by Karen Kelley
"You still think he be comin’ to de swamp looking for you? These swamps scare most of de peoples away."
"Pretty sure. I left a trail that almost anyone could follow."
She slowly nodded. "You know if he comes into the swamp, he probably won't make it out alive. Are you sure you want dat on your conscience?"
"He bought a fourteen-year-old girl, and then he branded her with his initials so that she wouldn't forget who owned her. She was just a kid. Savannah doesn't talk about it too much, but he abused her. He's also a big time drug dealer. No, I won't mind taking him off the streets."
She came to her feet. "Family be showing up soon. I better get another pot of coffee going. Keep your seat and finish yours."
But he couldn't sit. He was too restless. He downed his coffee, then set his cup on the floor and went down the steps. He wasn't sure where he was going, but he began walking. Before he knew it, he was at the boat.
He hesitated, then stepped in, picking up the pole and pushing away from the shore. It wasn't far to his father's place. His now, he supposed. His father was the reason he hadn’t returned sooner. He hadn’t known what he would do if he saw him again. His father was the reason his mother died.
When he got there, he tied off the boat, then walked up the bank. He could see the house from the water. As he got closer, the memories came flooding back of his mother sitting in a rocker on the porch. For just a moment, he thought he saw the figure from his memories look up and cast a warm smile in his direction.
He stumbled, then closed his eyes and looked toward the porch again. No one was there. Only a rocker. For just a moment, she’d seemed so real. The pain of her death came back in vivid detail. His mother and grandmother had been the two most important people in his life.
They would spend time on the porch visiting or picking beans for dinner that night. Just the three of them. He remembered how beautiful his mother was with long brown hair that trailed down to her waist. When he was a kid, maybe three or four years old, he’d twine his fingers in the silky strands. Her smile was warm and always drew him in.
She didn't smile much when his father was around. Although his father never laid a hand on her. The family would have been after him if he had. No, he had other ways of making her feel worthless. His words cut as sharp as a knife.
He was probably about six when she got sick one winter. His father didn't tell anyone that she was too weak to get out of bed. One morning, when his father was passed out from drinking rotgut whiskey all night, he’d climbed into the boat and made his way to his grandmother’s. By the time Granny gathered what few medical supplies she had and they returned, it was too late. His mother was almost gone. It hit them all hard. Except for his father.
He drew in a deep breath and pushed away the past. Yeah, if his father had been there, he might have killed the bastard. He never forgave him for not helping his mother. His father knew that, too.
Breaker walked around to the back of the house, then down a little farther where a stark, white cross was planted in the earth. His uncle had carved her name on it, Sylvie Marie Trahan. His father had hated that his uncle used her maiden name rather than her married name. His father knew he'd crossed a line when he hadn't gotten help. He'd made excuses, but they hadn't cared, then they warned him if anything like that happened to Breaker, he'd be gator bait before the sun set.
Breaker walked to his mother's grave, then knelt on one knee, touching the cold earth they’d buried her in. "I'm home, mama. I brought a girl with me. I like her a lot. I think you would, too. There are some bad men following us. They want to take her back, but I won't let them.”
He drew in a deep breath and caught the scent of honeysuckle on the breeze. It had been his mother’s favorite scent. His mother had loved the swamp. He remembered her saying there was an unchanged, earthiness to it.
“I miss you." He picked up a fistful of dirt, then let it slowly trickle to the ground. When he came to his feet, he dusted his hands on his jeans. For a moment, he just stood there with his eyes closed, as if he could absorb her essence, then turned and walked toward the house.
His father had never been much when it came to repairs, so he was surprised to see the house in good shape when he walked around it. He figured his grandmother had something to do with the upkeep. She’d probably sent her sons over to make sure it was livable. If you weren't careful, the swamp would take back what it had once given.
The inside of the cabin was clean. Probably also due to his grandmother. Her family always listened to her, too. If she told them that he was coming home, then they wouldn’t have questioned her. She'd never been wrong.
She'd probably already cleansed the house of any evil spirits. Maybe that's why he didn't feel his father's presence. That was good because he’d just as soon forget about the man.
He stepped down from the porch and walked back to the boat. It felt good coming home. The journey back brought with it a piece of himself that he hadn’t realized was missing.
He made his way back through the swamps, then tied the boat back at his grandmother's property, walking the short distance to her house. As he approached the house, Savannah looked up and smiled when she saw him. He'd only been gone a little while, but he’d missed her in that short time. Yeah, coming home was the right thing to do.
"I slept late," Savannah admitted. "I think it was the night breeze that drifted in through the window. It was very peaceful."
"It's the place that does it to you. Nature is allowing us to be here. The breeze was her invitation to you," he said.
She tilted her chin, looking up at him. "Jade used to make up stories all the time, too."
He held his arms out, palms up. "What you mean, Cher? You're in de Louisiana swamp. Tings are different here. Watch out dat voodoo witch what live deep in the swamp amongst the cypress trees don't come after you for not believin' in de magic that be all around you. Heard tell dat witch be havin’ de gators as pets,” he said, speaking with a thick Cajun accent.
She started laughing. "I thought you said you couldn't speak Cajun."
"I still have a little bit of the accent if I try hard enough."
A sudden call echoed through the swamp, much like a wild bird caught in a trap. Savannah sat straighter, looking around. "What’s that?"
"I'm not sure, but I figure I'm related to it." He'd been gone too long to recognize who was calling out. He put his hand to the side of his mouth and called back. Savannah still looked confused, so he explained. "I'm letting them know it's okay to come up."
"Wouldn't a phone work better?"
Damn, she was cute. "We're too deep in the swamp. No signal."
A few minutes passed before there was a rustling in the brush. He was pretty sure he was looking at one of his cousins when they stepped into the open. The man was at least six feet tall, tanned, and all muscle. He had the gray eyes that most of the Trahans had. He wore a dark blue, button-down shirt with the sleeves torn out, only half the buttons done up, a pair of worn jeans, and equally worn boots.
"Breaker?" he asked.
Breaker nodded and stuck out his hand. The man's grip was firm.
"Granny said you’d be coming in any day now and that we should be ready for something. I'm your cousin, Eli."
How his grandmother had known, Breaker would never know, but she had known things for as long as he could remember. Hell, maybe she did have second sight or good instincts. He introduced Savannah and then told Eli a little bit about what was going on.
"These men will be heavily armed, and they will shoot to kill," Breaker warned him.
Eli smiled. "Hunting season is about to start. You remember how slow it gets. Hunting drug dealers will loosen us up a little, so we’ll be ready to catch us some gators."
Granny came to the door. "I thought I be hearin’ you, Eli. I've got a pot of coffee on if you be wantin’ a cup."
Eli stepped up on the porch and opened the screen door. "That sounds good, Granny."
As Eli disappeared
inside, more relatives began showing up. His cousin Leonie and her husband, along with several other cousins. Both his uncles and their wives. Before long, relatives were milling around everywhere.
Granny put her arm around Savannah's shoulders and took her inside with some of the other women. Breaker had seen the connection forming since last night between Savannah and his grandmother, so he didn't worry about her feeling uncomfortable with the crowd of people.
"We got word early dis mornin’ there be strangers in town, and they be havin’ plenty of guns wid dem," his Uncle Bastian said. "I hear there be eight of dem, but they're not on de swamp yet. We'll know before they get to de swamp."
Breaker nodded.
His other uncle, younger than Bastian, drew some lines in the dirt. "We'll lead dem into this inlet here and see what they're about."
His accent wasn’t nearly as thick, so he was easier to understand, much like his cousins. The old ways were beginning to fade. The modern world was creeping in. One thing stayed the same, blood was blood.
They continued talking for about another hour. Plans were made, and everyone knew what they would be doing. Savannah would still be worried, though. There wasn’t much Breaker could do about that, except protect her.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
"The suppliers are angry that you have not fulfilled their orders," Francesco told Marco in a deadly quiet voice. "This is not good for business."
Marco gripped the phone tighter in his hand. "I told you, I'm taking care of it. My men and I are in Louisiana, and we’re closing in on the man who destroyed the drugs. We won’t have to worry about him again."
"And the woman? She is with him?"
"Yes."
"When I first trusted you with such alarge area, do you remember I told you that you could not let emotions interfere with business?"
"I remember. This is about revenge, though. That is different."
"Not so very much. Take care of the problem by tomorrow, or I will."
"Is that a threat?"
"Only if it has to be. Remember, this is business."
"Have you forgotten that you're my godfather? Our families have been closer than most families. Your mother and my grandmother were cousins. We have the same blood running through our veins. My father gave his life to save yours. Have you forgotten?"
"Your father was a good man and knew about obligations. No, I have not forgotten. That is why I've let you run your business the way you have. You have a temper, Marco, and sometimes, that temper explodes onto other people. Innocent people. That is not the way I like to do business, but because of your father, I have not said anything."
Marco knew what he was leaving out and continued. "I will take care of this, and then we will meet and talk. After all, you are family. I will always respect your wishes."
Francesco ended the call without another word. Marco slipped his phone back into his pocket. When there was a knock on his door, he told the person on the other side to enter. The door opened, and Juan stepped into the room.
"What?" It was all Marco could do to keep his emotions under control. Had Juan known that Francesco was going to call? One of his men was betraying him. Was Juan the traitor? He would take care of his half-brother when all of this was over. He would tolerate no disloyalty.
"I have a guide and boats for us." He hesitated, then drew in a deep breath. "Are you sure this is what you want to do? The swamp is not a good place. There are dangers we know nothing about, Marco."
"Are you afraid?"
Juan stood a little taller. "I will follow you wherever you go."
Marco studied him for a moment. "Why?"
"Because your father was my father."
"Then you're saying you’d give me your undying loyalty. You would give your life to save me."
He bowed his head. "I would."
Juan had always been loyal. He knew his place. Marco had always treated him well, even though he was his father’s bastard son. No, the traitor had to be someone else. He would find him. This man, the one they called Breaker, was trying to destroy him, make him question everything and everyone. He fisted his hands.
Just as quickly, he forced himself to relax. It would do no good to lose his temper. "I'll be down in a few minutes," Marco said, effectively dismissing Juan.
As soon as the door closed, Marco went to the window and looked out. The town wasn't much. The hotel they were staying at even worse. Usually, he wouldn't have stayed there, but he had no choice. Again, this was Savannah's fault as well.
His pulse sped up when he thought about Savannah. He closed his eyes and pictured her in his mind. He gripped the windowsill. Tonight, he would have her in his bed. Then tomorrow, after they returned home, he would make her pay for her deception.
He walked out of the hotel room, then down the stairs to the first floor. The cars were already out front. He got into the backseat of the second one. It was only a short drive to the river.
They had three boats. Each boat would have three of his men, and then in the front one would be him, Juan, and the guide.
As Marco stepped into the boat, his nose twitched as a disgusting odor of rotting fish wafted up to him. He hated dirt and germs of any kind. When he’d been six, his father had killed a man stealing from him and made Marco watch so he would see what you did to men who betrayed you. The blood had splattered on him—his face, his clothes. He’d had nightmares for weeks.
The guide looked his way. “You ready?”
He squared his shoulders, pulling his thoughts away from the past. His father had been right to kill that man. Just as he would kill Breaker.
His lip curled when he looked at the guide. A peasant. He was missing half his teeth, and his clothes were stained and wrinkled, which was probably the origin of the awful stench.
"Do you know which direction Breaker will be?"
The guide started the motor, and they pulled away from the dock. "He used to live around here but left about twelve or so years ago. His grandmother and some of his kin still live out in the swamps. I can take you to the area, but just know, they're going to be ready for you."
A half-smile played around Marco's lips. He was counting on it. His men were the best around, and they were armed. If their guide was any example of who they were up against, he did not doubt that they would easily have them begging for mercy. Breaker would pay for his interference.
“Yes, I am ready.”
He would be with his Savannah soon. He could almost picture the look of shock and fear on her face. After all the years she had been with him, she hadn’t learned that he never lost.
Chapter Thirty
"We separated one of those boats what be looking for you and de girl, you know. Thomas and a couple of de other men have dem tied up." Bastian chuckled. "I think they messed their pants when Thomas told dem they were going to be feedin’ them to the gators. I don't be thinking they'll want to mess with you or de girl anymore."
Breaker smiled, but then turned serious again. "We still have another boat of heavily armed men, along with a boat that has a guide, Marco, and one of his men. I thought we could cut the other boat off right about here at Corrine’s Cove." He took a stick and drew on the ground. "We can have men here and here on this side, and then two more on the bank on the other side."
His uncle nodded. "Dat be a smart move. It's good to see that you haven't forgotten everythin’ from when you be growin’ up here."
Breaker knew it would do no good to explain again that he’d served overseas or that he’d been in the Special Forces and still worked for the government on covert operations. None of that counted. The only thing that made a difference was if he remembered his early teachings on survival. Truth be told, he figured being raised on the swamp probably did help him a lot.
"Let's be goin’ then and get ready. Damn, things were gettin’ slow while we been waitin’ for gator season to open up. This almost be as much fun."
He'd forgotten what his family was like. If they were
n't hunting or shooting something, they were having a party. That was life on the swamp.
They gathered some more men and laid in wait for the boats they knew would be coming. They got there just as Marco's boat was going around a corner, so Marco and his man had no idea what happened. Their motor drowned out any noise they made.
Uncle Bastian and Breaker pulled their boat in front of the last one, immediately blocking off the other boat, their weapons already drawn.
Marco’s men glared at them, ready to shoot.
“It would seem we’re at a stand-off,” Breaker said.
“The boss has a bounty on your head,” the man in front said with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “And you’re outnumbered.”
Breaker smiled back at him. “Am I?”
An arrow from a crossbow whistled through the air from the trees, landing with a thump against the side of the boat.
“You missed,” they laughed.
“My friend,” Uncle Bastian began. “I don’t be thinkin’ our gators will feel the same way when dat boat you be in begins to sink, you know.”
“Water’s getting in the boat,” Marco’s man cried out.
Uncle Bastian reached into his front pocket, then tossed a marshmallow near their boat. A twelve-foot gator rose to the surface, jaws opening.
“No, we give up! Get us out of here!”
“Guns over the side!” Breaker told them.
Guns immediately splashed over the side of the boat. They knew they were beaten. Two boats down, one to go. They got the other boat to the bank, then quickly tied the men up.
"That be Freddie acting as their guide,” Uncle Bastian said. “He never was worth a plug nickel. I figure he be takin’ them to the home where you grew up. If we come up on de backside, we should get there ‘bout the same time."
"How long will that take?" Breaker wanted this over and done. He was tired of playing games with Marco.
"About an hour."
"Then let's go."
His uncle was good at judging the time. It took them just under an hour. They watched the house for a while, but there was nothing moving. When another fifteen minutes passed, Breaker looked at his uncle.
