Unbreakable s8-2

by Stephanie Tyler

  Avery blinked. “It’s us.”

  “Like the fucking Brady Bunch,” Jem muttered, and indeed, the screen was split into six boxes, showing Gunner, Dare, Grace, Jem and Key. The last box was blank at the moment, but the shots had been taken from when they’d been on Powell’s island.

  “Can’t we wipe Landon’s computers?”

  “I already did. Doesn’t mean he doesn’t have copies. Everyone uses facial-recognition software these days,” Gunner said.

  “But if we disguise Grace’s face, put some fake cheekbones and shit, it’ll throw the software off,” Jem said. “She’s our best shot.”

  “She’ll have to change the way she walks. The best software does more than faces,” Gunner said.

  “I can change anything if it means getting rid of this guy from our lives,” Grace promised.

  “Or I could help.”

  * * *

  Jem turned at the sound of Drea’s voice. She’d remained in the doorway of the kitchen but now moved forward and Jem willed her not to say anything more.

  Which obviously didn’t work when she said, “The asshole who hurt Avery doesn’t know me. I could do it.”

  “No way,” Jem said before Avery could open her mouth.

  “Why not?” Dare asked, arms crossed.

  “She’s not trained, for one,” Jem pointed out.

  “I can shoot. I can use a knife. Well, a scalpel. Same thing really,” Drea said. “And I know how to fight.”

  “Sweetheart, this fight would be like nothing you could’ve ever imagined,” Jem promised her.

  “It’s one meeting,” Grace pointed out. “She’d pass his scrutiny in a second.”

  Key nodded and Jem walked toward Drea, hand on her biceps, and tried to steer her out of the room. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “Offering to help.”

  “I already told you, you don’t owe us.”

  “I heard you, Jem. But what if I want to help you?”

  “Too dangerous.”

  “You need me to get to him. I’m your best option. He’s suspicious already—you said so yourself.”

  “We’ll just go with our original plan of making his life a living hell,” Jem said.

  Avery shook her head. “It’s going to take too long, Jem.”

  “Dammit.” He was having more of a problem with the women in his life being in the line of fire than he’d thought. He’d always been equal opportunity, felt that if women could do the job, they could have it. And he knew Avery could. But that didn’t stop him from freaking at the thought of her getting hurt again. Same went for Grace, and now for Drea.

  “This is for Avery. And Grace. And for me,” Drea told the group, but really, she was speaking to him. All he could do was nod his acceptance, even though he wasn’t accepting it at all.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Goddamn, it had been a long day. All the sitting around and talking rather than getting out there for some action was making the men act like caged lions. Pretty soon, they were going to start wrestling in the middle of the living room to blow off steam.

  It was close to three in the morning after Jem had finished doing some research with Key, left his brother still working to relieve Dare and check on Drea.

  She was in bed, but reading. Looking wide awake and fucking adorable in his T-shirt and a pair of sweats that were broken in just right.

  “Can’t sleep?” he asked.

  “Lately, it’s the last thing on my mind.” She accepted the mug of hot chocolate he handed her and tucked herself under the covers. She’d left room for him in the bed and oh yeah, he liked that.

  Too much. It was fucking with his game. “Look, I appreciate what you did back there—”

  “No, you’re pissed about it.”

  Her honesty disarmed him. She was such a straight shooter. “Yeah, I am. Worried more than pissed but . . . dammit, Drea, you’ve got to stop putting yourself directly in trouble’s way when I’m trying to get you out of it.”

  “I guess I’m good at finding trouble.” She let her gaze fall on him meaningfully.

  “Aw, come on, that was too easy.”

  “You walked into it,” she pointed out. “Can you tell me a little more about this Landon guy you’re all discussing? What he does for a living?”

  “He’s a smuggler. He helps criminals leave the country, but he also stops human traffickers. Lots of shades of gray,” Jem explained. “We’d have no problem with him if he didn’t keep trying to kill us.”

  “He’s the one who hurt Avery?”

  “Yes. Now can you understand why I don’t want you anywhere near him?”

  She nodded. “But Grace can’t do it. And you don’t have anyone else.”

  “We’ll find another way. There’s always another way.” Only this time, there really wasn’t, and Drea knew that as much as he did. As much as they all did.

  * * *

  Avery dreaded reading Adele’s missing journals, but once she’d forced herself to start, she was angry she hadn’t done so earlier.

  It’s the worst thing that could ever happen to a woman, and they know that. It’s why it’s their best weapon. But after months of healing physically, I’m going to accept that I’ll never be the same. That’s all right. I’m still strong. I’m just different. And to change is to live. To survive.

  She was a survivor.

  “It’s a shame she never had kids,” she’d told Grace after she’d finished the first journal. “She would’ve been the best mom.”

  “She was,” Grace said, hugging her arms around herself.

  It was then Avery remembered how much they’d all lost. If they hadn’t been broken by now, she had to assume they never would. “I forgot how long you spent with her.”

  “I didn’t read these journals until she’d left. But then I understood why she got me—didn’t yell at me about being promiscuous. She understood it was my way of taking back my power,” Grace said.

  The planning was happening around her. Gunner briefed her at night, and sometimes she fell asleep while he was talking. That was all right—it was as if what he said was solidifying in her brain, adding fuel to the fire. And every day, the need for strict vengeance wore a little thinner. The need for justice grew stronger. It was a much better balance.

  After a month, they moved locations. A different state, a better safe house that Jem and Key vetted for a week before they allowed the others to move here.

  It was all temporary, Avery knew. Her ultimate goal was to get Gunner back to his tattoo shop. Back to at least drawing, which she hadn’t seen him do once.

  She’d forced herself to look in the full-length mirror daily since Drea took the bandages off. Wanted to know exactly what Landon had done, wanted to watch the black stitches dissolve and the bright red scars fade to pink and then eventually white, knowing her anger wouldn’t fade as quickly. Not until Landon paid, and paid dearly.

  He didn’t have family. No one close to him that she could hurt him with, beyond Gunner. Even if there were, she didn’t think she could do that.

  But not having anyone to care about was how the man stayed on top for so long. You couldn’t care about anyone or anything that could be used against you. And that was S8’s fatal flaw. She couldn’t see that changing any time soon. It was the only way to keep their consciences in check, the only way they’d ever be able to love.

  “We could retire to an island. Work enough to live and then just hang out,” Jem had suggested yesterday.

  “You? Hanging out? Doing what, lying in the sun? I give it less than an hour,” she’d scoffed.

  “Maybe I’d love it.”

  She knew she wouldn’t.

  She traced the scars now, her fingers trailing as her eyes never left the mirror.

  Every night, she curled up next to Gunner, fully clothed. And every night, he’d held her through nightmares that went from multiple ones nightly to one per night and then a few times a week. Body and mind seemed to heal at the
same time. Having Grace and Dare and Key there helped. She could concentrate on healing, without worrying that everyone was in danger.

  There were thirteen scars in all. Different sizes, some vertical, some horizontal, done purposely to scar. The biggest one bisected her tattoo and she traced the X that marked her beautiful flowers.

  Gunner would work miracles on this. She knew that. But she hadn’t wanted him to see her naked yet, because she was more worried about how these scars would affect him than anything.

  She drew a bath, sank into the bubbles and tried to relax. Time was passing. Plans were being made. Soon, it would be time to put up or shut up.

  She would make Landon pay for everything he’d ever done to her family.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  It had been seven days since they’d moved to this house, and the closer they got to firming up plans to take Landon down, the harder Avery had been pulling away from him.

  She’d been in planning mode. She was healing. Stronger. Sharp too, but that didn’t mean she was totally ready for this. None of them were.

  Gunner glanced into the kitchen and found the others there, except for Avery.

  “Thought she was with you,” Jem said.

  “She’s taking a bath,” Grace told him. “I just checked on her.”

  And now he was going to. She’d been avoiding him and he wouldn’t let that happen. He burst into the bathroom and found her soaking in the tub, up to her neck in bubbles.

  “Can’t a girl have any privacy?” she asked.

  “No. None. You’re not leaving my side.” Jesus, he might as well have simply said, Me caveman, you woman.

  She blinked, stared down at the bubbles. “Can you at least wait outside the door?”

  “I won’t leave you alone inside a room with a window.”

  “I’m below the window.”

  He wanted to tell her that a sniper wasn’t the only way Landon could try to get to her, but instead he told her, “You need to get out.”

  “Is it me or Landon you’re worried about?”

  “Both. Now up,” he said firmly, held up a towel.

  “I’m all soapy. I have to rinse off.”

  He sighed, moved to the window and said, “Go ahead.”

  “Can’t you at least look away?”

  “No.” Why was she being so stubborn? He’d seen her naked, made love to her. Now wasn’t the time for false modesty. “And if you don’t move soon, I’m hauling you out of there myself.”

  “Fine.” With a determined set to her jaw, she let the water out of the tub and stayed seated and used the handheld showerhead to wash off for a while. And then she finally stood, her taut body naked and dripping wet.

  He stared as something caught his eye. She stilled, because she knew.

  She’d hidden the scars from him. Jem had helped her. He’d assumed the bandages she’d worn for weeks had been because of broken ribs.

  He’d been so very wrong. There were deep cuts through her beautiful tattoo. And the initials DL carved into a heart. Slashes on her breasts that were on their way to healing still looked angry. They’d never fully fade.

  “Not as pretty as tattoos,” she said tightly.

  “You’ll always be beautiful to me, Avery.”

  “Dammit, Gunner, I didn’t want you to find out about them like this.”

  “Come on.” He wrapped her in the towel because she’d started to shiver.

  “I don’t have regrets.”

  “I do, Avery. It’s my fault you sank deeper into this world.”

  “I would’ve been here sooner or later. It’s my legacy, remember?” she said almost defiantly as she stepped out of the tub and walked into the adjoining bedroom, holding the towel around her.

  Gunner started after her. She was still in pain, and pretending everything was fine when it goddamn wasn’t. So what was this all about? Revenge? Redemption? Or more than a generous helping of both?

  He followed her now, found her sitting on the bed, holding a sketch pad. It was brand-new, and there were pencils there too. She must’ve asked someone to pick them up on one of their runs into town.

  “Draw me,” she told him.

  The seeds for his revenge against Landon had been planted when he’d found Josie on the floor. He just hadn’t seen a way out that didn’t involve him losing what little he had left. And when his art had soothed him, he’d clung to that, because he didn’t want to lose it again.

  The art—the tattooing—was to honor Josie and what she’d done for him. But she’d always known that his art was important to him.

  Avery wasn’t going to let him forget that. She dropped the towel. “Do it. Scars and all.” And just like that, she fucking posed for him. “Plan what other tattoos you’ll do after that.”

  Those he would draw right on her body, just so he could get the curves right. For now, he concentrated on sketching the warrior he saw in front of him. Because he didn’t see the scars, not the way she’d thought he would. “I’m drawing you exactly as I see you.”

  “Tell me what you see,” she said.

  “You. Beautiful survivor. Map of where you’ve been, how far you’ve come.” He looked up.

  “The scar over your heart . . .” He paused, then bent down to sketch again. “Means you’ve been given more room to let people in. More room for me and all my mistakes.”

  “Not so many mistakes,” she said softly. He heard the smile in her voice as he traced a breast on paper with the edge of the pencil.

  “Scars make you stronger.”

  “Until I had them, I never understood what people meant when they said that.”

  “But now you do.”

  “Yes.”

  “When I look at you, I don’t see scars, though. I see . . . you.”

  “And places you want to tattoo.”

  “That too.” He stood, moved closer. Traced the pencil’s eraser over the lines on her breasts. “I’ve got plans. Short-term and long-term.”

  “Does short-term involve you in my bed?”

  “Definitely.”

  * * *

  Gunner’s hand wound around the back of her neck as he spoke. He dropped the sketchbook onto the night table as she stood, pressed her naked body against his clothed one.

  Her heart was beating so loudly she was sure he could hear it. But she’d never felt more strong and sure in her life.

  “Don’t be gentle with me. Don’t you dare,” she told him. Something glinted in his eyes and he swooped her up and brought her over to the bed. But instead of covering her body with his, he rolled them so she was on top of him. She stared down at him, wondering how he could know so much, how he could just know what she needed.

  “Go ahead, woman. Have your way with me,” he murmured. He wound his hands around the metal bar across the headboard. “Use my T-shirt. Cuffs. Whatever you’ve got.”

  “I want you to touch me,” she said, even though she knew he was right, that she wouldn’t handle that well.

  Reluctantly, she used the handcuffs from Gunner’s bag, because she knew he would have a tougher time getting out of those. Hated that Landon had done this to her and then realized that she never, ever wanted Landon in her mind, in her bed ever again. That would mean he won, and she couldn’t let that happen.

  She kissed him. He kissed her back but let her set the rhythm. She gripped his hair, kissed him like there was no tomorrow as the familiar passion filled her. She was wet between her legs, her nipples hard.

  Her body still worked. Maybe scars really did make you stronger.

  His cock was hard against her sex. And although she wanted him inside her, this felt too good to stop. It had been too long, and before she could think about it, her belly clenched with pleasure. “Gunner.”

  She heard the surprise in her own voice.

  “Yeah, baby. Just like that. Keep looking at me. You’re with me, and you’re safe. And you’re so fucking beautiful, I can’t stand it.”

  She rubbed against him unt
il the orgasm burst through her. She saw stars, held on to his shoulders.

  And then she wept. When she was able to stop, she wiped her eyes, looked at him and then at the sketchbook.

  He’d drawn her with no scars at all.

  I drew you exactly the way I see you.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Nearly four months had passed since Landon tried to firebomb them. He hadn’t called, and things had been quiet on that front. Not so much with Landon’s business, which Jem helped Gunner trace.

  Landon—Drew, Donal or both—was still active. And so their plan to have Drea pose as the wife of a recently indicted businessman was moving forward full steam.

  And Jem wasn’t happy about it at all. He’d voiced his unhappiness in every way, shape or form he could think of.

  “It’s not them. It’s us,” Gunner had muttered just last night, and Key nodded in agreement.

  “And we’ll drive ourselves and them crazy if we keep focusing on it,” Jem had added.

  “You were already there,” Key pointed out.

  Now Jem concentrated on putting a microphone and camera buttons in some of the high-fashion bags and accessories Drea would wear when she met with Landon. Grace had taken her shopping, with Dare as their escort.

  He’d grumbled something about it being horrible, but he’d come home with new clothes, Jem noted.

  But the transformation hadn’t stopped with clothing. Drea spent part of the day at some kind of spa—and Dare got a manicure, Grace was quick to point out—and when she came home, she looked beautiful, but different. She looked high society. The right makeup and hairstyle, the right dress and jewelry and suddenly Drea was Andrea, pronounced with an O sound.

  Drea was used to dealing with deadly maniacs. She’d been threatened for so long, standing in a room with men of Landon’s caliber wasn’t going to throw her.

  That didn’t mean that Jem was ready to let her do it. And the fact that he’d bucked the idea so hard let him know that he had feelings for Drea. Real goddamned feelings, and he’d somehow let that happen when he’d promised himself he never, ever would.