Lone Star (Dartmoor Book 7)

by Lauren Gilley

  “Shit,” Mercy said again. “You did good, then. Who shot him?”

  Reese listed off the physical attributes of the shooter, from the hair, to the earrings, to the ridiculous gun. “He matches the description several of our witnesses gave for a man named Luis. He’s the son of the Chupacabra boss.”

  “Little prince charming, huh?” Mercy said. “And he winked at you?”

  “Yes.”

  “It was a message, then. A power play. He wanted you to know that he could have done a lot worse, but he didn’t. He didn’t mean to kill him.”

  “I don’t understand,” Reese said, and heard frustration enter his voice.

  “I know, kiddo. I don’t get it either – the way people gotta be jackasses toying with each other. It’s a lot easier to just bash heads in and get it over with, all out in the open.”

  That was why Mercy was his favorite.

  “So I take it things just got even more complicated with the cartel out there.”

  “I guess.”

  “Did you tell Fox? About the winking I mean. He’ll need to know all the details.”

  “I told him.”

  “Uh oh.”

  Reese waited for an elaboration, frowning to himself.

  “What’d Fox do to set you off?”

  His pulse leaped again, a lurch and then a race. He hadn’t – Fox hadn’t…but that’s why he’d called, wasn’t it? Because he was…angry. Yes, he was angry.

  “How’d you know?” he asked.

  “Your voice. You sounded like you wanted to strangle him,” Mercy said, not without sympathy.

  Reese took a deep breath – no doubt Mercy could hear it on the other end, and that was so unlike him, so discomposed and emotional and foreign. But he didn’t think he could help it right now.

  As usual, nothing came out of his mouth the way it should have. “I hate Tenny.”

  Mercy snorted. “Gee, I couldn’t tell.”

  Sarcasm. Reese was learning to read it in others, even if he couldn’t deploy it.

  “I hate him,” he repeated, and felt his face heat, afflicted again – still – with that useless emotion. It was tempered, now, though, by something else. Something bitter that made it difficult to swallow. “He doesn’t follow orders, and he put the whole op at risk tonight because he was bored.”

  Mercy chuckled. “Sounds like Fox, honestly.”

  Reese couldn’t stop the growling sound that built in his throat. He tried to swallow it, not understanding it at all, but Mercy must have heard it, because he made an inquiring sound in response.

  “Well, not just like him,” he amended. “Fox doesn’t ever risk the op – not without a good reason. What’d he do to piss you off?”

  You’re angry, he remembered telling Badger once, an observation.

  I’m fucking pissed off!

  He’d never thought of himself as being such. His chest felt tight, so he took a deep breath. “It’s Ten’s fault he got shot. He went down, and I saw the shooter, and – I went to administer medical care.”

  “Ah. Instead of going after the shooter.”

  “Yes.”

  Mercy hummed; he did that when he was considering things; his mouth always screwed up a particular way, and he glanced at the sky or the ceiling, whichever was overhead. “You feel guilty because you should have gone after the shooter.”

  “He had to go out an upper story window to escape, which would have taken time. I could have caught up to him. He wasn’t as fit as me.”

  Mercy chuckled. “There is something nice about somebody being as honest as you.” One of those statements that always left Reese frowning as he tried to understand. Sarcasm? Sincerity? It sounded warm.

  Then he grew serious. “Listen, kid, you did the right thing.”

  “I could have apprehended Luis.”

  “Yeah, maybe. Or maybe he would have shot you, or maybe you would have tripped going up the stairs and fallen flat on your face. You can’t know for sure that you would have gotten hold of him. But you can know that, if you hadn’t helped him, Tenny would be dead now. That was the only certain thing in that situation: that Tenny was going to bleed out if you didn’t do something.”

  “Oh.” He hadn’t thought of it that way.

  “I know you hate him, but do you wish he’d died?”

  He thought of wrapping his hands tight around the wound, of Tenny’s eyes, big and pale, begging. And of his own internal begging: don’t die, don’t die, don’t die. “No.”

  “He’s not patched in yet, I know, and who’s to say if he ever will. Or you, for that matter. That’s not me pushing you one way or the other, by the way. You guys aren’t like any kinda prospects we’ve ever had around here. Whether you choose to become full-fledged brothers is gonna be just that: a choice. But you’re definitely friends of the club.”

  “Assets,” Reese corrected.

  “Friends of the club,” Mercy insisted. “You’re part of the family now, in more ways than one. That makes Ten your brother. You were in a situation that went south, and you chose to save your brother. Whatever anyone else would have done – whatever anyone says you should have done – that was the right choice.”

  The skin at the back of Reese’s neck prickled. Fresh anger washed through him, remembering his conversation with Fox, but relief, too. Mercy was the Dog he respected above all the others. If Mercy said he’d done well, then maybe he had.

  “What did Fox say?” Mercy asked, voice hardening.

  “He said he would have gone after the shooter.”

  “Hm.”

  “Tenny’s his brother.”

  “Yeah, which is why I don’t believe what Fox told you for a second.”

  Reese lifted his head and was met with his own reflection in the dressing table mirror. The grease paint had smudged in places, revealing streaks of pale skin beneath. He was all eyes and wild hair like this, gaunt as a skull. “You don’t?”

  “He’s testing you. I mean, don’t get me wrong, Fox is fucked up. But there’s some things even a total shithead like him hold precious, and his siblings are one of them. He might hate Tenny, too, but he would have saved him. You did the right thing,” Mercy said again. “He’s pushing you. Don’t be afraid to push back.”

  Mercy yawned audibly, then, and Reese apologized for waking him.

  “Don’t be. Call anytime, okay? I mean that.” He was told to be careful, to stay safe, and sent Ava’s love – whatever that meant – and then he hung up and set the phone aside on the bed.

  He stared at his reflection another moment, this time noting the flecks of blood on the collar of his t-shirt: Tenny’s blood.

  He needed sleep. His body was a vehicle that needed fuel and rest, and if he didn’t catch a few hours now, he would be less alert when dawn finally broke. There was much to do, still; it wasn’t a matter of if he’d be sent back out, but when.

  He didn’t want to lie down, though. Couldn’t imagine finding his way to sleep, adrenaline still chasing through his veins. Adrenaline, and something else, something steely and stomach-tightening that left him wanting to kick his chin back and tell someone to…well, whatever it was you told people when you were angry with them. When you were pissed off.

  He went to the bathroom to wash off his paint, and to think about what it would mean to push back.

  Thirty-Six

  Fox gave Candy a full report and then headed to the hospital. Candy, still rubbing sleep from his eyes – and with a very distinctive necklace of red marks around the base of his throat – made noises about sending someone with him, but Fox waved him off. “Tell Albie what’s happened when he crawls out of his love nest.”

  Candy snorted.

  “I’ll be in touch.”

  A patrol car was parked in the hospital lot, when he arrived, and he spotted the two uniforms who’d climbed out of it straight off – standing behind a brown unmarked cruiser, talking to a young guy with a cheap suit and expensive sunglasses – the latter pushed up on his head
, more for effect than anything, because the sun was still just a line of blush along the horizon. The police had come to interrogate a shooting victim, by rote – and been waylaid by the FBI. Perhaps there was hope for Cantrell yet.

  Tenny was in the ICU. Fox had to be buzzed in, and found his brother in a glass-walled room, hooked to all sorts of monitors, neck wrapped up like a Christmas present.

  Eden sat in a chair beside the bed, slouched down deep in its seat, temple propped on a fist. She shifted upright when the door shushed open, gaze instantly alert, though the shadows beneath her eyes gave proof to her exhaustion.

  “Has he been awake?” Fox asked, moving to stand beside the chair, dropping a hand to the back of her neck and massaging lightly with his fingertips in the way he knew she liked.

  She tipped her head back, so her cheek rested on his forearm, and let out a deep breath. “When they first wheeled him in. He was pretty out of it, though. Mumbling to himself.”

  He caught her gaze and lifted his brows in question.

  “Something about ‘target escaped.’ We’re lucky it was only that.”

  “Lucky the little idiot’s not dead.”

  “That, too.” She sighed and pushed to her feet. Fox put out a hand to steady her, but she didn’t wobble. Not his girl, never. She put her hands on the small of her back and stretched with a grimace. “Christ. Coffee?”

  “In a minute. I’ll sit with him a bit.”

  “Okay.” She leaned in for a kiss – he’d thought it would be a quick peck on the cheek, but she went for his mouth, and he cupped her cheek and drew her in closer. Warm slide of lips, and a hint of tongue. When she pulled back, her eyes sparkled with a promise of later. Because he wasn’t the only one who got off on work. “I’ll just be down the hall at the lounge.”

  “There’s a fed down in the parking lot. I expect he’ll be headed up soon.”

  “Ah. I’ll waylay him a bit.” The door rushed open, and she slipped out.

  When she was gone, and the door was shut again, Fox dragged her chair over closer to the bed and dropped down into it. Put his boots up on the edge of the bed, mindful of the wires.

  Fox had never thought of Tenny as a lively person – because he wasn’t. He could play at lively, just like he could play at sultry, or friendly, or dangerous. He could be a bad boy, or a frightened young person, or a stone-faced killer. He could be anything, just like Fox. Seeing him still like this, pale from blood loss, in a hospital gown, with IVs in the backs of both hands, wasn’t jarring. Not the way it would have been to see so many others brought low by injury. This could have been another part; a little makeup, some fake machines, the whole playing-dead routine. Another act for a master craftsman in the art of deception.

  But the sight of him like this stirred…something…in Fox’s chest.

  With his eyes shut – that treasonous Devin blue – it was easier to examine the rest of him; examine him for what he was. A handsome kid with a devil’s heart, and a brain built by a government.

  The wealth of a nation’s secret funding and training slowly giving way to anger, confusion, frustration, hormones, and the grief of displacement.

  “She’s gone,” Fox said. “You can quit pretending to sleep.”

  Tenny’s eyes snapped open at once, bloodshot, glassy, but he was very much awake, and had been for some time.

  “Have a good nap?”

  Pain marked his face when he swallowed, and Fox knew it wasn’t an act. He had a feeling he was seeing the real Tenny for perhaps the first time, and wasn’t sure if he was glad of it.

  Ten’s voice was a rough scrape, nearly airless. “Does she know?”

  “Know what?”

  “That you don’t love her.”

  Fox sent him his most charming, over-the-top smile, the one he’d flashed at Cantrell earlier in the night. “You don’t think?”

  “I know you don’t.” His jaw clenched, which caused his bandages to twitch, and his eyes watered from the pain. He didn’t back down, though, the stubborn sod. “You’re just like me. You don’t love. You’re using her. When she’s no longer useful, you’ll cut her loose.”

  “Well,” Fox said, tilting his head in concession. “It does have its perks, you know, the whole steady girlfriend thing. Easier to get laid. Always someone there to kiss your hurts after a long day. It can be tedious, too, don’t get me wrong. Having to have dinner, and drinks, and remember birthdays. Bring her flowers and presents. A whole lot of bother,” he said with a wave. “What do you think she’ll do when I end it?”

  The corners of Ten’s mouth hitched up in a cruel little smile. “Cry, probably. Maybe slap you.”

  “Probably.” He touched his face, imagining it. She wouldn’t hold back. Would hit hard – if she ever hit him. If she didn’t just curl her lip in disgust and walk away, cool as you please, like she’d already done once before.

  Beyond the room’s single, high window, the sky was growing pink. He hadn’t slept all night, but he didn’t feel sleepy; the thrill of it all was still powering him forward, better than coffee.

  When he glanced back toward the bed, he saw that Tenny’s eyelids had flagged to half-mast, drugs and exhaustion and blood loss threatening to pull him under. “Reese was furious with me.”

  Ten’s brows lifted.

  “When I pointed out to him that, in saving your sorry life, he let the shooter escape, he said you were my brother.” Fox shrugged. “I explained to him that I would have let you bleed out. It was the shooter I needed to catch. You’d gotten yourself into this mess all by your bloody self.”

  Slowly, those dark brows lowered again, and Tenny’s face went very blank.

  Gotcha, you little shit, Fox thought, smirking inwardly. “He was all indignant about it. ‘He’s your brother.’” He made air quotes, and put on a ridiculous imitation of Reese’s clenched-jaw look from before. “But I set him straight. Told him how it was. We don’t care about all that sentimental brother shit, do we? It’s about the job. If someone puts himself in a bad spot, that’s his problem. The job’s all that counts, right?”

  Tenny hesitated a moment before he croaked out, “Right.”

  “It isn’t like it would have mattered anyway, would it?” Fox continued, plucking at a spot of lint on his jeans, giving Ten a fleeting, disinterested glance – but cataloguing. Oh, he could see it now, that threat of emotion, wilder and more dangerous than it had been in Reese, still so foreign, glittering and poisonous as crystal meth lying out in plain daylight. “You hate it here, and you hate me, and hate Reese, and this club, and all of it, you’re just so bloody bored, right? We’re all incompetent, and your handlers, the people you really wanted to please, are all dead, and you don’t get to assassinate dictators or power brokers anymore, this is all just so pedestrian. A biker club? How far you’ve fallen, oh great Nameless One. Why even bother? Why not just end it all quickly, and go out in the middle of a fight, hm? How much easier it is to just–”

  “Stop.”

  “–stop caring about what you’ve lost.”

  “Stop,” Tenny repeated, eyes wide, jaw trembling, breath rattling.

  Fox let the boredom drop off his face. He’d looked in the mirror enough times over the course of his life to know what his real resting face looked like – mostly like Tenny’s did, like Reese’s did, when they were listening, and not putting on a front. That inhuman, predatory flatness. The sight of it alone had the last bit of color draining out of Ten’s face.

  He pulled his boots down off the bed and sat forward. “It hurts, doesn’t it? Feeling useless? Feeling lesser? You were bred and raised for one thing, for one purpose; all that training, all those skills spoon-fed to you along with your ABCs, that was for your handlers, for the people who changed your nappies and taught you how to use a gun and convinced you that you weren’t a person at all – how could you be, people have names? – and that your sole reason for existing was serving them. And now they’re gone. They’re gone because of me, because of this clu
b, and now you’re serving us, and it was all a lie, wasn’t it?”

  He didn’t ask what? His whole body was trembling now, his jaw clenched tight, despite the pain it caused. The heart monitor pinged as his pulse accelerated. But the question was there in his gaze, alongside the hate. What was a lie? Even though he already knew.

  “It turns out they weren’t God, were they? Just a bunch of fat old men too out of shape and clumsy to do the dirty work that you did. They didn’t care about you. You weren’t important to them. You weren’t saving the country or whatever bollocks they fed you your whole life. They could be beaten, and they were.

  “Your contempt for Reese,” he pressed on, talking low, and fast, watching Ten’s nostrils flare, his gaze flicking back and forth, looking for an escape route. Ten’s hands were fists, now, the needles in the backs pulling against the skin; a bead of blood leaked out and ran down his knuckles. “That’s not about his skills or his training. It’s about the fact that, not long ago, someone offered Reese the choice to betray his masters and break free, and he took it, willingly. It’s about the fact that he isn’t furious every bloody second. He knows who he is, and he isn’t having a bloody identity crisis like you.”

  Tenny bared his teeth. “You don’t–”

  “I don’t know? Oh, I assure you that I do. You might be good – you might be fantastic – but you’re also young, and stupid, and hurting right now, and I’ve been at this a lot longer than you. You’re good, but I’m better, and if you’d stop acting like a goddamn moody teenager after a breakup, you’d see that and listen to what I tell you. Wouldn’t get yourself shot that way.”

  He sat, unblinking, gaze fixed, and watched Tenny wrestle with himself another long, pained moment. Then all the tension bled out of him on a deep exhale and he closed his eyes – closed them tight, little lines at the creases. The part of Fox that wasn’t enraged at the boy felt sorry for him; he himself had never quite fit in anywhere, but Ten had been dropped straight into the deep end of the Real Person pool without a life jacket, and he was drowning. No amount of training in the world could prepare you for having feelings, something Fox knew well.