudet gripped Ava by the arm, pulling her forward. “Talk some damn sense into him.”

  She took a ragged, unsteady breath. It was loud in the silence of the dead park. “Ty,” she said with difficulty. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what to do.” She began walking toward him.

  Zane saw her father raise his arm, his gun trained on her back. His body jerked, but thankfully Ty reacted before he could.

  “No!” he called.

  Ava startled and whirled to face her father. She stumbled back when she saw him lowering his gun. “Daddy?”

  He shook his head. “I’m sorry, darlin’. Make that boy talk.”

  “Okay!” Ty shouted. His voice broke. “Okay. Cher, viens à moi.”

  Zane had heard Ty whisper enough French to understand that order: Come to me. Ava didn’t hesitate, and Ty caught her and stepped in front of her, shielding her. Tears were streaming down her face, but Zane saw her slip a small blade into Ty’s palm. Zane shook his head. They hadn’t anticipated this. Who the hell would’ve expected the man to threaten his own daughter? He licked his lips, glancing to the swamp. If this went to hell, that swamp was their only hope.

  Liam made a low whistling sound through the device in Zane’s ear. “Little touch and go there, lads. Who do I shoot first if things go to hell?”

  Zane made a shushing sound.

  “The information you gathered?” Gaudet demanded.

  “Katrina wiped it out,” Ty said quickly. “Everything I had, it’s gone. There’s nothing left on you.”

  Gaudet pursed his lips and nodded curtly. It seemed to Zane that Ty had merely confirmed what Gaudet already knew. “It’ll do. Ava, girl, get back here.”

  “Mais non!” Ty cried.

  “I think I’ll be taking her with me,” Zane growled. “Payment for services rendered.”

  She gulped air, trying not to cry as she gripped the back of Ty’s shirt. Ty was covertly slicing through the ropes at his wrists with the knife she’d slipped him, preparing for everything to go to hell. Ava was made of tough stuff, Zane could say that about her. But she was about to fall apart.

  “Shoot him now, Xander, or I will,” Valencia called, obviously tiring of the family drama.

  “Ava, run,” Ty gasped. “Run!”

  Ava backed away a few steps. Zane rounded on Ty, putting his back to the Colombians and raising his gun. He pointed it at Ty’s chest. He met Ty’s eyes, seeing the fear there, the uncertainty.

  “One,” Liam said in his ear. “Two.”

  “Zane,” Ty whispered. Zane’s world began to slow.

  “Three.”

  Ava darted forward, grabbing Ty’s shoulder and swinging around him. Zane pulled the trigger. The blast echoed through the park, two shots becoming one.

  Ty’s shout was lost in the sound of the shot. The bullet thumped into her back and threw her into Ty. He caught her around the waist as she fell, crying out, cradling her with a hand to her face as they both dropped to the ground.

  “Shit!” Liam shouted. “Son of a bitch! Stupid fucking girl!”

  Other shouts mingled with the hammering of Zane’s heart in his ears. He took a step toward them, watching as Ty laid her lifeless body on the ground, his hands shaking and covered with blood.

  “Oh God, Ty.”

  Zane could hear guns being drawn behind him. Ty grabbed Zane’s hand and pulled himself to his feet. He shoved his shoulder into Zane’s body, spinning them, forcing Zane to use him as a shield. He held Zane’s hand behind his back, squeezing it hard, refusing to allow Zane to let go as Gaudet and his men opened fire on them.

  Ty’s body jerked against Zane’s as the first bullet hit, then again and again, shoving Zane back, forcing him off-balance.

  The Colombians opened fire on the crooked cops, offering Zane the covering fire they thought an informant of theirs deserved, mowing them down like ducks in a gallery with their high-powered weapons.

  Zane’s back hit the pavement, the weight of Ty’s body pinning him. The back of Ty’s head banged into Zane’s lip and he tasted blood. More gunfire came from the swamp. Patches of swamp grass were rising from the mire. Sidewinder.

  Mateo Valencia strolled toward them. He was shaking his head, reloading his gun.

  “Ty, get off me, come on,” Zane grunted. He pushed at Ty’s shoulder, but Ty merely gasped a ragged breath in response. “Ty?”

  “You think I forgive so easily?” Valencia asked Zane in Spanish. He ran a finger along the scar on his cheek as he loomed over Zane.

  Zane freed his arm and fired before Valencia could finish his reload. It was a blank round, but he still staggered back, swiping at singed pieces of his suit and bleeding where the paper plug had embedded in his neck. He shouted, aiming his gun at Zane’s head. But he never got to fire. One flick of Zane’s wrist, and the Vega cartel’s top enforcer fell to the ground with a knife in his heart, his gun sliding from his hand, useless.

  Zane scrambled from under his partner’s weight and knelt beside him, finally yanking the bandana off his face and tossing it aside. Ty was covered in blood from his chin to his knees, though what was real and what was fake, Zane couldn’t tell. Ty blinked up at the gray sky, gasping for breath that wouldn’t come. There were half a dozen bullet holes in his chest.

  “Oh Jesus, Ty,” Zane cried. He laid his gun aside and bent over Ty, grabbing his face with both hands. “Ty!”

  Ty struggled to take in air to respond. He reached up to grab Zane’s wrist instead, gripping it hard. He closed his eyes.

  “Ty, please,” Zane whispered. “Please don’t leave me.”

  Ty opened his eyes again and met Zane’s, gasping and making sounds like he was trying to form words. A bullet had grazed his neck. Another had grazed his arm. Zane had no idea how bad the rest of his wounds were. There was too much blood.

  Tears
blurred Zane’s vision and he looked up, desperate for help. Sidewinder was sweeping in from the swamp like angels of death, clearing weapons from dying hands, putting bullets in the heads of anyone who remained alive.

  Three helicopters thumped in the distance, coming closer.

  “Take his vest off him, Zane,” Liam said in Zane’s ear.

  Zane gasped and began pawing at Ty’s shirt. He ripped it open, then used his knife to cut the straps of the vest away.

  Ty gasped in air, his body arching off the ground as Zane freed him from the restrictive, mangled plates. He gasped again, pulling in air as hard as he could and beginning to shiver all over.

  Zane patted at Ty chest, wiping away the blood. “You’re not hit!” he cried, beginning to laugh hysterically. “Oh thank you, God.” He used his bandana to wipe away the fake blood from Ty’s neck, pressing it to the wound oozing real blood. He pulled Ty up to hug him and Ty groaned, but he wrapped his arms around Zane and dug his fingers into his shirt, hugging him fiercely. One hand came to tangle in Zane’s hair.

  “You’re breaking my ribs, Zane,” Ty managed to wheeze before a coughing fit overtook him.

  Zane released him and helped him lie back down. Ty closed his eyes, taking in deep breaths, one hand pressing to Zane’s against his neck, the other shaking as he rested it on his stomach. Zane used his sleeve to wipe the blood away from his own mouth and nose, and with his face clean of it, he could smell the fake blood on Ty, hints of tomato and chocolate and barbecue sauce. He collapsed beside Ty, relief overwhelming him as he rested his head on Ty’s stomach.

  “You’re an utter asshole,” Zane murmured against Ty’s abs.

  “You’re welcome.”

  “Is he okay?” Nick shouted as he ran toward them.

  Zane didn’t move to answer. He felt Ty raise a hand, probably giving a thumbs-up.

  The sound of the helicopters grew louder, and soon Zane could feel the wind of the rotor wash on his face. He finally realized a dozen men in SWAT gear were clearing the scene and trying to relieve Sidewinder of their weapons. Digger and Owen began to argue with two men who quickly pointed guns at their heads and made them get on their knees.