by Sharon Wray
Unfortunately, Deke was also Nate’s supplier of Z-pam, the anti-seizure drug, stronger than anything available in the U.S. and only sold in Canada, that semi-controlled his seizures without knocking him on his ass.
“Hey, Deke.” Sally twirled again. “I was just saying—”
“Get ready.” Deke licked his lips. “I want your ass tight and your tits high. And no platforms. This is a classy club.”
Sally hurried inside, but Nate had seen a tear. Once this mission ended, and he reentered the real world with health insurance, doctors, and pharmacists, the Time of Deke would end. Hopefully with Deke screaming please stop and don’t hurt me. He was the definition of dick.
Deke came closer, and Nate smelled his sour breath. “You got somethin’ to say?”
Had Nate said dick aloud? “Since when do you hire and fire?”
Deke’s sly smile reminded Nate of that story about the snake that’d had its head partially cut off and still ate its own body.
“Haven’t you heard?” Deke’s lips curled. “Earl resigned. I’m the manager.”
Wasn’t that a kick in the ass. Deke was now their boss. Let the fuck times roll.
“The girls are my responsibility.” Since Deke was self-absorbed enough to believe they cared, he kept yapping. “And the security staff. Watch your p’s and r’s. Or you’re out.”
Nate kept the laugh in, but Pete’s snort could’ve been heard in Charleston.
“You mean q’s.” Pete spoke low, but Nate heard the asshole at the end. “It’s p’s and q’s.”
With a resounding fuck you and a requisite middle finger, Deke headed into the club.
Nate sighed. “I can’t wait for this day to end.” Except fate decided to squeeze his balls once more and his cell phone rang. Blocked ID. Which meant it was their real boss, Colonel Kells Torridan, wanting an update.
After pointing to Pete to stand watch, Nate answered, “Walker.”
“Nate,” Kells said in his straight-shooting style. “Where are we?”
Fucksville. “We have a lead.” Don’t ask what it is.
“What is it?”
Pete held up one hand surrender-style because the other held a hot cup of coffee.
“A guy who might help,” Nate said.
“I don’t need to remind you how important this mission is.”
Yet you do…
“And I don’t want to add to your stress.”
Yet you will…
“But we have a problem.”
Like you not telling me Montfort had been released from prison? Or the fact that you’ve given me shit for intel? “Problem?”
Pete mouthed, What now?
“The Prince,” Kells said. “One of his warriors is in Savannah, but I don’t know why.”
“We’ll watch for him.”
Pete tilted his head and mouthed, Him who?
Nate wrapped one arm around his waist and bowed. Pete’s eyes went cartoon-wide.
“I could come down there,” Kells said. “Help you out.”
“No need, sir. We can do this alone.”
Pete nodded so hard he spilled his coffee.
Nate was tempted to ask his boss about Montfort but didn’t. Either Kells knew Montfort was out of prison and had a reason for keeping quiet or didn’t know and would be pissed. Either way, keeping Kells away was a priority.
“Find out what that lily means,” Kells said. “And stay away from men who bow. They’re vicious killers. If they see you, they may decide you fit their elimination profile.”
“Yes, sir.” Nate slipped the phone into his pocket. While Pete paced the area between the club’s moldy brick wall and the truck, Nate filled him in.
When he finished, Pete said, “There may or may not be a Fianna warrior in town.”
“We can handle one.”
Pete frowned. “We work with Montfort and keep it a secret from Colonel Torridan.”
“Then we pray Rafe doesn’t find out what I did to Juliet.” The tic above Nate’s eye started again. Which meant one thing. Incoming seizure. He pressed the palms of his hands against his eyes.
Pete came over and gripped Nate’s shoulder. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” Nate dropped his hands and dug his fists into his thighs. He had to be okay.
“If Montfort agrees to help us with this mission, our men in prison can never find out.”
“If they’re out of jail, they won’t care.” That was the only reason he was doing this.
“The Fianna may be here to retrieve him.”
Nate hadn’t thought about that. And he should have. “Or kill him.”
“We might have one shot to convince Montfort to help us, without him finding out what you did to his wife, before the Fianna gets to him.”
Nate held up his cell. “Calum texted. We’re meeting Rafe here at the club. Nine p.m.”
“Why don’t I take the meeting? I didn’t know him well. We’ll leave you out, make sure he doesn’t discover you’re a first-class asshole who intimidates women.”
Nate was an asshole. Except he’d already considered Pete’s option and dismissed it. Nate might have screwed over his A-team in a way he couldn’t remember, but he was no coward. “I’ll meet him.”
“You’re the boss.”
Nate ran his hands over his head. A pre-seizure headache brewed, and he needed more coffee and ibuprofen to ward it off. Unfortunately, he had to wait eight hours before taking another Z-pam. While he was in the prison hospital, they’d given him harsher meds that added hallucinations to his already screwed-up life. Since then he’d experimented with OTCs, coffee, and illegal Canadian epilepsy drugs until finding the right balance. Wasn’t a great solution, but it kept the shakes and seizures under control. Kind of.
Pete locked up the truck. “We need to make Montfort want to help us. You could lie and tell him if he doesn’t we’ll send him back to prison.”
“Wouldn’t stop him from taking off. If I can’t convince him, we grab Juliet.”
“Whoa!” Pete held up his hands. “I’m not good to go with this.”
“I won’t hurt her.”
“There have to be limits to what we’re willing to do.”
“None of what we do here in Savannah will matter if we succeed.”
“Not true.” Pete pushed the cart, spewing filthy water in its wake, and headed inside. “We might free our men, but no amount of penance will change the fact that we’ll be the only Green Beret unit ever dishonorably discharged. Everything we do matters more now than ever.”
Although Pete was right, it made no difference. If the mission failed, so did they.
Once alone, Nate threw up behind a Dumpster until his stomach emptied and curled in on itself. His own past was kicking his own ass in his own personal octagon. Hooah. He ended up on his knees, staring at the graffiti on the wall across from him: a skeleton fist gripping a pirate’s sword. Blood dripped down the blade and formed words beneath. Sans pitié.
He reached for the medal around his neck that wasn’t there, then felt for the handkerchief in his back pocket. Sometimes prison seemed like the easier choice. But he had to pull himself together for Pete’s sake. Besides Nate’s meds, there was only one other way to deal with these hole-in-the-head Hallmark moments. An hour in the ring with his sparring partner.
He found his phone and texted, Meet me in the ring?
The text came back instantly. Yes.
He prayed a beat down would help him deal with Pete’s inevitable disappointment and Rafe’s inevitable bullshit. One thing Nate knew for sure: whatever line had to be crossed, he’d be the one to jump. And like the pirate’s slogan on the wall, he’d do it without mercy.
* * *
Balthasar held the phone against his ear and slammed his fist into the plaster wall of his safe hou
se. Sand and concrete landed around his feet. Dust motes attacked while sunlight cut through transom windows. Escalus dead. Romeo free. The rumors true.
How had Romeo been released? Not even the Prince had that power. Despite the whos and whys demanding a reaction, preferably with knives, Balthasar stayed inside. The slats crisscrossing broken windows allowed him to study the world undetected. Thunder rolled, and dark clouds marched toward the city.
Escalus was a trained warrior. A master soldier. An assassin of repute and renown. But so was Romeo. And Balthasar should know because he’d trained them both.
“How now, Balthasar,” the Prince answered.
“Pray tell, my lord. How did Escalus meet his demise?”
“Romeo slayed Escalus. A fatal blow until Arragon offered the final strike.”
Arragon had executed Escalus? “I understand not.”
“Were you aware Escalus made a deal to sell the vial you seek?”
A docent stopped across the street, telling tourists about the ghost in the house where Balthasar squatted. “No, my lord. Is there proof?”
“Yes.”
The Prince didn’t offer anything else, and Balthasar didn’t understand. He and Escalus had been in the city for months, building their presence for a long-term operation. If Escalus had planned on betraying Balthasar, he would’ve suspected. “Our mission is in play.”
“You’ve not found the vial.”
“No.” He paced off his restlessness. Inaction made him feel like a socket spewing sparks, waiting for someone to turn off the damn fuse.
“Escalus made a deal with another buyer to sell the vial and leave the Fianna.”
Impossible. “I would have known.”
“Yet you didn’t.”
Was that an accusation? “My heart lives with the Fianna.”
“Then understand what I have to do. I’ve set up a contest between you and Romeo. Whoever finds the vial first and returns to me will receive a full pardon.”
“I’ve not betrayed you.”
“I don’t know that.”
“And the one who returns last?”
“Faces the Gauntlet.”
Bullshit. “Romeo slayed Escalus, forfeiting his own life.” Considering how many brutal punishments the Prince had handed out through the years for similar infractions, with Balthasar directing most of them, the rule was immutable. “’Tis our law.” Their. Fucking. Law.
“Romeo is different.”
Everything with Romeo was different. Which meant that Balthasar, the Prince’s second-in-command, now had to prove his innocence? And risk the Gauntlet? Fuck that. “Romeo deserves a just punishment.”
“Romeo must live for now. You’ve until Sunday to find the vial and return.”
“And Torridan’s soldiers?”
“They know not what they look for. As long as they don’t threaten the mission, leave them. The vial is vital for the Fianna. Understand?”
“Aye.” Because following the Prince’s orders was what drove him. Unlike Romeo, Balthasar believed in the Fianna’s calling. In their mission to force peace where there was only strife. To protect those who suffered under the control of evil men. “And Escalus?”
“He stays where he lay.”
Balthasar’s breath formed a knot in his chest, and he took out his gun. No Fianna warrior had ever been left behind, and Escalus couldn’t have done what he’d been accused of. Escalus, unlike Romeo, had been a true believer. “Why?”
“Escalus was found on Capel land, and the SPD has his body. Retrieval would bring attention to his death.”
Except Balthasar had ordered Escalus to go to Thunderbolt, not the Isle of Grace. Balthasar pressed the gun’s butt against his forehead. Had Escalus betrayed him?
“Romeo’s return and Escalus’s death must be a shock, and your task isn’t easy. Although Escalus went rogue, there’s no shame in honoring those we’ve loved.”
The phone went dead. Despite the Prince’s assurance, there was shame in defeat.
Balthasar sat at the table loaded with knives and weapon-cleaning supplies. With ease, he popped out his clip, disassembled the nine-mil, and started oiling and polishing. The Prince had always preferred Romeo. His transgressions forgiven faster, his insubordination tolerated instead of reprimanded. He couldn’t read Latin or speak in Shakespearean verse. He’d even forced the Prince to recruit him or kill him in the Gauntlet.
And what did Romeo do? He survived a corridor of forty Fianna warriors on both sides, each holding two weapons. That night, Romeo became the Prince’s favorite. Romeo, who spoke his mind despite consequences, who didn’t care about the chain of command and contradicted orders in public, whose ruthlessness shocked the rest of the brotherhood.
The Prince protected Romeo because he was the only one with a reason to survive. They all lived without hope, in extreme circumstances with extreme penances, punishing themselves until their minds and bodies broke or they died. But not Romeo. He treated the Fianna as a game, as if one day the warriors would put away their weapons and go home to the women they loved. That’s why Balthasar didn’t just dislike Romeo, he despised him.
But something else bothered Balthasar. This morning, he’d sent Escalus to search county property records in a warehouse near Bonaventure Cemetery. Not to the Isle of Grace.
Balthasar reassembled his gun while studying the street through the slats. Pete White Horse strode by with groceries. Balthasar’s restlessness rushed back, and he reloaded the clip. He had seven days to find a vial they’d been searching for for months—he slammed the clip into place and stood. If Escalus had planned on selling the vial, he might’ve had more intel than he’d shared.
Ten minutes later, Balthasar had torn apart Escalus’s room. The laptop was on, but he hadn’t found Escalus’s journal. When Balthasar entered the Fianna’s secure server and scanned the files, he found a link to cameras on Juliet’s Lily, the Liberty Square construction site, and the Savannah Preservation Office. Escalus had even set up the feed to go to his cell phone.
They’d been authorized to follow Juliet but not record her.
The next file was named BBB. Balthasar clicked it and was prompted to enter a password. After three failed attempts, the file automatically locked. Fuck. He shut the laptop. The only thing preventing him from firing rounds into the wall was the fact that Romeo was even further away from finding the vial than Balthasar was. And that gave him an idea.
He grabbed a notebook and pen from a makeshift desk and made some notes. A few minutes later, he heard a buzzing sound from the pillow. When he stripped off the case, a burner phone fell out. He answered on the fourth ring.
A male voice said, “Deke and I got the stuff. It’s taking down the city, man. Hope you’re right about this vial. Meet us at Rage of Angels. Midnight.”
“Aye.”
“Straight savage, my man. Straight. Fucking. Savage.”
Chapter 10
Rafe was going to kill Calum.
Rafe left Pops’s trailer bathroom, showered and dressed in his last pair of clean jeans and T-shirt. His duffel and Escalus’s backpack lay in Pops’s family room while Calum talked on the phone in the kitchen.
When Calum ended his call, Rafe hit Calum in the chest with his fist. “You got me out of prison to help you find Eugene Wilkins’s murderer?”
Calum rubbed his sternum. “That’s part of the deal.”
Typical Prioleau bullshit. “And the rest of your plan?”
“Need-to-know basis.”
“Fuck you.” Rafe paced, everything familiar yet not. The shabby couch sat next to a new leather chair. The record player console held a flat-screen TV. His mother’s photographs stood in frames and were pinned to walls.
“Are we done?” Calum asked. “You can pace in town. And I’d appreciate less cussing.”
“Why?”
The word came out with so many sharp edges he should’ve tasted blood.
Calum crossed his arms. “Eugene Wilkins started your release process ten months ago. I finished it when he died.”
“I don’t care about whos and hows. I want the damn why.”
“You spent two years in a Russian prison and nine months in Leavenworth’s isolation. I thought you’d be happy to be out.”
“My release means I have to deal with my past shit and fix yours while protecting you all.” Rafe threw a remote against the wall. It left a mark and fell to the floor. The lives of everyone who might be involved with Calum’s plans were now Rafe’s responsibility.
Calum took out his phone and started texting. “I thought you’d be happy. You were in isolation. In prison. You were alone.”
Rafe fixed a glare on Calum. “I wasn’t alone.” Not with his monstrous past drilling into his conscience on a daily basis. In some ways, prison had offered the only relief he’d had since leaving Nate and his A-team. Since leaving Juliet.
Now Rafe was free to eat, shower, and put on new bandages. Free to clean and retie his blue ribbon. But none of it mattered if his liberty meant more innocent people got hurt. And there was no going back. He had to find the Prince’s vial and finish what Calum started. Rafe’s army duffel, with the few things he still owned, was ready to go to one of Calum’s apartments stocked with clothes and food. Like it had all been planned.
Because it fucking had been. “I deserved to be in prison. I didn’t need you to save me.”
“This isn’t about you, Rafe,” Calum said, still on his phone. “It’s about Juliet. If you’d trust me, you’d realize that my mess, Walker’s mess, and yours are connected to your wife.”
“How does Walker factor into this? He should be in Afghanistan with Kells Torridan.”
Nate was the perfect soldier, and Colonel Torridan had made his favor for Nate clear. Which had been fine with Rafe. The last thing he’d ever wanted was attention from one of the two toughest colonels the Army’s Special Forces Command ever trained. Nate had been a good guy and an even better commander. Until their last night together when Rafe ignored Nate’s order. But bullshit orders deserved to be ignored.