by M. Tasia
“We gonna shoot that cop before we leave?” a deep, scratchy voice asked.
“Yeah. Need to make sure the message to Ross is clear. Clean sweep tonight so we have nothing to worry about.”
That had to be the man in charge.
Time had run out. James needed to move before they killed the cop. He flattened his back against the wall between the kitchen and living room. There was a toy dump truck on the floor a few feet in front of him. That would do nicely. He stretched out his left leg and gave the toy a nudge. Sure enough, it rumbled across the kitchen floor and into the other room.
“What the hell is that?” the lackey asked.
“Go see where it came from.” The man James figured was the leader spoke with authority.
Perfect. James brought both knives up and squared his stance. He needed to be quick and accurate so that the guy did not get off a shot. As the footsteps came closer, calm focus washed over James. This was the world he knew how to function in.
“It’s probably Vince fucking with us,” the lackey said, as the barrel of his gun cleared the doorway. “He can be a real asshole.”
James attacked with precision, slitting the guy’s throat, then grabbing him, silently easing the dead weight onto the floor. As James began to straighten, something flickered to his left. In a blink, he was back in a small village near Kandahar, looking at a mother clinging to her child, her eyes wide with fear as James straightened from his crouch after wiping his bloodied knife on the jeans of the young man he’d killed. Now, as he had then, he blinked rapidly. Then to assuage the censor he felt emanating off the woman: now to clear his fucked-up brain and put his mind back in the room before he became the next victim.
Regaining his focus, he slid the gun from the dead man’s hand, then stuffed the pistol in his waistband, at his back. Bending, he made his way behind the sofa, listening to assess the other guy’s whereabouts.
Footfall came toward James’s position and he rounded the arm of the sofa, keeping low but ready to move.
“Reg?” the leader called. “Where the fuck are you?”
James peered over the arm and saw a stocky guy, mid-forties, surveying the room. When he turned his back, James made his move, charging toward the man whose back was turned. Before James reached him, the guy pivoted swiftly and lunged forward with a large serrated hunting knife aimed at James’s abdomen. He sucked in a breath and as he bent his body back to avoid the arc of the swing, he crashed into the coffee table, glasses breaking and crunching under his boots. Losing solid footing for a moment gave his opponent the chance he needed, and the guy lunged.
Sharpened steel cut through James’s jacket and shirt, leaving a gash across his right pec. He ignored the pain and moved forward. They swiped at each other, circling. James stayed on the guy, keeping his distance, yet moving in a tighter circle. Reaching for the gun would take precious seconds away from the dance, and he didn’t want to throw off his rhythm. He preferred hand-to-hand anyway. Combat shouldn’t be impersonal. Taking a life was one of the two most intimate things a person could do. Warriors should be able to look each other in the eye as they advanced their cause.
Moments before James was within striking distance, wouldn’t you fucking know it, his foot slipped on the toy dump truck he’d pushed into the room earlier. His balance faltered, and those few missteps was the opening that asshole needed. As James righted himself, he scanned the room and looked through to the kitchen. The patio door was ajar, swinging back and forth from the reverb of having been thrown open.
Shit. The bastard had fled.
James raced out the patio door and saw no sign of the black truck. Shit. He had gotten away.
“Los Angeles Police Department. Drop your weapons and raise your hands over your head, then drop to your knees,” a voice ordered, from directly behind him.
James threw the knives out in front of him, then slowly reached behind his back to pull the gun from his waistband before tossing it several feet away. Then he raised his arms and lowered himself to the ground. Immediately, a knee was pressed against his back and his face was buried in the grass. The click of the cuffs echoed in his head as he fought to remain calm. Being incapacitated exacerbated his demons. He may joke about bondage, but this was far from that game.
Shoes appeared in his limited line of sight. Then he was hoisted to his feet and led to the back of the nearest cruiser. He squeezed his body into the backseat, scraping his injured pec against the ridges of the hard plastic seat. All hope of warding off a migraine was lost. He had been getting them regularly since his return to the States.
Another lasting gift from his time overseas.
***
Time crawled as James struggled to hold his shit together. His wounds were beginning to throb, keeping a steady beat in time with his monster headache. More cars arrived, but he remained focused on the glass partition separating him from the front seat. There was a shoe-shaped scuffmark left from what he guessed was some asshole stuck back here who didn’t like the accommodations.
He ran maneuvers repeatedly in his head to keep his mind from fixating on his defenseless position. By now, he had cleaned his M16 dozens of times to help keep himself sane. If he ever was sane to begin with.
The backdoor was yanked open, but he refused to turn away from the scuffmark. He had to maintain his concentration or he would snap.
“James.”
Ross’s voice should’ve been comforting, but James was too close to the edge.
“Let’s get you out of here.” Ross reached under James’s arm and helped him stand from the vehicle.
James continued to stare straight ahead. He was still a prisoner, at least until someone unlocked his cuffs.
The moment he was free, he paced straight to the backyard. He needed space to breathe and center himself. The culmination of fighting for his life while trying to prevent a mom and child from getting hurt, coupled with his subsequent detainment, were riding him hard. Adrenaline pumped hard through his veins, and once again he had nowhere to vent it.
He tried to block out the chaos around him, and gulped down air as if he were drowning. He heard a single set of footsteps coming up behind him, but at least whoever it was had the sense to stay a few feet back. He was still on the defense and didn’t know how he would react to anyone approaching him for whatever reason.
“James, please come with me,” Ross entreated. “I have somewhere quiet for you.”
James turned around as the detective walked away. He followed him toward the two-door garage behind the house. Ross went in the side door, and James followed behind him. A couple feet in, they entered a man cave. A couch, chairs, and a television graced the area, along with a bar.
“Sit down and relax here until you’re ready.”
He had no idea how Ross knew what James needed, but grateful, he sat in the quiet, dim room and murmured, “Thank you.”
“You got that the wrong way around, buddy.” Ross told him as he retrieved a bottle of water from the bar fridge and handed it over.
James couldn’t help the hiss when he raised his right arm.
“Are you hurt?
“It’s not bad.”
“Let me be the judge of that.”
Ross moved James’s jacket and shirt aside to reveal one of the new gashes that would add one more scar to his war-hardened body. Bullet wounds on his leg, shrapnel tore up his right thigh, and a multitude of cuts and burns made for a gruesome roadmap of war.
The feel of Ross’s fingers gliding over James’s skin brought an unexpected calm to the roiling anxiety he was experiencing. When Ross pressed his palm against James’s chest to examine the wound, James almost moaned. He pulled his shirt back over his wounds, forcing Ross to remove his hand.
“I got distracted. It’s my own fault.”
Ross looked at him as if he had grown a second head. “You need an EMT to look at that. Are you injured anywhere else?”
“No, not yet. Give it a few minutes and shit mig
ht change.”
Ross shook his head.
“For real, man. Step away. I need some space.”
Ross didn’t look happy but he agreed and left. Once James was alone, he coaxed his body to shake off the adrenalin and fear. Being locked in that police cruiser almost did his head in. A head that was still pounding, and the ache shooting bursts of light behind his eyes. While his wounds had stopped bleeding, his state of mind was far from copasetic. His reaction to Ross’s touch puzzled him. In the throes of, or even after an episode, and he had been riding the knife’s edge the minute the cops cuffed him. He couldn’t stand anyone’s hands on him. Hell, he couldn’t stand to have anyone near him. Yet Ross’s warm hands and gentle contact had brought James a relief he’d never experienced. Ever.
He couldn’t dwell on that now, and pushed those thoughts aside to examine later. Instead, he needed some intel to make sense out of what’d happened to Ross’s family. Why someone would try to kidnap them? He wondered if it had anything to do with the call from earlier today.
Clearly, they needed protection. The venom he’d heard in the voice of that bastard who’d escaped told James that piece of shit would be back. His plans had been thwarted and he had it in for Ross.
Fuck.
James laid his head against the couch and closed his eyes.
He was getting to old for this shit.
CHAPTER 3
Ross was at a loss to explain how he felt. Terror, rage, relief, and something he hadn’t felt in a long time, yearning. Touching James had changed something in him, and Ross was not entirely sure he liked it. However, all that didn’t matter now, protecting his sister and niece were his top priority.
When he had arrived on the scene he feared the worse, but a scan of the area showed him his family was safe and sound. Jacquelyn and his five-year-old niece, Becca, were standing twenty feet away, talking to an officer. Ross couldn’t help himself, when he saw them safe he ran to them and lifted both into his arms while apologizing over and over. He shouldn’t’ve ever taken on Avante, knowing the bastard would do anything to put Ross’s family at risk.
Of course, Jac was quick to assure him that it wasn’t his fault, but Ross knew better. The surprise of the evening came when Jac explained that James had been the man who’d saved them. What had he been doing here? Ross would find out later what brought James to the house, but for now all he could focus on was the release in his chest that his family was safe and that the big oaf had shown up and saved them. The letter Avante left for Ross on the coffee table spelled out clearly that no one he loved was safe or would be as long as Avante drew breath.
Jac and Becca were all Ross had left, and he would pull the sun from the sky before he let anything happen to them.
Several police cruisers were leaving to join the hunt for the lunatic out to destroy him and his family. The officer assigned to look after Ross’s house had a concussion, but, fortunately, nothing worse. Ross knew Avante despised the police and took every opportunity to thin their numbers. No doubt, James was responsible for saving the officer’s life as well as Ross’s family’s.
The deck creaked as he walked across it and into the kitchen where his sister was busy cleaning up the debris from what looked like one hell of a fight. Ross could see Becca curled into herself, sound asleep on the couch in the living room. There was still blood on the tiled floor and he knew some of it had leaked out of James.
Why would he risk his life for my family?
“How is the guy who saved us?” Jac asked while dropping Becca’s broken dump truck in the garbage.
“James is a little freaked out and is injured.”
“Freaked out about saving us?”
“No, I don’t think so. I believe it has more to do with being handcuffed and placed in the back of a police car.”
“I tried to tell the officers he wasn’t one of bad guys, but they told me they wanted to wait until you got here.” Jac explained while picking up what was left of a wooden chair next to the kitchen island.
“Yeah, protocol. Detain everyone on-scene until their identities can be confirmed. I heard they weren’t sure how the big guy was going to react if they uncuffed him, since he was trying to melt the center plexiglass with his death stare.” Ross couldn’t help but smile.
His comment also brought a smile to his sister’s face. “I know that they needed to secure the area, for their own safety and ours,” Jac agreed, but they had to know he was one of them or something like it. Christ, the way he took down that guy leading us to the truck, there’s no way he’s not trained.”
Hearing Jac speak about being led to Avante’s truck had the muscle in Ross’s jaw jumping as he clenched and unclenched his fists. When he found that piece of shit, someone better be with him or there was no way he would be able to hold himself back from delivering a personal message with his fists.
“He’s Finn’s brother. Retired Army.”
“The one you keep bitching about that you have to look out for? The one you said is irresponsible and thoughtless?” Her look of disbelief was hard to miss.
“Yep, that would be me.” James cut into their conversation before he spun around and headed back out of the kitchen.
Shit. Ross hurried to keep up as James passed the last remaining EMT on his way to his car.
“You need to have that cut looked at, man,” Ross said.
“I’ll take care of it.” he answered while opening the car door and got in. “Not your problem.”
“We still have to get your statement.”
Ross had no idea why he was coming up with excuses to make James stay, when he should’ve been apologizing.
“Send somebody to the Gates. Not you. Anyone else.” Without another word, James started his car and backed out of the driveway, never once looking back.
“I’m an asshole,” Ross whispered, as the tail-lights vanished around the corner.
***
With his wounds still throbbing, James made his way back to his temporary home. Had he been such an asshole all this time? Was that the way people saw him? He may’ve gotten himself into trouble a time or two, but he’ had always had good intentions even if the results didn’t always turn out the way he’d wanted them to go.
He thought about the jerk that had caused him to get stitches earlier today. The asshole slapped a woman. No way would James let that stand. Afterward, the same woman jumped on his back and tried to strangle him, cussin’ him out like he’d done her wrong. Talk about no good deed goes unpunished. Then to learn that Ross believed he was thoughtless, reckless, and a pain in the ass, and had no problem sharing that love with his family—James had had enough.
He knew he should’ve left town after ensuring Finn was safe. Still could. James wasn’t sure what was holding him here. He had a head full of memories to deal with, and he knew he was better off being alone. It never dawned on him to call his brother when he took a couple days’ drive to clear his mind. He never meant to cause anyone to worry about him. He was so used to living inside his head, and had been without a family for so long, only having a commanding officer to answer to for over a decade the only constraint on his life. When he was on a mission, he understood the objectives and his role within his team. Executing and returning whole were his only priorities for too long and had left him with the kind of memories horror films were made of. To say his interpersonal skillset was limited was so much of an understatement it wasn’t funny.
It’d hurt to hear Ross’s sister recount his opinion of him. Sure, Ross had said that shit before, but usually when he was yelling at James after he’d done something the po-po didn’t like. At the time he’d thought, too fuckin’ bad. Now? Well, if he was that big an asshole, no one would miss him. Finn was fine. Set up with his man, and they were happy. Mission accomplished. Time to move on.
Having made up his mind his ass was out of here at first light, James needed to get back to his room, take a shower, and assess his physical damage, tend to his wounds, and then p
ack. He didn’t have much, and what he did have would fit in his Army-issued duffle. He liked to travel light.
The one nagging thing James couldn’t shake was the need to protect Ross’s sister and her kid, but he assured himself that Ross and the LAPD were capable of doing that, especially since they knew the risk assessment had changed.
By the time he pulled into the back parking lot of the Gates, it was nearly midnight. It had been a long day and he hoped everyone else was already asleep. Now wasn’t the time for another of their well-intended lectures.
He climbed the back stairs, but it felt more like climbing a mountain. He was bone-tired but still had lots to do. He punched in the code, stepped through and waited for the steel backdoor to relock, before heading for his bedroom. As fate would have it, that would be harder than he’d thought.
The hub was…well, a hub of activity. Max, Saint, and Miguel sat on the two couches while Finn stood waiting at the entrance with a large first aid kit in his hands. Goddammit. Ross had called ahead.
“Don’t be mad,” Finn said. “He wanted to make sure you’re okay.”
“I’m fine. Going to take a shower and get some rest.” He wasn’t going to discuss leaving with them. He would leave a note and call Finn from the road. He’d had it with the drama. Like now, everyone in the room wore the same expression, mirroring Finn’s concern. Enough.
“If it’ll make you feel better,” James told Finn, “I’ll take the kit and bandage myself up.”
Finn gave him a half-smile. His brother knew that was as close to getting medical attention as this was going to get. He handed James the kit and he turned to continue on to his room.
Fuck. Guilt ate at him, so he turned in the hallway to look back at everyone.
“I’m sorry I’ve been such an ass.”
He carried on to his room without waiting for a response.
James closed his bedroom door, dropped the first aid kit on his bed, and headed to the attached bathroom. God, he needed a hot shower. Without fanfare, he began stripping as he walked across the wood floor, leaving a trail of bloody clothes in his wake. He would pick them up later, when he had more energy. The adrenaline crash was bearing down on him, making his muscles twinge and contract. His head spun and he felt exhaustion seep into his marrow.
