by CJ Bishop
Kane nodded. “Okay.” He moved around the side of the bed and sat down, then leaned over and kissed the Egyptian’s chest. “What’re you thinking about?”
“Nothing.”
“No one is ever not thinking about something. That’s what our minds are—thinking machines.” He draped across Cochise’s midsection and traced patterns on his chest and stomach through his shirt. “You may be a man of few words, but not a man of few thoughts.” Sliding the big man’s shirt up, exposing his hard abs, Kane bent down and kissed the rippled terrain. The muscles quivered beneath his lips and he smiled small. “I love it when you talk to me,” he whispered into his belly button. “When you confide in me. It makes me feel like…” His breath shuddered a bit. “… like I’m special to you… someone you trust.”
The Egyptian’s stomach muscles flexed as he reached forward and lifted Kane’s head. “You are… both.”
Kane moved up beside him and laid his head on the man’s thick chest, listening to his heartbeat… slightly quicken.
I think he would want you to be completely honest with him.
His niece’s words swam inside his mind. She was surely right, but the thought of laying that added burden on the Egyptian troubled Kane’s heart. Cochise already felt like he was going back on his word, and to some degree, failing his family by leaving them again. None of that was true and Kane had told him so, but he knew Cochise, and the man still believed it to be true.
A strong, muscled arm wrapped his shoulders, pulling Kane tighter against Cochise’s powerful body—practically crushing Kane to him. There were no objections—it felt good. It was Kane’s favorite place to be… engulfed in his lover’s arms.
• • •
Use your imagination.
His creativity typically emerged within the guest room. This was a whole other ball game and his “imagination” glitched when he attempted to utilize it for purposes other than torture.
Maybe he should just let it go. He didn’t need Kane to speak his feelings aloud for him to know what they were. Shit, he could look in his eyes and see everything the man was thinking and feeling.
It may not be good for him to hold it in.
A twinge of envy stung the Egyptian; Clint and Axel seemed to have an easier time talking shit out. He wouldn’t have thought that of Clint just a few months ago, before Axel. The cowboy had started changing the moment he met Axel—and the changes were good. Cochise felt his own “evolution” was taking much longer and coming with greater effort. He supposed it was understandable—Clint began life as a decent, caring human being… before life gutted him. But that “good” person was still in there, he had never died.
The same couldn’t be said for the Egyptian.
As soon as he was old enough to stand on his own two feet—his indoctrination had begun. Whatever “innocence” he may have started with as an infant was systematically removed and replaced with something else; something cold, dark… malevolent. He had been taken over by evil—possessed—by the world he was born to. It was his destiny to die in that world.
So, how the fuck did you end up here?
He tightened his hold on Kane. There existed no answer to that question. He had been a demon roaming this world when Nathan Sanitini found him. What had compelled Nathan to take that feral beast into his home and claim him as his own—escaped the Egyptian’s understanding. He had never asked, never cared why.
He cared now… and wished he could ask. He didn’t know why it mattered all of a sudden, but it did.
There would be no answers, though.
Nathan Sanitini—the only one who could answer that question—was gone. Dead.
For the first time since the older man’s death, Cochise experienced the crushing loss. He had evaded grief as he’d evaded all unpleasant and uncomfortable emotions, hadn’t allowed himself to think about the man on an emotional level.
Until now.
He stared above him, the ceiling swimming, distorting as cold, hard reality ruptured his heart.
My father is dead.
CHAPTER 6
At 10:00 a.m. the following morning, Clint, Axel, and Cochise headed for the city in Cochise’s car. The Egyptian was unusually silent—even for him—speaking only when Clint spoke to him.
They arrived at the mansion just moments ahead of Cruz and Sanchez and were still outside when the two men drove up. Axel spotted Cory’s car and left Clint and Cochise to greet their friends while he went inside.
He found Cory at the small bar, an open bottle of beer before him. Besides the young man, the room was empty.
“Hey.” Axel took the stool next to his solemn friend. “Is that your first?”
Cory huffed and swallowed half the beer. “Not even close.”
“Someone’s going to take you home, right? Or have Colton come pick you up?”
Cory shrugged, sniffed, and wiped his mouth.
“You’re not driving. I’ll take you home, if I have to.”
“Whatever.”
“Cory…” Axel sighed. “I’ll be all right.”
“You don’t know that.” He shook his head. “Why the fuck do you have to go? Are you trying to prove something to Clint? To yourself? What? They don’t need you out there, so why not stay the fuck home?”
“I feel like I need to go,” Axel said. “I can’t explain why, I just do.”
“Well…” Cory took a deep breath and released it. “That isn’t good enough.” A slight heaviness in his eyelids alerted Axel the alcohol was beginning to take effect. He grabbed Axel’s shoulder. “And I’m gonna make Uncle Clint leave you home.”
“You’re going to make him? How?”
“I don’t know… bitch at him till he gives in.”
“Cory…”
Vacating the stool, Cory was remarkably steady on his feet as he rounded the bar and retrieved another beer from the mini fridge, dumping the empty bottle in the trash.
“Don’t you think you’ve had enough?”
“When I’ve set everything right—then it’ll be enough.” He cranked off the cap and swigged a third of the bottle.
Adrian came into the room and joined Axel at the bar.
“How long has he been like this?” Axel asked.
“Since he showed up around an hour ago.”
“It’s kind of early to be drinking, don’t you think?”
Adrian nodded.
“I’m right here,” Cory muttered. “Why’re you talking about me like I can’t hear you?”
Axel smiled. “Sorry.”
“And by the way, I can drink any fucking time I want.”
“Okay.” Axel held up his hands. “Do what you want.”
Cory snorted, his eyes dull and humorless. “If I did what I wanted—I’d lock your ass in the guest room until they left.”
“Why are you this upset?” Axel asked. “We don’t even know if the job will be all that dangerous.”
“Every job they do is dangerous.”
“Well, why don’t we reserve judgment just for now,” Axel said, “and hear what the agent has to say.” Axel walked behind the bar and tentatively took the beer bottle from Cory’s hand. “And maybe lay off the alcohol so you can hear him out with a clear head?”
Cory didn’t fight him when he placed the bottle on a shelf beneath the bar.
“How about some coffee?” Adrian rose from the stool. “There’s some already made.”
Cory shrugged then nodded.
“Be back in a jiff.” Adrian left the room and Axel directed Cory back to his stool.
Dragging his hand over his mouth, Cory cleared his throat and looked at Axel, a thin sheen to his eyes. “If you go on this job… then I’m going, too.”
Axel was doubtful. “I don’t think your dad will let you go. Or Clint and Cochise, for that matter.”
“I’m way more qualified than you. I have the experience.”
“I know. If it were up to me, I’d want you along. But it isn’t up to me and your da
d seems dead set on you not going on any more jobs.”
“I’m not a kid. I don’t live under his roof. I can make my own decisions.”
“You did—when you agreed to quit this business.”
Cory sniffed. “Shay had just died,” he whispered. “Dad and Uncle Angelo were… distraught. We all were. They were scared of losing me, too. I agreed to it to ease their fears. But I can’t—”
The other men entered the room along with Anthony and Angelo.
Cory shook his head and fell silent. When Adrian returned with the coffee, Cory retreated to the end of the bar and sipped the hot drink, his steely eyes holding on the cowboy.
• • •
Inside, Jax, Manny, and Jesus joined them.
“I know we’re supposed to be lying low,” Jax told Clint, “but we’ll help if you need us. Just say the word.”
“I think we got it covered,” Clint said. “It’s best if you stay out of sight until you’re wiped from the system.”
Axel approached from the bar where he’d been sitting with Cory—who was currently shooting daggers at Clint through narrowed eyes. The young man had made it perfectly clear earlier on that he was upset with the cowboy.
Upset. That was putting it mildly.
“He still pissed at me?” Clint asked Axel.
“Not just you.”
“I’ll talk to him again after the meeting.”
“Good luck. He said if I insisted on going with you, then he was coming too.”
“No. He isn’t. Anthony made it clear he wasn’t going on any more jobs.”
“That’s what I told him.”
“And?”
“I don’t know. You guys came in before he finished his argument.”
“I’ll deal with him,” Clint said.
Anthony walked over. “Your guy is at the gate.”
“Alvarez?”
Anthony nodded.
“Let him in.” Clint went to the front door and stepped outside as the gate opened down the drive and the agent’s car pulled inside. He drove around the short loop and parked in front of the mansion.
Alvarez and two of his agents exited the vehicle. Clint recognized one as the short agent who seemed to have a beef with Cochise. It would thrill the Egyptian he came along. The other agent was quite familiar as he looked at Clint with an expressionless stare. He was the fucker who had come to Clint’s home in the middle of the night and arrested him in his living room—nearly causing Axel a mental breakdown.
“You remember Agent Renley?” Alvarez approached the cowboy.
Clint nodded at the short man.
“And Agent Hawks.” Noting the cowboy’s unpleasant expression, Alvarez added, “Hawks was responsible for securing the safety of Mr. Gunther’s family.”
Guard Gunther. Clint had liked him. He offered a single nod to the agent. “Thank you. Mr. Gunther is a good man.”
Clint invited the three agents inside and introduced them to the rest of the men. Cochise immediately zeroed in on Renley and always kept him in his line of sight. Whatever was going on between those two, Clint was clueless. Cochise seemed in the dark as well, which made him more vigilant and wary of the little man.
“Did you get anything out of the warden?” Clint asked. “Was that just a small, private trafficking operation run by a few rogue border patrol agents? Or is it bigger than that?”
The look on Alvarez’s face answered the question before he did. “Bigger. A hell of a lot bigger. After some…” He glanced at his agents. “… interrogation… the warden gave up a name. But it’s likely an alias, so I don’t know how much good it will do us.”
Interrogation. Clint knew all about interrogations. Having his nephew trafficked into the warden’s prison, he guessed that Alvarez’s “questioning” of the man was hardly by the book. And right about now, Warden Sorensen was taking a dirt nap somewhere in the Texas wastelands.
“It’s a start,” Clint said.
Alvarez nodded. “We don’t have time to waste. So, we should...”
“Of course.” Clint gestured for him to begin.
Axel came to stand beside the cowboy, pressing against him as he wrapped an arm around his waist. Clint caught the glance Cochise tossed their way. Something was going on inside the big man—maybe his impending talk with Kane. His gut insisted it was more than that, but now wasn’t the time to analyze his Egyptian brother.
He cleared his head and focused on Alvarez.
• • •
On the surface, the men in the room seemed friendly enough—some even downright harmless. Javier Alvarez wasn’t so naïve. Had he not known they were gangsters, all it took was a deeper look into their eyes to understand these were dangerous men capable of unleashing hell on the world.
“Blackmailing” the two enforcers into the last job had been a risky move. Luckily, he lived to tell about it.
“As I said on the phone…” He looked at Clint. “… I found a sanctuary for the children and families. But it’s a long way from Texas.”
“How far?”
“Just across the Canadian border.”
“The Canadian border?” The cowboy frowned. “You want to take them to Canada?”
“Yes. It’s an official sanctuary that will take them in—if we can get them there. But they can’t help us transport them across the States.”
Murmurs rippled through the men.
The man named Cruz spoke up. “We’re barely a month into winter. Any route we take, we’re going to hit some fucking nasty weather. Do you have vehicles lined up for this kind of trek? There’s going to be a shit ton of snow.”
“We’ve compensated for that,” Alvarez said. “Every vehicle will have four-wheel drive, fitted with snow tires and chains, and we will equip one rig in each group with a wench in case one of the vehicles gets stuck or slides off the road.”
“Each group?” Clint frowned.
Alvarez cleared his throat. “I think we need to split into two teams, have each team escort half the cargo.”
Clint stared at him. “Why?”
“Because we shouldn’t have everyone clumped together in one place. We won’t be alone out there. The traffickers will want their merchandise back and they’ll be on our asses.” He looked around at the few occupants. “Tell me you have more men.”
“We do,” Cruz said.
“Good.”
One of the older men—introduced as Anthony—held up his finger. “Are these kids and families from the border so valuable the traffickers would pursue them across multiple states, in the dead of winter? I don’t mean to imply their lives aren’t valuable, but as merchandise…?”
“It isn’t about their monetary value,” Alvarez said. “If they let us steal from them and they do nothing about it—that says something about them. It tells others in their world that they’re weak.” His stare skipped over the men’s faces. “As in your world… a show of weakness is a death sentence. They would be taken out and their operation confiscated by their stronger rivals.”
Sanchez spoke. “So, we should treat them as seriously as we would a rival family coming after us—is that what you’re saying?”
“Yes. That’s exactly what I’m saying. Their intent will be more about making an example out of you, than retrieving their merchandise. That’s why I think you’re the best men for the job; you understand the… dynamics of the situation.”
• • •
Alvarez left it up to Clint and the men to put together the two teams, his only requirement that two of his agents accompany each team.
Taking Clint and Cochise aside, Alvarez dropped a small bomb. “I’m not going with you.”
The two men looked at each other. “You’re not?”
“You will have your teams, plus four of my agents. I need to find this Robert Shafer.”
“Who?”
“The man the warden gave up. Agent Hawks and I will pursue this from the other end while you get those people to safety. If we don’t start u
nraveling this operation, we’re going to lose more kids, and more families ripped apart—adults and children sold into all forms of slavery.” The agent dragged his hand down his face, the skin around his eyes pinched tight. “Human slavery is as prominent today as it was before the civil war—it just isn’t as public. Human trafficking is the second most profitable criminal enterprise in the world. Second only to drug trafficking.” He met their stare with haunted eyes. “We are battling a beast of monstrous proportions. We can’t take it down alone, but we can maim the motherfucker—weaken it. We have to come at it from all directions. And I need to find the fucker who orchestrated the trafficking ring between the border station and the prison. You can bet your ass he has more than one iron in the fire.”
Cochise nodded. “Find the bastard. We can handle the road trip.”
Clint agreed. “We’ll put together two solid teams. The best of the baddest. Those fuckers catch up to us—they’ll wish they hadn’t.”
“How soon can you get the teams together?”
“One, maybe two days.”
“Okay.”
“Where are the kids and families now? Are they safe?”
Alvarez nodded. “Temporarily. But we need to move them as soon as possible.” He dug out a business card and gave it to Clint. “I’m heading back on an evening flight. As soon as you have your teams assembled, contact this man. He runs a charter business. He’ll get you to Texas.”
“All right.”
“When you get there, we’ll go over the maps and routes and other details.”
“Okay,” Clint said. “We’ll get to work gathering the men. The bulk of the teams will be Cruz’s men—he’s got the best numbers—but there are a few others we can recruit as well.”
“I trust your choices.”
If he met the black Mexican—would he be as trusting then?
It didn’t matter; Alvarez would never meet him.
When the agents took their leave an hour later, the men gathered around the small bar.
“I nominate Clint and Cochise as team captains,” Cruz said. “Anyone object?” When Cochise did just that, Cruz waved his hand. “You don’t get a vote. You two are the logical choices to lead the teams.”
