by Cara Dee
Darius staggered back and covered his head as a shop window cracked behind him. Then when the screaming started, his heart rate went through the roof, and his eyes scanned the crowds to find Liman.
Shock stopped Darius in his tracks. Oh, fuck no. “Liman, don’t!” he shouted. The kid wore an anxious smile, and under his open jacket was a suicide belt. “Liman, listen to me!”
The screams of women, children, and men drowned out the boy’s response, but Darius could read it on his lips. “Bye, Mr. James.”
In a split second, Darius took in the sight of panicked civilians, crying kids in strollers, and men trying to usher their wives to safety. Several people were running away from the mayhem, covered in soot and blood.
Darius gripped his gun and broke inside, knowing what he had to do.
Five
Scents were a tricky thing. Darius could think of curry and get a craving. He could think of tea and picture his mother running around the house after misplacing her mug.
Then he’d catch a whiff of an herb or a spice, a type of tea or dried fruits, and he’d be transported back to places where those dishes and beverages brought him anything but fond memories or cravings.
Liman’s clothes had always smelled like tea leaves and pastries.
The smell of beach sand and salt made it easier to return to reality, and Darius took another deep breath to cement the present. He didn’t have flashbacks very often, and this hadn’t been one—technically. He could just predict the shit Gray was gonna go through soon, and it pushed Darius’s own past closer to the surface.
It fucking sucked.
He listened to the waves roll into their cove, the rushing sound filling his ears and calming his nerves. The sun was going to touch the horizon any moment, and he was so focused on the burning rays that he jumped when someone appeared next to him.
A limping Gray grasped Darius’s shoulder and eased down into the sand with a grunt and a wince.
The kid still wouldn’t wear more than sweats. Granted, all those tiny cuts and scrapes that littered his body after repeatedly landing on the spike mat would heal better with fresh air, but Darius couldn’t help but wonder if there was more to it.
The Caribbean was the Caribbean, though it did get chilly at night this time of year.
“I thought I told you to stay in the rescue boat and rest.” And keep his leg elevated.
Gray nodded once. “Then I remembered you’re not my dad.” He smiled cautiously. “Dr. Ryan cleared me for a ‘careful stroll,’ so you can relax.”
“Hm.” Darius let it go but wasn’t completely satisfied.
They sat in silence for a couple minutes, and Darius managed to get lost in the sunset again. The horizon caught on fire in reds and oranges, a sight that had always brought him peace.
Another day accomplished. They hadn’t lost anyone today.
“Ryan mentioned something,” Gray said quietly. “You didn’t want to take this mission or whatever. He said you’d been trying to keep to yourself and—he used the word civilian. That you don’t wanna be in this field anymore. But something must’ve changed your mind.”
Oh boy. Darius didn’t have a clue about how to explain this. Half the time, he wasn’t sure he knew the reason himself. He’d gone from being strictly opposed to agreeing in under an hour. And truth of the matter was, he’d rather risk his own life than anyone else he’d recommend for this gig.
“Firstly, I thought it was a lost cause,” he admitted. “Kids in your position rarely make it out alive. They disappear.”
Gray swallowed and looked down. “Ryan joked and said that we’re rare enough to get Hollywood offers.”
Darius chuckled under his breath and scratched his side. “He’s not wrong, I guess. There will be some media attention once they’ve dug up your identities.”
The kid made a face and peered out over the ocean.
Darius sighed, thinking back to the day Gray went from being a young man on the news to being the best friend of Darius’s buddy’s boyfriend.
Funny how little it took. Five years of progress, five years of focusing on family and his restaurant. He’d opened the place with nothing but a handful of family recipes and a liquor license. These days, Quinn’s Fish Camp was thriving, and Darius had his own boat crew that supplied them with the best seafood their town had to offer. Yet, he’d risked it all when Madigan came to the restaurant with a request.
“You stopped being a news story,” Darius said. “That’s what changed.”
Grabbing two beer bottles, he left the bar and jerked his chin toward the tables in the back of the restaurant. His friend Madigan followed, and they took their seats in the corner next to the bathrooms.
“No luck, I assume.” Darius twisted the caps off the bottles and handed one beer to his buddy.
Madigan shook his head, looking older than his forty years. Darius couldn’t blame him. Madigan’s fiancé was beside himself with grief, and helplessness fucking blew.
For a while, they sipped their beers in silence, and Madigan looked out over the oblivious dinner guests, deep in thought.
Darius waited for the inevitable questions.
“What’re the odds?” Madigan asked.
There was one of the questions. A reporter on the news had crossed a line or two when he’d shoved statistics down Gray’s mother’s throat in a live segment. She’d looked stricken and hadn’t responded, quickly being ushered into the police station by family. Unfortunately, the stats were legit. The odds of Gray coming home safe weren’t in their favor.
“Not good.” Darius cleared his throat and picked at the label on his bottle. “Has the kid’s family gone private yet?”
Madigan sat straighter. “It’s come up. You think it’s a good idea?”
“It’s gonna cost his parents an arm and a leg, but the chances are better.”
Then came the one question Darius didn’t wanna face again. Ever.
“Can you do it?” Madigan’s stare was unwavering, and Darius clenched his jaw. “Cut the crap, Quinn. You’ve been involved in some shit in your day. You’re secretive about it for a reason, but some things you can’t hide.”
Darius had heard that for years and years. How he carried himself, how he was constantly alert, the scars that decorated his body, the occasional flinch at certain sounds. PTSD worked around the clock and, ironically, only took breaks when he faced danger. It wasn’t until he was home safe and sound that the world crumbled around him.
He’d been doing better, though. Because he didn’t get involved anymore.
“You don’t know what you’re asking.” It was half a warning, half a plea.
Madigan pulled out his phone and scrolled for a bit. “Here.” He slid the gadget across the table, and Darius found himself looking at two grins. Two boys. Abel, Madigan’s partner, and Gray. Both decked out in hockey gear, both with mouthguards, both sweaty. And happy. “He’s only twenty. He’s got his whole life ahead of him.”
No, he doesn’t.
Darius took a swift swig of his beer and averted his glare.
It was just yesterday it had become public that human trafficking was involved, something Darius had called from the day Gray’d been kidnapped. Foolishly, it’d given his family hope that he was still alive. And he undoubtedly was—for now.
Madigan pushed ahead. “Answer me this. Am I asking the wrong person? What’s the bullshit story you’ve stuck to? Risk assessment consultant in the private sector?” He smirked and shook his head. “They don’t come home with your scars, man.”
Darius hadn’t lied about his past career, technically. He’d…glossed over some bits. Risk assessment had been part of his job.
Another glance at the photo before the phone went dark made Darius antsy.
He drained his beer and tapped his foot restlessly.
“Will the Feds find him, Darius?”
No. They wouldn’t waste the resources.
There was gonna be a team of agents following leads
for weeks. They would most likely find one or two of the locations Gray had been held at, but eventually, the trail was gonna go cold. Darius had read the official reports, and this was big. This was one of the larger underground organizations, and they didn’t fuck around.
“Answer me, Quinn,” Madigan snapped.
“No,” Darius growled. “They won’t find him.” Anger and experience tumbled out in a furious rant. “This isn’t some hustler selling his speedballing girlfriend to an old creep with a basement and ten grand to spare in Kentucky. They chose him. They studied him. They have foreign buyers, a network of associates in every state, remote property, shell companies—”
“So give me a name,” Madigan spat out. “I don’t want anyone I care about in danger, and that includes both you and Gray. So give me your best man. We’ll pay whatever the fuck, just make sure he’s one you trust to get the job done.”
Fuck.
Darius gnashed his teeth and scrubbed a hand over his jaw. Part of him was itching to knock Madigan’s teeth out. Because he was stuck. Darius knew a handful of guys—retired like him—who could do ten times better than the Feds. A couple lived just a few hours away. More than that, they’d accept the gig. Ramirez came to mind…
He’d leave his family. They all would. Their wives, their kids, everyone.
Darius had no one except an on-and-off girlfriend and overwatered tomato plants.
As the defeat washed over him, his analytical brain kick-started itself. It was like riding a bike. He’d have to call in favors and exhaust his connections, especially when dealing with government people. He had to get his hand on the case file, first and foremost. Sandra. An old buddy’s wife—she was with the Bureau in Seattle. He would start there. Then he had to call Ryan. Motherfucker.
“I’ll do it,” he bit out.
Darius and Gray stayed on the beach for a long time. Cole showed up to give them dinner, which consisted of grilled fish, saltines, and sliced tomato. It was a feast considering they were stranded on a deserted island.
Good food aside, the evening brought frustration and restlessness for Darius. He’d made a deal with Ryan to rest the entire day—and to sleep through the night—and then they’d “discuss” things further in the morning. Well, there would be very little discussing and a whole lot of Darius telling Ryan to back the fuck off. He appreciated his brother, but enough was enough. Ryan was supposed to help out when needed, not take care of everything.
“How did your family take it when you said you were going after me?” Gray asked.
Darius stuck another piece of fish into his mouth and smirked ruefully. “A mixed bag of concern and punches. Toughest one was Squeezy.”
“You s-stupid motherfucking cunt ass dipshit!”
Darius flinched and tried to dodge the fists pounding his chest, but he didn’t end the assault. “I’m gonna give you—Jesus fucking Christ—ten more seconds.” The last words left him in a growl, and he cupped his jaw. That was gonna bruise, no doubt. “Fuck. Squeezy, ease up—”
“Fuck you! Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you!”
Okay, that was enough. He caught the next two blows and spun Squeezy around, locking his arm across her chest. “Quit it.” He secured both her arms along her sides and stopped her from thrashing. “Don’t be so fucking difficult.”
“I’m difficult?” she screamed. “I’m—I’m—” She let out another scream, this time in frustration because she lost the ability to speak. Instead, she cried and slammed her heel down on Darius’s toes.
“Motherfff—” Pain shot up Darius’s foot, and he pressed his lips together in a tight line.
How could someone so small cause so much destruction?
“Oh my God,” Gray choked out, then started laughing.
Darius stared and stared. Plain stared. Food forgotten. A rush of something flowed through him and raised the hairs on his arms. The sound… The sound of Gray laughing was something else. Youthful, carefree peals of laughter, head tilted back, and eyes glistening.
Darius swallowed hard and tried to compose himself.
One thing was clear. Life looked a lot less bleak when Gray Nolan laughed.
“She sounds hilarious.” Gray was struggling to calm down, and Darius wished he wouldn’t. Laugh instead. Keep laughing. “Go on, I wanna hear more.”
Hear what? Oh. The story. Well, if it made Gray laugh…
Breathing through the pain, Darius guided Willow across the attic to get away from her computers. She had seven of them, all worth more than what Darius thought was reasonable. The other side of the attic was safer. The big bed took up the short end of the wall, and an old couch was positioned next to it. That was where he sat down with his little sister and tried to comfort her.
He wanted her to calm down before Britt came up here. She was their aging aunt with a bad hip and a foul mouth.
“I’ll be fine, Willow.”
“That’s—” She sucked in a breath and turned to sign language, something she did when anxiety spiked and she became nonverbal. “Jake said he would be fine too.”
Ouch. “Low blow.” He patted down her messy hair, unsure if her new hair color was black or blue. It changed every month. “You can’t compare our situations like that.”
Over a decade had passed since their brother Jake had died in Afghanistan, and Willow had never shied away from using him as an argument before Darius and Ryan had retired.
When their parents adopted Willow and Elise, no one could’ve foreseen how bossy these two forces of nature would be. Or how wrapped around their fingers the brothers would be.
Darius hugged Willow to him tightly and kissed the top of her head as she drew a ragged breath and finally calmed down. “We need your help, Squeezy.”
He didn’t need to be fluent in sign language to understand her gesture.
Darius sighed and glanced over at her work area. All those computers and other gadgets he didn’t even know the names of—or what they did. But she knew, and she could help him.
Fucking Ryan. Darius hadn’t even considered Squeezy until Ryan said he’d lost touch with the buddies who could run tech support for this gig. That left one person, and Ryan had been too happy to deliver that news. He was in. He would help—if Darius reached out to Willow.
“What’s that big thing on the floor next to the desk over there?” he asked. It looked like a printer the size of a copy machine.
She followed his gaze and scrunched her face together. When she then untangled herself from Darius to reach the notepad on her nightstand, he understood it was something she couldn’t convey in sign.
She wrote him a note.
My panty printer. It’s where I print the graphics that go on the panties.
His eyebrows went up. “O…kay.”
That was Willow Quinn. Babysitter, hacktivist, and panty artist. Add “autistic as fuck,” and you had her business card. Literally. She’d ordered them as a joke, and their mother forbade her from handing them out to people. What Ma called insensitive, Darius and the other brothers called funny as hell.
It was her hacking skills he was interested in now.
“A young man was kidnapped.” He tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. “You’ve heard about that, right?”
She nodded and spelled out his name. “Gray Nolan. Aunt Britt told me about it.”
Darius inclined his head too. “The crime organization that took him hides behind shell companies.” Those words were enough to get Willow’s attention. She lived for these challenges. “There’s tight security, firewalls to get around—”
She made a noise, and she was suddenly comfortable enough to speak. “Do you even know what a firewall is?”
He cracked a smirk. “You do. You also know how to get into databases and override security systems.”
“Ugh, of course I do.” She huffed and left the couch, walking briskly to her office space. Always wearing the same baggy cargo pants and skimpy tops. Darius dreaded the day she found a man who didn’t bore h
er half to death. “I’m gonna need a list,” she said, wheeling her chair over to another screen. “I’ll Skype Ryan later.” Next to her computer screen, she had an intercom that she used to communicate with their aunt. It was a relationship Darius never truly understood, though it reminded him of Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson. “Aunt Britt, I’m snackish. Can I have seven lollipops, please? Thank you.” She snapped her fingers at Darius, who looked on in amusement. “Have a seat, and don’t touch anything. I need to know everything about this case.”
Squeezy was in.
Gray was down to chuckles at this point, and he wiped a couple stray tears from his cheeks.
“I wanna meet her,” he confessed, snickering. “I’m a fan of ballbusters.”
“Then you’ll love her,” Darius replied dryly. He couldn’t help but shake his head in amusement. “Elise is almost as bad.”
“That’s your other sister, right?”
Darius nodded.
Gray’s face took on a wistful expression. “Do you think it’s still a lost cause?”
“What do you mean?” Darius tilted his head.
“I mean, will we make it? Are we still in danger?”
Ah. Darius scrubbed at his jaw, thinking over his answer. He knew Gray didn’t wanna hope anymore. He was scared to. And yeah, there were risks. The yacht was resting in pieces at the bottom of shallow waters, and their last known location wasn’t far enough away. Darius gave it another couple days before they’d start seeing boats around the islands. Possibly even sooner, given that the cartel would be just as interested in knowing what happened. It wasn’t only the slave organization that was a major problem.
Risks didn’t mean they were gonna die, though.
“You’re gonna see your family again,” he said firmly. “We have to lay low and be careful a while longer, but we faced a bigger threat on the yacht.”