Morning Star (Broken Mercenaries Book 3)

by S. Massery

  “How do you do that?” I’d like nothing more than to stab him with a dull pencil.

  He just sits there, a king on his dilapidated throne, smugger than a pig in shit.

  “How do you send your family out and be okay with them not returning?”

  He sighs. “If I wanted to play my whole life safe, I would’ve stayed in Ft. Lauderdale owning a real estate business and minding my own fucking business. This life is about seizing control of what we can take—and I. Want. It. All.”

  There it is—the iota of brainpower he passed on to his son. “You’re all monsters.”

  He winks at me. “You’re not immune, Grace. Plotting Marco’s downfall? What does that make you?”

  We’re all mad here.

  I stand and walk out. The fear that Javier once held over me has been replaced with disgust. Marco is the one with the power, and his dad is just grasping at straws to keep him in place. Which means one thing: we’re all so fucking screwed.

  24

  DALTON

  We don’t talk about where Wyatt has been or what he’s been doing. I don’t ask him about how he got into whatever mess made him think he needed to fake die. I definitely don’t touch the subject of how betrayed I feel, sitting in this car.

  Elizabeth tells me of how she helped Hadley the best she could on the island. They were the ones to put the tracker in her shoe, which eventually led to us being able to find her.

  Wyatt admits he’s already approached Jackson and Griffin, who’ve done a marvelous job at keeping their lips closed.

  I add them to my shit list.

  “How did you know Smith was going to go nuts and kidnap her?”

  “He used to work for Scorpion,” Wyatt explains. “Before I died, I had Mason get me into Scorpion’s database. I kept that connection open… It’s a long story. But essentially, I’ve been spying on SI for a while.”

  “And they never caught on.”

  “No, they did,” Elizabeth says. “Why do you think we faked his death?”

  “What’s this ‘we’ business?” Wyatt asks. “I did all the work.”

  “You almost didn’t do it right,” she mutters. “At least I made it believable.”

  “I don’t want to know.” I shake my head. We’re getting into the city limits, and it gives me a sinister feeling. Somewhere in its depths—probably in Javier’s fucking mansion—Grace is a hostage. “Go to the Nest.”

  Wyatt pulls up in front of my club, parking on the street. We get out and hustle inside, up the elevator to my apartment on the top floor.

  Compared to our neighbors, the Nest is in a short, squat building. The club takes up six stories, there’s one floor as a buffer for the noise, and then my apartment takes up the top two floors. It has a decent view of the city, even considering that it’s surrounded by taller buildings. I got it at a foreclosure auction for a fraction of its worth.

  “You never bring anyone up here,” Elizabeth says as we enter my apartment.

  I jerk toward her, then scowl at Wyatt. “You sent your pet to watch over me?”

  She growls under her breath.

  “She’s not a pet,” Wyatt says in an even tone. “And yes, she was watching to make sure you didn’t do anything stupid. Especially once we heard about the, er, incident involving the Argento enforcer’s daughter.”

  “They were—”

  “No need to explain,” he says.

  The sun is setting, and the Nest will be opening soon. It’s a well-oiled machine, but I still itch with the urge to go check on things. That’s how it is when I’m here. I can’t just sit back and let people do their jobs. I hover. I watch. And if necessary, I correct.

  If I’m out of town, the Nest is the furthest thing from my mind. Luca is a good business partner, even if he pretends otherwise. And Amy, the Nest’s best manager, calls me if she needs anything. But honestly? She and Luca could run this place with their eyes shut.

  “So, Elizabeth…”

  She turns toward me. I admit to myself, grudgingly, that she’s pretty. She’s definitely Wyatt’s type: long dark hair, big eyes. She’s fit and thin, like she could easily run a marathon. Taller than Grace, with a narrower face.

  It hits me with a pang that I miss Grace. Somewhere along the way, this stopped being a sense of duty for me. I like the girl.

  Ugh.

  “A picture will last longer,” she says.

  I snap out of it.

  “I was wondering if you were in the CIA like Wyatt.”

  They both flinch, and I grin.

  “Gonna take that as a yes. Is that where you met?”

  “How do you—?”

  “The power of deduction,” I say to Wyatt, making his mouth slam shut. I shoot a wink at Elizabeth. “Honestly, we all knew, Wy. Even if you refused to say shit about it.”

  He shrugs. “Old habits die hard.”

  “Apparently.”

  “We need to go,” Elizabeth says. She’s staring at a message on her phone. “Wyatt.”

  “Right,” he says. He comes over and puts his hand on my shoulder, pausing a moment to search my face.

  Surprise radiates through me when he pulls me into a hug.

  “You need to do something for me,” he says in a low voice, directly into my ear. “If something happens to me, find a safe place for Eliza to land.”

  Eliza. Methinks Wyatt has a bit of a crush on his co-conspirator.

  I lean back and look at him, trying to decipher his thoughts. “I will,” I say. “But I don’t think it’s going to be necessary.”

  He shrugs. “I don’t know what’s going to happen to me. You know as well as I that SI isn’t just going to leave this alone.”

  I shake my head. “I don’t even know what this is.”

  “If you’re done whispering sweet nothings to each other,” Elizabeth cuts in, “we need to go.”

  Wyatt pats my shoulder one last time, and then he and Elizabeth show themselves to the stairs. The door swings shut behind them, and I have about three seconds to myself before the elevator buzzes.

  I cross to the panel. The screen shows my favorite people crushed together. I grin and hit the button, and the elevator doors slide open.

  Hadley is the first one out of the elevator. She throws herself at me, wrapping her arms around my neck. “Missed you,” she says. She steps back, grinning at me.

  It’s only been a few weeks, but she looks better. Glowing.

  “Same,” I say.

  Griffin and Zach are close behind her, each thumping my back and smiling. Jackson is next, and he lifts his chin at me.

  “No Delia?” I ask.

  Hadley rolls her eyes. “He made her stay home. She wasn’t very thrilled about it.”

  Jackson scowls. “She likes to throw herself into danger, which is overrated when you’re pregnant.”

  “Ah, right. Baby in the oven,” I say, nodding. “Makes sense.”

  “Glad you agree with me.”

  Griffin and Hadley exchange a look.

  “So, Dalton,” Zach says. “Tell us about the girl who’s got you all twisted up.”

  I sigh. “I could’ve actually used Delia’s expertise on this one,” I say.

  Everyone raises their eyebrows, and I admit to myself that we haven’t got along super well. Or at all.

  “The Argento family rules half of Miami,” I say. “Grace’s dad, Sal, is Javier Argento’s right-hand man.”

  “Oh, shit,” Zach says. “That’s fun. Run by us the chain of events?”

  I explain to them how I rescued Grace before we went to Europe, and when I came back she was working at the Nest. She had an engagement ring on her finger and was understandably miserable.

  “So you rescued her again?” This from Hadley, seated almost on top of Griffin on the couch.

  I lean back, exhaling at the ceiling.

  I suddenly crave a cigarette, but I can’t make myself light one up. How did Grace get in my head enough to make me want to quit smoking?


  “This is pretty fucking typical of us,” I say. “Riding in to save each other’s asses, I mean.” I tip my head toward Jackson. “We all helped you when you were taken hostage. Hell, even before that we were there for moral support.” Now toward Griffin, “And you? You managed to lose Hadley—no offense, Had, he’s an idiot. Now me. Who’s next? Zach?” I snort.

  Zach shakes his head. “I’m just living my best life, man.”

  “Yeah, till some girl comes into the gym a damsel in distress.” Jackson says, laughing. “Then you’ll be as doomed as the rest of us.”

  “Yeah, okay.” Zach rolls his eyes.

  “You’re gonna jinx it,” Griffin tells him. “It’s okay to find love.”

  “What is love, really?” I ask. “Fucked-up emotions that make people do stupid shit.”

  “Gee, Dalton,” Hadley interjects. “Don’t think you’re messed up enough over this girl.” She glances at Griffin. “I can’t wait to meet her.”

  “She’s as big an asshole as I am,” I mutter. “She’s probably going to shoot me one of these days.” They all trade glances, so I feel the need to admit, “I may have shot her.”

  “What?!” That from all of them.

  I shrug. “She deserved it.”

  Zach shakes his head. “Great. She’s not only gonna shoot you, my friend, she’s gonna aim for your ass.”

  We laugh.

  An ache starts in my chest. “What if I can’t save her this time?”

  Everyone shuts up.

  Before a mission, that was always the atmosphere: we could win, but we could also lose. We accept the odds. We accept that there’s danger and risk and some of us might not come back.

  The truth is, we got lucky more times than I could count. Even when Il Fantasma shot Zach, Griffin was able to keep him alive. Even when we were chased through the desert by a crazy militia, a helicopter flying overhead happened to have their radio channel open and enough fuel to stop for us.

  I stand, brushing off my thighs, and hit a keypad next to the television. It slides up, revealing a huge cache of weapons.

  Jackson hoots. “Nice setup, D.”

  “We’re going to war,” I tell them. “I’m not taking no for an answer.”

  They stand and take their favorite firearms. We’ve always stocked each other’s weapon of choice—out of habit, out of necessity—and it’s come in handy almost every single time.

  The buzzer near the elevator goes off. I lift my sniper rifle, another Tikka T3x with slightly different modifications, and cross to the camera. Amy is at the bottom of the elevator, the phone held to her ear.

  “Yeah?”

  “Grace’s dad is here.”

  My eyebrows hike up. “Why?”

  “He’s saying he wants to talk to you.”

  “That sounds… fishy.”

  She shrugs and looks at the camera. “Your call. I told him you were out, and that I’d call you.”

  “Put him in a private room on the third floor,” I tell her. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

  “Got it, boss.”

  She hangs up and walks away, and I turn back to my friends. I take inventory of them. Griffin hands Hadley a knife and sheath, which she loops around her waist. Jackson straps on a holster for a handgun and pulls a shotgun off the wall. Impractical, but I get it. It can do damage if applied the right way—and Jackson would definitely apply it the right way.

  Zach has two smoke bombs hanging from a clip on his belt, and grenades on the other side. He puts a tactical rifle over his shoulder and magazines in his pockets, shooting me a quick grin.

  “Who was that?”

  I hesitate. “Grace’s dad is here.”

  “Oh, fuck no,” Zach growls. “You’re going to go meet with him? After he nearly killed you?”

  “Nearly is an exaggeration,” I mutter. “He’s a wild shot.”

  “So you’re going to go see him, and he’s going to have you in close quarters,” Hadley says. “You think that’s a good idea?”

  “I think hearing what he has to say is a good idea.” I cross my arms. “Really? You all object to this?”

  “Well… yeah,” Griffin says. “Think clearly here for a second, since the idea of Grace is clearly making you delusional.”

  “Irrational,” Zach says.

  “Crazy,” Jackson adds.

  “Okay, my god. Fuck you guys.” I hate that they’re speaking sense. Common sense.

  “When’s the last time you slept?” Hadley asks. “You kind of look like shit.”

  I crack a smile. “Worse than you?”

  “When I was dying of cancer? Yeah, I think you would beat even that.”

  I go over and mess up her hair. “I missed you, brat.” I laugh. “Come visit more often.”

  “You can come up to New York.” She nudges Griffin with her elbow. “We’re building a house.”

  “Oh?” Suppress the jealousy, suppress the jealousy.

  “And Jackson and Delia bought that little house they were renting,” she says. “Or, well, they’re—”

  “Yeah, understood.” I’m not the jealous type. And yet, for the first time in a long time, I would consider leaving Miami. The city has worn me out. Chewed me up. It’s on the verge of spitting me out, I can just feel it. And I can’t quite keep the bitterness out of my voice.

  We stand there, staring at each other, and a thought pops into my head.

  I wonder if Grace would like Bitterwood, New York.

  I clear my throat. “Well, I’m gonna go. I guess if I don’t come back you can come rescue me for a change.”

  No one stops me. Not that I thought they would. I have a million and a half questions for Grace’s father, and I suspect he might have something a bit more devilish up his sleeve. Hell, even I think it’s a trap.

  Let’s hope I survive it long enough to see Grace again.

  25

  GRACE

  Dinner consists of me, Javier, the twins, and Marco. My father is nowhere to be found.

  It’s not a surprise.

  I sit stiffly in my seat as one of the servers they keep on staff—really, the gall of these people—sets a bowl of soup in front of me. Marco is across from me, at his father’s right-hand side. One of the twins, Maria, sits next to me. The other sits next to Marco, glaring daggers in my direction.

  “So, Grace,” Tia says. Well, sniffs. They are nearly identical. When we were younger, they were more similar. In recent years, Tia has done more to stand out—a shorter haircut, dyed lighter brown, and colorful clothing. Maria’s hair is long and dark, and she dresses in muted colors. Always. “What were you up to this past week?”

  I hide my frown, wondering if she’s purposefully trying to stir up trouble. Probably.

  “Nothing eventful,” I answer, slurping my soup.

  Maria frowns. “Really? Interesting.”

  “Thought I just told you it was the opposite of that,” I murmur.

  Marco grunts. “Well, we would all like to pretend this past week didn’t happen,” he says. “And I commend my sisters for trying to make that possible.”

  They preen under his praise, their giggles grating on my nerves.

  I look from Marco to Javier. “I thought you had said my father was coming to dinner.”

  Marco looks down at his watch. “He should be here.”

  I swallow my trepidation. “Is he okay?”

  “I just had him out on an errand,” Marco answers.

  Javier glances at his son. “You boss around Sal now?” He puts down his silverware. “When did that happen?”

  Marco shrugs. “When Sal was searching for a bit more forgiveness than you were willing to give, Dad.”

  The three of us girls follow Marco and Javier with our eyes like we’re watching a tennis match. Javier’s face is slowly turning red, and I imagine his internal temperature is rising, as well. And Marco? Mr. Calm, Cool, and Collected.

  It worries me a little bit, because I think I was the catalyst for this moment.


  “We should discuss this in private,” Javier says through gritted teeth. “This is—”

  “Unacceptable?” Marco looks at his watch again.

  My stomach flips.

  What are you waiting for?

  My appetite is gone. The girls continue eating. Such outbursts must be normal by now. Steel striking against flint.

  Am I the kindling?

  The front door bangs open. Instead of turning toward the doorway, waiting for whoever it is to appear, I look at Marco. He meets my eyes, a small smile quick and fleeting across his face.

  One of the twins gasps. I whip my head around, and I bolt to my feet at the sight of my dad. He drags someone into the room with him with a bag over their head, pulling out a chair and shoving him into it.

  “Dad,” I choke out. The last time I saw him, he almost killed us. He watched Dalton pretend to threaten my life. He didn’t know it was pretend—and perhaps that’s why he’s brought Dalton to us.

  I would recognize Dalton anywhere.

  I’m not sure when that happened. When the transition from enemies to acquaintances to holy-shit-don’t-die-on-me happened. When I started liking him. Eh, maybe it was somewhere around when I realized I was jealous of the idea of him and Isabella. Or maybe I’ve always secretly trusted him to save me, and I just didn’t want to believe it.

  Dad shakes his head at me, frowning. “What are you doing, Grace? We had a plan.”

  Marco snorts. “I think you and I can agree that Grace had nothing to do with your plan. Sit down, Grace.”

  I cast a helpless look at Javier as Marco gets up from the table. I slowly lower myself back into my chair. Dalton has been silent this whole time, and the twins are frozen in their seats. This might be their first taste of my father’s violence.

  It’s unfortunate that I recognize it as synonymous with his very name.

  Sal saunters around the table, dragging a chair out and sinking into it. There’s a spot of blood on his collar, but that’s all there is. The only point of contact that would indicate any trouble.

  And Marco… Marco takes his place behind Dalton’s chair. Dalton’s hands are bound in front of him, wrapped with duct tape. His shirt is ripped.