Forged by Steel

by J. B. Havens

  Muffled curses reached my ears as Jordon stood. I glanced back to see that he was glaring at me over his shoulder and adjusting his pants. He told me with a look that I would pay for my teasing later. My grin felt like it would split my face.

  Looking forward to it boy-o…

  ****

  We landed at Heathrow and were whisked away in a sleek black town car, driven by one of Liam’s men. The jet would remain where it was until we needed it again. Red had taken off in her own vehicle for parts unknown.

  Pulling up outside a rather non-descript apartment building, we all climbed out onto the sidewalk and stretched our legs. London was alive all around us—honking horns, sharp cooking smells, squealing children under the watchful eye of their nannies in the nearby park. It was chilly, but the sun had made an appearance and people were taking advantage of it.

  “Up we go, then.” One of Liam’s men was holding the door to the building open, ending our appreciation of the city and ushering us in.

  Flynn glanced over his shoulder at us as he led the way up the stairs. “Anyone else feel like Alice right now?”

  “Yeah, a bit,” Pierce answered him.

  “Sorry, but the lift is broken.” Liam’s man, who had refused to tell us his name, pointed to the “Out of Order” sign taped to the elevator doors on the next landing.

  “Dude, we’re all former SF,” Flynn growled. “I think we can handle a few flights of stairs.”

  The man just shrugged his shoulder and continued climbing. After four flights, I was getting sick of this. I was tired, hungry, and getting damn irritated with Liam. Again.

  The fuckwad leading us on this merry hike finally stopped and opened the door to the fifth floor. None of us were winded, but the glares we gave the guy as we passed him should have turned him into a flaming pile of ashes.

  “Last door on the left,” he all too cheerfully shouted before heading back down the stairs.

  “Why didn’t he just tell us where to go in the first place? The escort was a little unnecessary,” Flynn whined.

  “It’s because, mate, we Brits have something you Yanks lack—manners.” Liam was standing in the open doorway, his hands tucked into the pockets of his dress pants, trousers, or whatever they were called on this side of the pond. His tie was half-undone and his signature vest was unbuttoned and open over his grey dress shirt.

  “Liam.” I shook his hand in greeting.

  “Welcome, welcome; come in everyone.” He stepped back and opened the door wide. We walked into a tastefully decorated foyer. Directly beyond it was the living room which opened to the kitchen on the right.

  My boots rang out with each step I took on the tiled floor. The apartment was warm and comfortable. Something cooking in the kitchen made the place smell like… home?

  A shadow stepped from the hallway on the left and as a man came into the light, I dropped my duffle on the floor in disbelief and anger.

  “Hello, Mic.”

  I snarled at the gangly man behind me. “Liam, I’m going to fucking kill you. After I’m done with him.” Returning my attention to the giant man in front of me, I felt Jordon and Rook fall in behind me.

  “Mic, you didn’t think I was going to let this go, did you?” Jackson casually walked into the living room, taking a seat on the plush grey couch. He was dressed simply, in jeans and a t-shirt. In all the years I’ve known him, not once had I seen him in jeans.

  “Fuck off. I have nothing to say to you.”

  “Bea Michaels! Watch your language and show some respect!” Aunt Beatrice stepped from the dark hallway, giving me her very best mother-glare-of-death.

  “What the hell? You too!” I whipped around, finding Liam casually leaning against the wall. Exploding into movement, I crushed him against the brick with my forearm pressing into his throat. “What are you fucking playing at?” His dark face was getting darker as I kept his airway cut off.

  Hands from behind grabbed me and pulled me off of him. He bent at the waist, coughing and gasping for air. I jerked out of the hold on my shoulders, moving forward to kick Liam in his traitorous fucking gob.

  Jordon wrapped both hands around my waist, jerking me off the ground. “Knock it off, babe, and let them explain. You can always kill them later.”

  He lowered me, letting my feet touch the floor but keeping his arms tight around me. “I’m good. Let me go, dammit.”

  “Bea, calm down and let us explain.” Aunt Beatrice grabbed my arm, pulling me to the couch. She sat beside Jackson, forcing me to take a seat next to her.

  I looked at the men, my men. Each of them were expressionless, keeping their emotions and thoughts in check and off their faces. They were no help to me right now and were wisely staying out of this, letting me handle it.

  “Fine. You have five fucking minutes.” Aunt Beatrice opened her mouth, no doubt to correct my language, but I held up my hand, cutting her off mid-word. “No. Right now, I’m sorry, but you can deal with my foul fucking mouth. It’s this or I rip your boyfriend’s fucking head off.” She closed her mouth, but her glare was fierce. I would be hearing about this later, I was sure.

  “Mic, Liam called me, yes.” Jackson was shockingly calm, his tone level and cool. “But it was my idea to come here. I have information for you that is best relayed in person.”

  I crossed my arms and glared at him. “Spit it the hell out. I don’t have time for this.”

  “Actually, you do. No one is chasing you.”

  “What? Roberts said…”

  “Forget what that fuck face said.” He leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees. “No one is after you; I had some leverage and used it. You didn’t start World War Three while in Russia, so they’re letting it go. On one condition—you cannot return to the states—ever.”

  The finality of that one word fell on us like an anvil. We had prepared ourselves for the possibility that we would be on the run, forever in deep hiding from our government. This was slightly better.

  “So, we can live wherever we want and do what we want, just never go back home.”

  “That’s exactly right.” Jackson sat back, sliding his arm around my aunt’s shoulders. “I even took the liberty of acquiring you a place to live. Somewhere you can be comfortable and secure while figuring out your next step.”

  “Where’s that?” Rook broke in, taking a seat on the second couch across from us, the coffee table between us.

  “North of here…” Liam said, seemingly unaffected by my squinty-eyed glare. “Scotland, to be exact.”

  “What, with bagpipes and dudes in skirts?” Flynn stood behind me while the others spread out and relaxed. It looked like we were going to be adults and have a conversation instead of a brawl. Dammit.

  “You’re such an ignorant bastard sometimes, Flynn.” Liam punched him in the shoulder, softening the blow of his words.

  “What? It’s true, isn’t it?”

  “No,” I snapped at him over my shoulder. “Now shut up and let the adults talk.” He childishly stuck his tongue out in response. Rolling my eyes, I turned back to the conversation going on around me.

  Jackson rattled off the name of an estate that I had no way in hell of ever remembering or pronouncing correctly. “It’s near Perth. Beautiful countryside, mountains, the works. It’s close enough to main highways and rail lines that you can easily travel anywhere in Europe.”

  “How secure?” Jones was opening his laptop on the slate coffee table, bringing up the property on Google—no doubt already shopping for our security system.

  Liam pointed at the picture Jones had on his screen. “It’s a fuckin’ castle, how much more secure do you need?”

  “Stupid question, mate,” Jones retorted. “What kind of spy are you?”

  I studied Jackson. His body language screamed casual, but his eyes told a different story. He was worried. This could all blow up in his face and he had no clue which way it was going to go—none of us did.

  “So what, you just happened to
find this place and drop…” I glanced at the listing, widening my eyes at the price tag, “… what is that, almost seven million dollars? Just like that?”

  “Yes,” Jackson replied as if it was chump change. “Just like that. This property is perfect. It’s isolated, huge, and has the conversion potential for everything you’d ever want.”

  Jones turned the screen toward me, pulling up the floor plan. The castle—that’s what it looked like—was a monstrously huge estate constructed of red stone with a slate roof. Four floors housed eight bedrooms, seven bathrooms, dining rooms, and reception rooms—whatever they were. It had towers, two driveways, and stables, along with a tidy thirty-nine acres of property… it was a play-land. The golf course would have to go—replaced with a paintball range or something. Maybe an obstacle course, or both… my thoughts trailed off, snapping me back to the stoic man in front of me. “What do you get out of this?”

  “A room for your aunt and me when we visit. Which will be often, I’m sure.”

  “Oh, you think so, huh? How about I train some attack dogs to rip your fucking throat out when you come to Christmas dinner?”

  Aunt Beatrice slammed her hand on the arm of the couch. “Bea, Dammit. Let him help you!”

  “Why should I?”

  “Because I was wrong to lie to you.” Jackson was as close to apologizing as he could get. “Because I’ve been working while you were gone to keep you from being executed. Because you’re my family—all of you.”

  Nice, I thought, he pulled the ‘we’re family’ card. The bastard.

  “Mic, it looks great.” Pierce, always the voice of reason looked over at me. His expression told me all I needed to know.

  “Get out,” I said. “Let us discuss it.”

  Jackson helped my aunt to her feet, leading the way to the door. Liam didn’t move, but Flynn’s shove got him going.

  I turned Jones’s laptop toward me. It was an impressive structure. Easily suited to our needs; we’d all be together, but with enough space and privacy that we’d still be comfortable. I flipped through the photos, looking at every room of the interior. Stone arches led into rooms with marble fireplaces. It was a modernized medieval mansion. Hell, it even had a home theater.

  “I want everyone’s opinion on this,” I said, pushing the computer away.

  “I’m in.” Flynn had no hesitation, as usual, willing to dive right in.

  Jones nodded, gazing at the pictures of the stables. Hmm, his Texas was showing.

  “Pierce?” I prompted.

  He was always the practical one. “Looks good to me. If we hate it, we can always stiff Jackson with the mortgage and leave.”

  Jordon grasped my shoulder, his silent support something I was really starting to enjoy. “I go where you go. Period.”

  I turned to the only person who hadn’t chimed in yet. “Rook?”

  His dark features showed no hint of what he was thinking. Brushing a long piece of hair off his forehead, he glanced at us each in turn. He was always quiet, but since his confession back in the safe house, he’d been even more so.

  “I’m in, but I’ll meet you there. I have something to do first.”

  “And what is that, pray tell?” I raised an eyebrow, daring him to try and keep it from me.

  “Rozalina. I won’t leave her. I promised I’d be back for her.”

  “Well, fuck. I don’t like the idea; it’s too fucking risky.”

  “I’m aware of that. But I can’t leave her. I won’t. If I get caught, it’s on me and only me. I don’t need or want company for this. If I can sneak into an ISIS compound and rescue our boys, then I think I can get into the U.S. and get back out. No one will be shooting. Should be easy as fuck.”

  I wasn’t thrilled, but I also didn’t see how I had a choice. “Alright then, Scotland it is. Flynn, poke your head out in the hall and bring them back.”

  “Oi, get yourselves back in here; Her Royal Majesty has decided our fate.” Flynn shouted out the door in a terrible British accent.

  “Fucking Flynn…” I muttered and sat back to plot out our future.

  Chapter 26

  One week later…

  Rook handed over his fake passport at the customs desk. He’d shaved his beard and buzzed his hair short to match the photo inside. He wore pressed khakis, a navy blue polo, and Italian kidskin loafers.

  He had flown coach on a commercial flight to Dallas— for Rozalina. What Mic and the others hadn’t known was that when he’d spoken to Rozalina at the hospital, he’d given her the information she needed to keep in touch with him. A simple answering service was all that was needed. She called every time she was moved and let him know where she was.

  In his pocket was an address, while outside he had a rental car reserved in the name Brad Watson, which matched the name on his passport, IDs, and credit cards.

  Passing through U.S. Customs with no problems, Rook headed straight to baggage claim, grabbed his standard black rollaway suitcase, and went to the car rental desk. He picked up the keys to a nondescript tan Ford Taurus, stowed his luggage, and programmed the GPS for his hotel.

  The drive was uneventful. He parked in the garage and checked into his room—all the motions of a typical businessman on a trip. His cover was perfect. He would sleep and adjust to the time change, then go for a drive. There were two plane tickets to New York City in his jacket, which he thankfully stripped off and tossed on the chair. From there, he and Rozalina would disappear. Right now, Mic was outfitting his room in the Castle and another for Rozalina.

  A brief flash of Roza in his bed gave him pause. When she was ready, that was his goal. The image of her sitting on that hospital bed, haloed by the sunlight streaming in behind her, was one that had been haunting him. She was unlike any woman he’d ever seen and he looked forward to learning everything there was to know about her. There was something about her that sharply reminded him of his lover in Russia. The same strength and grace. But Roza was very different from his lost love. He was looking forward to learning just how different.

  Liam and his web of spies would ensure that Rozalina was not recorded going into Scotland. She’d leave New York and drop off the face of the earth. There were tickets in her name for a dozen different destinations around the world. By the time the feds ran each one and checked all of the security cameras for each airport, Brad and Lucy Watson would be pulling up to the gates of the castle.

  ****

  I stood in front of the large bay window in my room—our room, actually, since Jordon was behind me hanging his clothes next to mine in the closet. The view was stunning and everything that I could see, in any direction, was ours.

  “I wonder how long it’s going to take us to get used to driving on the other side of the road.” He shut the door to the closet, or as it was marked on the plans, the dressing room.

  The shipping containers with our vehicles and belongings wouldn’t be delivered for at least another week. It would take time for them to cross an ocean and then a country.

  “I’m sure that soon we won’t even think about it.”

  Jordon stood behind me and pulled me back against him, his arms tight around my middle. “What now, babe? Where do we go from here?” His chin rubbed against the top of my head as he spoke.

  “Let’s go down to the war room, get the others, and start figuring it out. I have an idea.”

  Stepping away from him, I strode to the intercom near the bedroom door. There was one of these panels in each bedroom and all the main living spaces, including the kitchen and stables. The groundskeeper cottage and the other outbuildings didn’t have them yet, but Jones was working on it. He was like a kid, measuring rooms and relishing the boxes that were overnighted to our door every few days.

  I pushed a green button. “Meet me in the war room, guys, time to talk.”

  I led the way down the grand staircase, the rich wood gleaming with polish. The castle was huge, but also designed to be a home. None of us were maids, so we’d hired two wo
men from town to clean and cook for us. It had only been a week, but we’re adjusting well. We were no longer special operations, no longer military—we were just a group of individuals with a very specialized skill set.

  Reaching the ground floor, I walked through the great room and down a few steps into what had been the lower hall. We’d sold or donated all the furniture in here and replaced it with a giant conference table and comfortable chairs. They clashed terribly with the moldings and drapes, but we couldn’t bring ourselves to care. Jones had blocked off the back wall with a giant desk and covered it with his setup from the compound. He hadn’t wanted to wait for the containers to get delivered, so he’d bought all new stuff.

  He was at his desk, headset on and typing away. Pierce was spinning side-to-side in his chair, patiently waiting for us to arrive. Flynn was throwing little balled up pieces of paper at Jones’s head. The floor around him was littered with tiny white balls of paper.

  “Flynn, knock it off.” I smacked him on the back of the head as I passed on the way to my chair.

  “What? This is fun for me.”

  “I don’t care. When we’re done, I expect you to clean that shit up.” I pointed to the growing pile of paper as he threw yet another ball. “We’re not paying the women to pick up after children.”

  “Fine, fine. Ruin all my fun.”

  I kicked Jones’s chair, grabbing his attention. Taking off his headset, he noticed the mess around him, then the small bits of paper still on the table near Flynn. “Dude, really?”

  I rolled my eyes and cut off whatever smart-ass response Flynn was about to say. “Whatever, it’s time we talked. We’ve had a week to settle in and get used to living here. Now we need to decide what we’re going to do from here on out. Money isn’t the biggest issue, but this place requires a lot of upkeep. Plus, I don’t see us sitting around in our country house screwing off for the rest of our lives. It’s not in us to be idle. I’m open to ideas.”

  “Shouldn’t we wait for Rook?” Pierce brought up a good point. Rook had left two days ago for Dallas. He should be returning sometime today, provided everything went according to plan.