Fearless: Complicated Creatures Part Three

by Lawless, Alexi

  Sam smiled grimly, jerking the wheel hard to the right in a fast move. Alejandro’s head rapped against the window with a jolt.

  “Oww—Jesus!” he hissed, hand clutching his temple as he glared at her. “What the fuck was that for?”

  “Answer the goddamn question, de Soto: how is it that an active duty Delta Force team commander can take three months off to protect a woman he doesn’t even like?”

  “One, Rox asked,” he snapped back, holding a finger up. “Two, I owe you one, and you know I never like to owe anyone anything—especially you. And three, I had leave, you ungrateful bi—”

  Sam lifted the gun. “Call me a bitch, and I’ll shoot your middle finger off, de Soto. Now answer the damn question honestly.”

  Chapter 11

  March—Early Evening

  Middle of Nowhere, Texas

  S A M A N T H A

  “If you hadn’t saved my sister’s life, I would snap your fucking neck right now,” Alejandro told her, his voice low and calm.

  Sam scoffed. “You’ve been wanting to kill me since I was eighteen, de Soto. You think I’m buying your ‘I’ll protect you with my life’ act now?”

  “So what’s the plan, then?” he returned, brow raised. “Shoot me and leave me here?” He shook his head. “I’d like to know how you plan to explain my disappearance to Rox when she comes looking.”

  “Tell me what you’re really up to and it won’t come to that.”

  Alejo grit his teeth, jaw ticking as he stared out the windshield, ignoring her gun. “I don’t know what the hell’s gotten into you, Wyatt. First you rough up a few drunks over ancient history. Now you’re driving like a bat out of hell and threatening the one guy who’s been willing to put up with your grouchy, invalid ass. Why don’t you tell me what’s going on!”

  Sam slammed the brakes so hard, Alejo hurled forward, forearms hitting the dash as the car juddered.

  “Jesus!” he shouted, shooting daggers at her. “Qué chingados, pinche puta!?”20

  Sam swerved, quickly regaining control of the car. Their phones started going off again simultaneously. She didn’t need to look at the caller ID to know it was the security guards she’d lost, wondering what the hell was going on.

  “Tell me how an active duty Delta Force member can afford to take off for months to play security guard to a civilian, or I’m shooting you. Those are your options, de Soto.”

  He glared at her, but he knew the jig was up. “Look, when Rox called, I pulled in a favor to get the leave extended, alright?”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Who did you pull the favor from?”

  He looked aggrieved. “Why does it matter?”

  “Who, Alejo?” she repeated, slamming the breaks again.

  “Shit—owww! STOP!” his hands smacked the dash as she hit the brakes fast a second time, tires squealing.

  Their phones kept ringing. The guards behind them had to be flipping out by now. Sam could see one of the SUVs gaining on them in the mirror.

  “Don’t fucking test me!” Sam told him, aiming the gun at him.

  “Sandro Roman, alright?” he spat out, gripping the dash. “He helped me get reassigned to you until Lightner is located.”

  Sam blinked in shock. “How in the hell do you know Sandro Roman?”

  “Watch the fucking road and slow down!” he snapped back before answering his phone. “We’re fine! Just stay close,” he barked before hanging up. “I know Sandro from way back, alright?” he told her. “I got busted when I was a runner for the Latin Kings back in Chicago. I was just a kid—trying to help my mom out after my dad got killed. I was one of Sandro’s pro bono cases back then, before he became a senator. Sandro kept me out of juvie. He’s the reason I went to college.”

  “Are you shitting me?” The universe was playing tricks on her. Had to be. All roads led back to Sandro Roman.

  Sandro helped Alejandro as a boy.

  Sandro knew her father after he became a senator—he’d told her as much the first time they met.

  Sandro had known that something terrible had happened to her family.

  Sandro wanted Jack to stay well away from her.

  Sandro gave Jack the file, expecting to drive a wedge between them—

  She slumped in her seat, her foot falling off the gas as the implication hit her. Alejandro grabbed the wheel, steering as she tried to wrap her mind around the pieces.

  “Pull over!” he shouted at her. “Just fucking stop the car—we’re pulling over!”

  Sam applied the brakes to the car. It took about a hundred yards, but the Mustang eventually rolled to a stop, the engine throbbing in the dust and heat.

  “Look, believe me or don’t believe me, but when Rox called me and told me what was going on, I was already in the Middle East between missions. I flew to Germany immediately,” he told her, rubbing a hand down his face.

  “When did you call Sandro?” she questioned.

  “I didn’t.” Alejandro shook his head. “I saw him at the hospital. I guess his son was going through some pretty terrible withdrawals and he was getting him into rehab when we ran into each other.”

  “Did Sandro know what had happened to me?” she interrupted. “Was he already aware of the mission?”

  “Yes,” Alejandro said after a brief hesitance. “He knew more than I did.”

  “And did he ask you to keep an eye on me?” She lifted her weapon. It was a SIG Sauer P226—the Navy SEALs weapon of choice, for its lack of a manual safety. Easy to fire in double action should the need ever warrant it—a big monster of a handgun. “Have you been reporting back to Sandro about me? Is that why you’re still here?”

  His mouth tightened fractionally, his expression shuttering. “Whatever’s in your mind, Wyatt—it’s not what you think—”

  Sam saw the ranch SUVs pull up behind them on the side of the road. Alejo did too.

  His phone began to ring again, and he answered it slowly. “Stay in the trucks, guys,” he ordered. “We’re just having a pit stop.”

  “You better start telling me the truth, de Soto,” Sam told him as he hung up. “Because I’ve been waiting to put a bullet through you since we were in college, and you’ve just given me enough reason to do it.”

  Sam watched him calculate his options. He could try to attack her outright, or parry her position so she wouldn’t be able to shoot him before he disabled her. He could pull his own weapon too, but that would be a Pyrrhic victory at best. If he tried to get out of the car, he’d never make it in time. She knew he would never choose that option anyway. Alejandro de Soto may be a lot of things, but a coward wasn’t one of them.

  “I’m not sure what the hell is going on with you and Sandro,” he said in a low, angry voice. “But trust me when I tell you that I was just as surprised as you were that he knew who you were and exactly what you were up to.”

  “I know Sandro Roman. That man is a born horse trader. He wanted something in return for his help. What did he ask for in exchange for getting you reassigned to me?”

  His mouth thinned. He stayed silent for such a long time, she toyed with the idea of shooting him just to get a reaction.

  “Just say it,” she demanded.

  Alejandro rubbed his mouth before sighing. “This is going to sound worse than it is.”

  “Really?” she taunted. “Because none of it is sounding very good right now.”

  “You’re seeing his son,” Alejo said flatly.

  Jack. Her eyes narrowed. “Was.”

  He met her eyes. “Carey confirmed it.”

  “You’re so sad and bored you have to go to my partner to ask about my sex life?” she replied bitingly.

  He grunted, rolling his eyes. “Your sex life doesn’t interest me in the least.”

  “So what did Sandro want then?” Sam smiled bitterly. “Let me guess: he wanted you to make sure I stayed away from his precious son?”

  “The opposite, actually.” Alejandro’s eyes glittered with a kind of bleak amusemen
t. “He wanted me to keep Jack in the loop with how you were doing.”

  “You’ve been keeping tabs on me for Jack?” she nearly screamed, emotions barraged her—outrage, hurt, frustration—and a few more feelings she was too overwhelmed to name. “How often?” she finally asked when she trusted herself to remain in control.

  “Jack calls me once a week, like clockwork.” Alejandro reached into his pocket slowly. “I’m going to show you, okay?” He unlocked his phone, holding the screen up so she could see his call log. She saw Jack’s number show up about a dozen times since she’d returned from Germany.

  “Each conversation is brief—I stick to the bare facts,” Alejo confirmed, as if reading her mind.

  She saw Jack’s mobile number as he swiped down. Each call came in on Sunday night, and each lasted under a couple minutes.

  “What does he want to know?” she asked, her voice nearly cracking.

  Alejandro lowered the phone. “He only wants to know that you’re okay. That’s all. He’s never asked me anything more invasive than if you’re okay and if you need anything.”

  A part of her wanted to believe him. Because this was exactly the kind of thing Jack would do, and Jack was absolutely his father’s son. They were both masters at cultivating and trading in favors. Tit for tat. It made sense, considering how controlling and obsessive he’d been in the past.

  She thought of his letter. I respect that you need your time to heal and the space to think. All that I ask is that you contact me when you’re ready.

  And in the meantime, he’d been watching her like a hawk from the distance. He’d left that part out, conveniently.

  “It seemed like a small trade for Sandro’s help,” Alejo went on, regret flickering in his eyes.

  “Of course it did,” she said, her voice hoarse. Samantha realized belatedly that the hand holding the SIG was shaking. She couldn’t pretend she wasn’t completely overwhelmed. Too much was coming at her—too fast to take in as she and Alejandro faced each other, the air between them thick with tension. “How the hell can I trust you?” she asked. “You’ve been lying through your teeth since you walked back into my life.”

  Alejo slowly reached for the SIG, his hand closing over hers gently. Sam’s finger squeezed the trigger reflexively. Just a few millimeters and he’d have a hole blown through his gut.

  He shocked her by pulling the gun up so the muzzle pressed against his chest. “You and I have had our beef, Wyatt. But the day you saved my sister’s life and took revenge in the name of my family, I knew it was just a matter of time before I paid you back.” He looked her in the eye. “I’m here, Wyatt. No one forced me. I wanted to do it. Talking to Jack seemed harmless; if it had threatened you in any way, I would have found a way to be here without Sandro’s help.”

  They stared at each other in the tight confinement of the car, the tension thick and charged. Alejandro held her gun to his heart, his gaze pitch dark and serious when they were usually all swagger and insolence. There was a gruff sincerity to his statement that she recognized. He cared profoundly, though she patently disliked how he’d gone about showing it.

  “If you don’t believe me, just shoot me and get it over with, Wyatt.” His eyes narrowed, like he was daring her to do it. This was the Alejandro de Soto she knew. This was the arrogant jerk she’d competed with all those years ago.

  “I can’t trust you,” she whispered.

  “You can,” he insisted grimly, squeezing her hand to his chest. “You just don’t want to have to.”

  “Your loyalty lies with Sandro.”

  “Bullshit,” he gritted out. “If I have to choose between protecting you or doing a favor for Sandro, there’s no question. We may not get along, Wyatt. We may not like each other, but none of that matters. I have your back. You know this is the truth.”

  The tremor in her hands intensified now that he wasn’t gripping her. The weight of the gun wasn’t helping either. Sam wasn’t certain if it was adrenaline or exhaustion or both at this point, but she felt like she couldn’t hold it up anymore. And the pain in her back had bloomed into a vibrating ache that she could no longer ignore. She pulled back, slipping the gun back in the holster that she kept wedged between the seat and the door. Alejandro watched her silently as she gripped the steering wheel to hide the shakes. She took a deep breath – then another – trying to calm herself down. She needed to rest her forehead against the wheel. Just close her eyes for a few minutes and begin processing it all—

  Alejo swung open the car door, stepping out, giving her a moment to get it together as he met the guards at the trucks. He returned after a minute, opening her door and squatting on his haunches beside her as the sun set behind him, a hot orange ring that set the prairie in the background ablaze.

  “You don’t have to tell me everything that’s going on in your head. God knows, I’m used to working with little to no information. But I need you to let me do my job,” he told her bluntly. “I swore to Roxy I’d take care of you. I promised Carey and your family. I may be an asshole, Wyatt—but I keep my word.”

  Sam said nothing. The accumulated fatigue and pain engulfing her now was too overpowering.

  “Let’s just start small okay?” he suggested, eyes gentling. “Where were you heading before you threatened to kill me?”

  She thought of Wes—the other man in her life who couldn’t help but intrude left, right, and center. The original master of ‘give an inch, take a mile.’ Jesus Christ, she could really pick them.

  “Austin,” she answered tiredly.

  Alejandro nodded. “Then let me drive. You can close your eyes for a little bit. Think through what’s next.”

  She was exhausted, pulled down by the emotional undertow and her own significant physical limitations. She’d done and faced more today than she had in months. She honestly didn’t think she could make it the two hours it would take to get there.

  Alejandro handed her the SIG she’d stowed in the holster between the car door and the seat. “Just in case you want to shoot me after all.”

  “Don’t tempt me,” she muttered, accepting the gun before she took his hand and stepped out of the car. The other guards waited patiently by the ranch SUVs as Sam stretched, taking a minute to try to ease the stiffness in her back.

  When they set off again, Alejandro fluidly maneuvered the Mustang back onto the highway, picking up speed. She felt the thrum and throttle as he opened up the engine, letting the car eat up the long, dusty gray ribbon of road as the sun set behind them.

  “Where to in Austin?”

  “The Elliott Perry Fields Agency.”

  Alejo shot her a look. “Elliott? As in Wes Elliott?”

  “The very same.”

  He shook his head, “You’ve got more drama than a telenovela, Wyatt.”

  “Tell me about it.” Her head dropped back as her eyes closed. “My life is full of men who are spying on me. Too bad none of you bossy bastards are going to get your way.”

  *

  March—A couple hours later

  Austin, Texas

  W E S L E Y

  “Don’t think I’ve ever seen you in the office for more than a couple weeks in well… ever. Shit’s getting strange,” Chris Fields commented from the doorway of Wes’s office.

  Wes looked up from his work. “You’re just afraid if I stick around too long, you’ll finally be forced back on the road to earn your keep.” He sat back, eyeing his best friend and business partner. “You oughtta think about getting back in the mix, Chris. Do you some good to be back in the action after running this office all these years. Your ass is getting big from sitting behind a desk bossing everyone around all day.”

  “You let me worry about my own ass,” Chris replied with a laugh. “Though I’m pleased as punch you still check me out when you think I’m not looking,” he added with a wink.

  Wes rolled his eyes. Chris wasn’t wrong—about the sticking around part, anyway. This was the longest he’d had stayed in any one place
in years. And if he was honest, he kind of liked it. More than he’d thought he would, even though the one person he wanted to see still wouldn’t take his calls.

  Chris pushed off the door jamb and tossed him a beer. “Besides, you know my wife would skin me alive if I left her at home alone with the girls.”

  “You’re just too fat and happy to get out on the road again—admit it.” Wes popped the cap off the beer, toasting him.

  “Hell, Wes, you’d be fat and happy too if you were married to a chef,” he replied, patting his belly.

  “No doubt.”

  Wes gave Chris crap all the time, but the truth was the guy was still built like a brick shithouse, well over two hundred and fifty pounds and towering, despite the little extra padding he’d put on since retiring from the NFL. They’d been roommates in college, back when Chris was a linebacker for the Aggies, before he made it big being drafted by the Cowboys after college. When Chris finally decided to retire after a spate of knee surgeries, Wes had convinced him to follow through on their dream of starting their own agency together.

  Wes took a satisfying sip of his beer before his eyes dropped back down to the stacks of photos and documents he had spread out on his desk. He’d lost whole days trying to make heads or tails of it. It was like trying to slot together pieces from multiple puzzles—unbelievably frustrating.