Bringing It Home (Code Of Honor Book 3)

by Reese Knightley

  “What?” he huffed and pulled the covers over his legs.

  “Come to the Triple R for a month until you can get around. Frank will cook all your meals.”

  The Triple R was a working ranch out in Texas that Maddox and River owned. Diesel had made a couple of trips out there the year before. One had been to help with the kidnapping of Triton, Maddox’s younger cousin. The other had been to visit.

  “No.”

  Diesel yanked back the covers and reached for the ice wrap before slipping it around and then strapping it to his throbbing knee. Patting the bed, he found the remote and started the ice machine.

  Here he was two days after surgery on his ACL, and he was still having trouble getting around. The doctors said he’d been lucky, it could have been a fuck ton worse. He reckoned it couldn’t get any worse, seeing as he couldn’t fucking walk, and told his surgeon that very fact.

  His piss poor attitude hadn’t made him popular with the hospital staff. Not that he gave a rat’s ass about that. The only thing he wanted was to get mobile and figure out where the fuck to go from there. Between icing it, heat packing it, and elevating it, he should be up in no time. None of that six to nine months bullshit. He planned on being on his feet a hell of a lot sooner than that. He rubbed at his thigh above the injured knee.

  He looked around the lonely infirmary where he’d been brought because he was too far from home to travel. On the plus side, he was close to the physical therapy building. He snatched the Jello from the hospital tray the nurse had delivered earlier and took a bite. The cloying, sugary taste had him dropping it back on the tray in disgust.

  “You’ll have company in case something goes wrong.” Maddox pointed to his knee and the ice machine.

  He didn’t want any fucking company. He wanted to be left alone to wallow in his failure.

  Truth was, he was getting tired. Truth was, he was getting worried he couldn’t keep up with the younger ones, and the reality of it was, he couldn’t. Now, he needed to own that shit and make a decision.

  “Come on, Diesel. You haven’t been back except one time since the cave-in.”

  He stared at Maddox. He had to admit that he’d enjoyed visiting River’s grandfather, Bull, Jim, and the ranch last year, except it had been missing a certain someone. He adjusted the icepack.

  “You can’t get around very well yet. Who do you have at home?”

  “I have my cousin.”

  “Who doesn’t live with you and has a family of his own.”

  Damn the man for pointing that out. He squinted. He had a home waiting, filled with pets and plants and not—as Maddox had so kindly fucking pointed out—a person waiting for him. Someone to share it with.

  He shook that thought off. He’d gone that route before with a less than a stellar ending. Better to live on his own and find pleasure elsewhere.

  “I have my dog and my cat.”

  “Molly won’t cook your meals,” Maddox said of his six-year-old Labrador Retriever.

  “My cousin can’t care for them forever. I impose on them enough when deployed.”

  “Have them do it for at least a couple more weeks then. There’s a local physical therapist who lives down the road from the ranch. Come to the Triple R and relax in front of the fire. I know the family would love to see you.”

  Does that mean Triton? He wanted to ask, but he wouldn’t go there.

  There was a shit ton of reasons why, but the main one was Triton Scott was a baby. Okay, that was a lie. Triton was twenty-two, but that was still a fucking shit ton younger than his own thirty-eight years.

  “Diesel, you’ll be left alone. Bull will be there, but he’s usually out tending the ranch with Jim. Think of it as a mini vacation to give you time to recuperate. Triton will be there.”

  “He wasn’t there when I visited the last time, so what makes you think he’ll be there this time?” Diesel pointed out, and then stopped abruptly. “And why the hell should I care?”

  “I’ll make sure he’s there,” Maddox countered, not saying a word in response to his shitty attitude. “Besides, you still owe him a goodbye.”

  He scowled at his friend. “Thanks for reminding me.”

  After the cave-in at the mine, he’d left the ranch and the boy he’d rescued without so much as a word. He’d tried to rectify his error by returning to the Triple R last year, but Triton hadn’t come home. The boy had sent a text to Maddox that with finals coming up, he couldn’t get away. Upon leaving the Triple R, Diesel decided it had been a good thing that Triton hadn’t been there. After his visit, his overwhelming need to check in on Triton had diminished, and he wasn’t doing anything to jeopardize his peace of mind, damn it.

  “No,” he said, grinding his teeth. It had taken months to put Triton out of his mind.

  Maddox gave a hard sigh and crossed his arms. “I need you to talk some sense into him.”

  “What?” he scowled, the words bringing him upright. “What’s wrong with Triton?”

  “I think his boyfriend is abusing him.”

  “What the fuck?” he snarled. “I’ll snap that fucking guy like a fucking twig even with a fucking gimp leg!”

  Maddox smirked. “Yeah, well, good luck getting Triton to admit it’s happening.”

  “Why wouldn’t he tell you?”

  “Would you?”

  “Nobody would be stupid enough to try that shit on me, but I can see why he wouldn’t want to say anything.”

  Triton was probably embarrassed, maybe felt like he didn’t have a way out, didn’t have a choice. And that right there didn’t fucking sit well with Diesel. At. Fucking. All.

  He caved.

  “Yeah, okay, but only for two weeks.” He could go and check in on Triton in that time.

  It was the least he could do for Maddox. And here was his chance to say goodbye to Triton for good.

  Plus, he needed to figure out what the fuck to do with his life if the military was no longer an option. A medical discharge was a real possibility if he couldn’t pass the army’s physical after his injury healed. He winced, readjusting his leg on the bed.

  I’m getting too old for this shit. He was a thirty-eight year old Master Sargent, an E-8. The reality of it was it made him one of the oldest in the unit. He’d had to have a waiver signed each reenlistment to let him continue in Special Forces.

  Yet, as dedicated as he was—and even if he regained the full use of his knee—time was something even he couldn’t outrun.

  Triton

  Standing beneath the hot water, he scrubbed himself but didn’t linger. Wrapped in a towel, he darted from the bathroom and into the bedroom.

  The apartment sounded empty, but he couldn’t be sure how long it would stay that way. Clay gave keys to every one of his bounty hunter buddies, and any one of them could walk in on him at any given time. God only knew how many keys Auto had given out.

  Yanking open his dresser drawer, a cup holding loose change wobbled and fell noisily, scattering the coins across the surface before spilling to the carpet below.

  He froze, his chest went tight, and he scrambled to pick up the coins. Oh god, oh god. Frantically, he managed to get the cup back on the dresser with the coins tucked inside. Once the cup was back in place, he stilled, listening, heart pounding. Clay hated when he dropped things, which happened frequently.

  Over the past two weeks, Clay’s mood had been volatile, more so than ever before. As a result, he moved like a ghost, rarely ate, and barely slept.

  Hearing nothing but a distant snoring, he dashed at his eyes, and with shaking hands, he yanked on his clothes. Bruises littered his forearms and he tugged down the t-shirt’s long sleeves. The marks were superficial. It was his lower back that hurt the worst. The ache from where Clay had used his belt. Also, his throat felt scratchy and raw from Auto’s continued abuse.

  Don’t think about it. That only leads to doing something stupid, like leaving. He pulled on his socks and sneakers.

  “Yeah, and you know wha
t happened last time you tried to leave permanently,” he whispered to himself. Clay’s threat had made his blood run cold. Triton had never tried leaving again. He dashed at his eyes.

  The alarm on his phone buzzed. Great, he had about fifteen minutes to get across the street to catch a ride with Fraser.

  Snatching up his backpack, he crept through the apartment. Two of Auto’s prison buddies were crashed out on the floor, one of them snoring loudly. The room smelled of stale beer breath and body odor.

  Gripping the dead bolt on the front door, he held his breath and slowly twisted the lock. The click echoed loudly, and he froze for one second. Glancing over his shoulder, one of the men grunted and turned over, and Triton eased the door open and slipped out.

  Once in the hallway, he pulled the door closed and took off at a run toward the stairs. It wasn’t until he reached the sidewalk out in front of the building that he released the breath he was holding.

  He sent a quick text to Fraser before jogging across the street and ducking behind the local liquor store. Tiredly, he leaned his head back against the brick wall and rubbed at his temples and the beginning of a headache.

  His life was so different than what he had imagined it would be. Kicked out by his parents at the age of eighteen had been a blessing, but terrifying. One phone call later, his older cousin, Maddox, had taken him in at the Triple R.

  Triton recalled the conversation he’d had with Maddox on that first night at the ranch, discussing the future and college.

  “What classes do you want to take?” Maddox had asked him.

  “I guess accounting?” he had said hesitantly, afraid to disappoint.

  “That sounds like a great idea.” Maddox smiled. Triton had curled his lips upward in something that resembled a smile.

  Accounting was just something his dad had pounded into his head. His dad had wanted him to become an accountant for his small engine repair business. More free labor. Triton didn’t want to earn a degree in accounting.

  That was when the lies started.

  Months ago, he’d begun to lie to Maddox. He wasn’t taking accounting courses. He wasn’t even going to college any longer.

  Triton swallowed back the tears. Crying never did any good. He thought instead of the big, strong arms of Diesel in the cave. Diesel, who had held him more tenderly than he could ever remember in his life in that dark, musty tunnel during a cave-in that had almost killed them both.

  For a fleeting moment in Diesel’s arms, he’d believed he could be something different, someone different. That he deserved better.

  He’d been wrong.

  This was his life, this was his worth. He only needed to be better and quit fucking up so much. His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, and he wished he would have remembered to grab a water bottle. Maybe Fraser had a spare.

  Tugging his vibrating phone from his pocket, he answered it on the second ring.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, Triton, how are you?”

  “Maddox! Hey, what’s up?” At the sound of his cousin’s deep, comforting voice, tears of relief filled his eyes, and he wiped at them and moved over to stand next to an industrial sized trash can.

  “Diesel got hurt. I’m sending him to recuperate for a few weeks at the Triple R. Think you can keep him company? I’d call it keeping an eye on him, but he’d kick my ass.”

  “Oh my god. Is he okay?” He took a few jerky steps.

  “That remains to be seen. He has a severely hyperextended knee.”

  “Oh no!”

  “Yeah. I need you to help him get around and keep him busy.”

  “How long would something like that take to get better?”

  “It could take anywhere from six to nine months, but he’s only staying on the ranch for a few weeks, just until he can get around on his own.”

  “Okay, I can help.” His stomach dipped and swirled.

  “There’s one more thing.”

  “What?”

  “He’s a bad patient. He’s a grouchy old bear.”

  “He’s not old!”

  “He turned thirty-eight this year, but don’t tell him I told you that.”

  Thirty-eight, and he’d just turned twenty-two. That was one of the things Diesel repeatedly told him when they’d talked in the cave.

  “Do you date younger men?”

  “I’m too old for you.”

  “I’m twenty-one!”

  “Way too young, baby boy.”

  “Don’t you like slim boys with blue eyes?” he’d pressed because he really did like Diesel calling him baby boy.

  “I can handle grouchy bears.” He swallowed with a hitch of breath and bit back a sound of pain when his back spasmed.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Just stubbed my toe.” He hated lying to Maddox, but the truth of his failures was too much to bear.

  “You sound like you have a cold.”

  “I don’t.”

  There was a brief pause. “Are you okay, Triton?”

  He clenched his teeth and wiped at his eyes. “Of course. When are you guys coming home?”

  “Diesel will be there tomorrow. I’m being deployed again.”

  “Okay, I’ll be home.” His stomach dipped and jumped with the dread of telling Clay, but also the anticipation of seeing Diesel again.

  “Thanks, Triton! I owe you one. I’ll call you when I get back.”

  “Be safe.”

  When Maddox rang off, Triton tucked the phone into his pocket. He moved back to lean against the building and set his head back against the brick wall. How would Clay react? Triton would tell him that Maddox had demanded it. Clay wouldn’t want Maddox to come here, that was for sure. With that plan in mind, he breathed a bit easier.

  As if right on cue, Fraser pulled down the alley.

  “Hey,” Triton said after he eased himself into his seat.

  “Oh my god, Triton. What happened?”

  The car idled while his friend looked him over and reached a hand to his shoulder. Surprised, Triton flipped down the visor. A bruise on his collar bone stood out starkly.

  “I don’t want to talk about it.” He flipped the visor closed and tugged his shirt to cover the mark.

  “Tell me anyway,” Fraser demanded.

  “Another night in the closet,” he choked out after a long, tense moment. Clay had made it a regular thing now.

  “That son of a bitch!” Tears filled Fraser’s eyes before he reached over and yanked him into a hug.

  Triton yelped, and Fraser gasped and drew back. “Sorry. Which one was it this time?”

  “Both.” He had already filled in Fraser a few weeks ago about Auto’s involvements in the abuse, just not the part about the blackmail.

  He’d die if he couldn’t see Fraser. They’d been friends since he’d first arrived in Texas and signed up for college. They’d met outside after skipping the same class. It didn’t take them long to discover they shared a passion for working with their hands, which led to them taking massage therapy classes instead.

  “It’s okay,” he sniffled. “I talked to Maddox. I’m going home to the ranch for a few weeks.”

  Fraser threw him a startled look before pulling out into traffic.

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah,” he said firmly.

  Fraser drove toward their job a few blocks away. They both worked for the same hair salon and spa. Hair styling on one side of the building, a spa and massage therapy on the other. The place was nice and attracted a higher end clientele. It was also good for Clay’s drug business.

  “Good! Are you breaking up with Clay once and for all then?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe? I think so.” He shuddered, thinking of Clay’s threats.

  “Why ‘think so’? Why do you stay with him? I don’t get it, Triton.”

  “It’s complicated.” He stared down at his hands.

  “Complicated in that Clay or Auto will kill you someday and you won’t be here? Do you hear me? Y
ou’ll be gone, and I’ll be here by myself.”

  “It’s not that bad,” he mumbled again and winced when Fraser took the corner too fast. “He wants me to conquer my fears. I think.” He frowned with confusion.

  “Oh honey, you’re smarter than that.” Fraser tossed him a quick look. “Clay can’t make you get over your fear of the dark by shoving you in a freaking closet. He’s a sadistic asshole who gets off on hurting you when he’s had a bad day.”

  Triton couldn’t argue with that, so he said nothing.

  Clay was sadistic. Only, he hadn’t always been like that. But things had changed after Maddox killed Damon Sued, a small time drug dealer and one of Clay’s best friends. Clay became enraged over his friend’s death. Now, he became volatile and angry over everything.

  “And look what happened after I took you to that BDSM club,” Fraser growled from between his clenched teeth, pulling the VW into a parking spot at their work.

  Triton sighed. Things had turned really ugly when Clay had discovered he’d gone with Fraser to a BDSM club. He rubbed at his arms, remembering how Fraser had talked him into trying to find another man. He’d been gushing over Diesel for the hundredth time.

  “You’d like him, Fraser. Diesel is everything I want in a man,” he had said, going into great detail about how the big, quiet man had made him feel so safe.

  “Not like Clay?” Fraser had eyed him.

  “No!”

  “Oh, thank god. We need to go to a party.”

  “Party?”

  “Yep, a BDSM one to find you another big bear.”

  “Bear?”

  “Okay, well, maybe not a bear, but a big Dom who can make you feel safe.”

  “I can’t.” He glanced around as if just by talking about it, Clay would know.

  “They have Doms, daddies, and bears in the scene. Guys much better and nicer than that asshole you’re with.”

  “I don’t want someone who hits me,” he’d whispered.

  “These guys only hit if you ask them and never to harm. Clay’s a fucker. The guys from the scene are different. We’ll check it out and see if there’s someone there you like,” Fraser promised.

  So, Triton, against his better judgement, had lied to Clay and told him he had to work late.