by Cara Dee
Gray was a good kid. He was all heart and emotions, but he was genuine and…just plain good. Darius had heard enough from the knucklehead’s family. Then to meet him in a place like this…? Darius had already admitted to himself that Gray was different and that things probably weren’t over even when they got home, but he kind of had to. Otherwise, he’d end up pushing his own issues onto Gray.
Darius would have to let go in stages. When they got home, maybe he could check in with Gray here and there, make sure he was recovering all right, perhaps offer some advice along the way. All while Darius slowly but surely retreated to his own life, where it was better to be alone ’cause people always disappointed him.
His family would be the exception, but they had their own lives.
Darius would continue working on his new house, he’d continue preparing for something he wasn’t sure would—
“Darius, we’re done.”
Darius looked up to find the silhouette of Gray in the doorway at the end of the corridor. He was bathed in sunlight pouring in from outside. Done…? Darius scowled at how he’d lost track of everything. “Done with—oh.” It hit him, and he closed the last distance before he stepped out onto the sea-level area where the tender was docked. “That’s good.” A couple of the boys, Cole and…Darius wanted to say Casper, were loading the last of the food onto the boat.
Darius squinted at the bags and coolers that were now stacked around the seating area of the small boat, which begged the question. How many round trips before all thirteen boys were safe on the island?
They had about an hour before it was crucial that Darius and Ryan were the only ones left on the yacht. By then, the boys needed to be at a safe distance and in hiding.
They were going to hide out on the smaller island to the west, where Darius had deemed the beaches safer. The water was shallower there, judging by the color of the ocean, and it created a barrier between them and anyone who might arrive. Larger boats wouldn’t be able to lower anchor near the shore, also meaning it would take longer for them to reach the beach. Head starts and warnings were nothing to waste if they needed a quick escape.
“You’re making that face,” Gray said quietly. “Is everything all right?”
Darius side-eyed him. “What face?”
“When you’re strategizing.”
Darius snorted under his breath and rubbed a hand over his jaw. “I didn’t know I had a face.”
“A gorgeous one,” Gray quipped. For one second, mirth flooded his grayish-blue eyes. Before the nerves made a return. He let out an anxious breath and twisted a piece of hair between his fingers as he lowered his gaze. “Can you help me be more useful? I’m scared shitless that I’ll blow this and cause us all to—”
“Hey.” Darius nudged Gray’s shoulder with his and stopped the kid from going too far. He’d had it with Gray’s self-hatred. “You’ve been plenty useful.” Thinking back on the entire lifetime they’d shared in the span of a few days on this boat, the last thing Darius would say was that Gray hadn’t helped.
That said…maybe they hadn’t utilized Gray’s actual strengths, which weren’t to hold a gun and stand on the front line.
Darius observed the knucklehead, sensing the shame rolling off his shoulders, and it became so clear. Darius thought back on the selfless—albeit fucking reckless—urges Gray’d had throughout the journey. Wanting to rush forward to Linus before he jumped overboard, obsessing over Milo’s fate, wanting to save everyone… No, Gray wasn’t a grunt like Darius. Everyone had a nature, and Gray should be embracing his.
“This picture is pretty recent,” Ms. Nolan said, sniffling. “I probably don’t want to hear why you want to know if he has scars or tattoos.”
Darius shifted closer to Ms. Nolan on the couch and studied the pages in the photo album. He’d learned that they no longer lived in this little cottage behind the bed-and-breakfast she ran, though it looked every bit of a fairy-tale home. Mismatched furniture and photos filled the house with warmth and vibrant memories. Except, something was missing now.
Ms. Nolan, a short, curvy brunette with kind eyes, reached for the box of tissues on the coffee table. She wiped her cheeks. “Gray will puff his chest out and brag about violent games—and make everyone believe that hockey has given him those scars.” She carefully lifted the picture from its plastic pocket and extended it to Darius. “He’s telling the truth maybe half the time.” Her lips twisted into a sad, rueful smile. “His brothers are responsible for the rest, for all the times Gray’s stepped between Gabriel and Gideon when they fight. Gray’s the family peacemaker.” As her face fell and more tears flooded her eyes, Darius shifted uncomfortably, unsure how to deal with her emotions.
Thankfully, her husband heard her and reappeared from the tiny kitchen.
Darius shook off the memory and exhaled heavily. Fuck, he was screwed. Screwed and way too invested. It’d become personal, somehow. Not only to get the kid back to his family in one piece physically, but apparently to help put together what’d broken in his head too.
“Darius?”
“Huh?” Darius refocused on Gray, whose brows pinched together.
“I said, I don’t want platitudes.”
Oh. Darius scowled. He didn’t fucking give platitudes, but fine. He had a point to make. All he had to do first was address Cole, because they were running out of time. “Cole,” he said, clearing his throat. The kid looked over and cocked his head. “Can you gather everyone down here? Gray and I will be back in five.”
“Okay. Yes, sir.”
Darius faced Gray again and nodded toward the interior.
They found an empty nook with two leather chairs and a small table that had an open box of cigars lying on the gleaming top, and Darius sat down and leaned forward. His elbows landed on his thighs, and he cracked his knuckles while observing how quickly Gray became withdrawn.
“Look at me, knucklehead,” Darius urged quietly.
Gray sighed and grimaced before complying. It was easy to see he was trying to put on a brave face.
“Ryan and I will take care of the people coming.” Darius watched for any reactions as he spoke. “What I want you to focus on—”
“How?” Gray’s gaze narrowed. “You’ve told us what’s gonna happen, not how. I wanna know what you plan on doing—just you and your brother—when you’re up against dudes you suspect belong to a cartel.”
Darius’s mouth twitched. “You and I managed to take care of a shitload of people already, didn’t we? It’s not about how many you’ve got.”
Gray interrupted again. “So, tell me. You’re gonna risk your life again, aren’t you?”
A yes sounded too dramatic. Darius seriously wasn’t worried, especially with Ryan watching his back. “This was my job for fifteen years, Gray,” he said patiently. “I know what I’m doing, and so does Ry.” He paused. “It’s gonna be quick. I’ll be down here when they dock, and as soon as they’ve started boarding, we take them out.”
“Jesus Christ.” Gray scrubbed tiredly at his face, and his knee began bouncing—until the pain hit him. He had a bullet lodged in his thigh, and it was a wonder he’d forgotten even for a minute. He winced and sucked in a breath, to which Darius reached across the table and squeezed the kid’s hand.
Gray breathed through the pain, and they stayed quiet as Cole whooshed by in the hallway with three other boys.
“What if—” Gray spoke through clenched teeth and took another slow breath. “What if they notice something’s wrong before they dock? Maybe they expect to see Red there. She’s kinda hard to mistake for someone else.”
“We won’t give them the option to leave.” Darius withdrew his hand. “Ryan will have them in his sights long before they can see who’s waiting. One way or another, this ends today, and we’re prepared for more than one scenario.” Or they would be, once they’d run through various outcomes. It’d be a quick discussion, one they’d had many times over the years. “It’s not our first rodeo, so you can be ca
lm.”
Gray huffed and scratched his nose. “How do a Marine and a private military contractor end up in the same shitshow that much? Or, let me guess, it’s a story for another day.”
Darius cracked a smirk. “Another day sounds good.”
“Anything?”
Ryan shook his head and lifted a pair of binoculars. “So far, so good. Talked to Squeezy too. No suspicion yet from the mainland either.”
“Hm.” Darius eyed the horizon, then glanced over at the islands where Cole and Jonas had just dropped off most of the boys. They’d all been instructed to grab the supplies and hide behind the tree line in the small jungle that was nestled up against the cliffs of the rocky shore to the east.
When all was said and done today, they’d have to make sure there was a decent source of water. Otherwise, they’d have to try another island.
Sliding his gaze back to the horizon, Darius waited and waited. Sooner rather than later, at least one boat would appear, and whoever was on it was expecting to leave with seventy-five bricks of cocaine.
Back in the day, Darius and Ryan had been called the Murphy twins because they always recited Murphy’s law rules when shit hit the fan. Not knowing how many were coming today, or whether or not they had a small boat, a larger one, or more than one was bringing it all back for Darius. If it seemed too good to be true, it probably was. Everything that could go wrong, would.
“If the attack is too easy, it’s an ambush,” Ryan muttered.
Darius snorted. Of course they’d be thinking about the same goddamn thing.
On the other hand, it was what had kept them alive for so long. They were each other’s tenth man; if nine people said it was going to work, Ryan and Darius claimed it wouldn’t, and so they’d form multiple plans for when each failed.
Darius had always gone one step further. It was why Ry liked to give him shit for never being able to stick to a plan.
Gray walked up behind them, visibly anxious in the corner of Darius’s eye.
“Your plan is stupid. The rest of us should stay behind and help.”
“If a plan is stupid but works, it’s not stupid,” Darius and Ryan recited in unison.
Gray turned a skeptical eye on them. “That was freaky.”
Ryan laughed.
Shortly after, Jonas and Cole docked the little tender, and Gray went to get the last of the boys. It put a rock in Darius’s stomach to send Gray away, especially to a place he hadn’t been able to check out yet, but it beat the alternative. There would be little to no finesse in this fight, and the yacht was gonna get destroyed one way or another. So Gray’s request earlier to hide on board was a no-go. Ryan had already dumped a fair amount of gasoline in the bridge, in the engine room, and in the dungeon where a few bodies were still stored. If it came to them having to jump ship, there would be no time to go look for anyone.
As Darius lit up a smoke, Gray returned with Nikolaj and… Fuck, names. Tai? And Philip, maybe? No, it wasn’t that, but close. He was probably the youngest of them all, a Latin American chatterbox with dimples and hopes of seeing his grandmother again.
Tai was from Hawaii, and when Nikolaj slipped him the note of people he deemed strong enough to fight, Darius also learned that Tai could be counted on. That was good. If all went wrong, the guys were gonna need to defend themselves. According to Nikolaj, that would be himself, Jonas, Tai, and Casper. Ah—Fil, that was the chatterbox’s name. Darius nodded in thanks and told Nikolaj to get on the boat.
Gray was the only one who didn’t comply right away.
“Remember what I told you?” Darius lifted a hand and rubbed Gray’s neck absently. Their talk earlier hadn’t ended in the best way, though Gray seemed to accept Darius’s point. Some men were born to stand on the front line and tackle the enemy; some were born to look after those who couldn’t fend for themselves. And Gray was the perfect guy to lead a group of lost boys.
He would keep them safe.
“I get it,” Gray muttered. “You have the gun, I have the bedside manner.”
Darius chuckled, thinking of the times Gray had complained about his shitty bedside manner. The kid wasn’t wrong. Darius wasn’t known for his social skills.
“Don’t mope. You have a gun too.” Darius just hoped it wouldn’t have to be used.
Gray offered a stiff smile before trailing down the two steps to the boat. Aforementioned gun was tucked into his sweats. Countless cuts and scrapes graced his back and arms, the sight flooding Darius with determination to end this. The young men had suffered enough.
When the tender headed for the island once more, both Darius and Ryan took a deep breath and returned indoors.
“You ready for a last hurrah, little brother?” Darius held up a fist.
Ryan cracked a sideways grin and bumped their fists together. “Oorah.”
Two
To look more like the guards and a part of Valerie’s crew and less like a lumberjack joe, Darius had donned the suit jacket one last time. He stood casually right inside the door, shielded by the shadows, back against the wall, feet crossed at the ankles, eyes closed. He was as ready as he could be, and so he merely waited.
Ryan confirmed the kids were in hiding and that Cole had left the tender out of sight behind some cliffs.
It was gonna be a long fucking swim later… Ryan had told Darius the island was a little under half a mile away.
The radio in Darius’s hand crackled, and Ryan’s voice filtered through.
“Incoming. Just one boat as far as I can see. Headcount coming.”
“Roger.” Darius cleared his throat and stood straighter. A slow rush of adrenaline began making its way through him, and he rolled his shoulders and flexed his fingers. Peering out the door, all he saw was the late-afternoon sun bouncing its rays off the turquoise water.
“Three men above deck,” Ryan said. “Make that four. Vessel within firing range now.”
Then so are we.
Darius squinted toward the horizon without staring straight into the sun and tried to adjust his eyes to the brightness. “Let me know when to step out.”
“Hold, they’re trying to contact us.” Ryan’s voice was cut off, presumably to respond to the dealers.
From his hiding spot on the top deck by the dining table, Ryan was in charge of the only communication devices they had, except for the radio Darius held. Their sister had once again helped out so they wouldn’t have to run communication from the bridge.
Ryan’s voice returned. “They expected a Vanya to answer. I said he’s waiting downstairs. Seemed to work, but get ready. You take the first two. They’re standing ready at the bow. I’ll take care of the driver and his buddy.”
“Wilco,” Darius grunted. “Weaponry?”
Ryan hummed, probably trying to make out as many details as he could. “Two carbines. Waiting to see if there’s anybody else on board. There can’t be just the four of them.” No, that was too good to be true. “Assuming handguns for the other two—well, there we go. Two more men headed up. Rifles on their backs, so that’s a delay in use. No, wait, they’re getting into position.” As in, getting ready to use said rifles. Great. “The front two are still yours. You should be able to see the boat now.”
It was time to get out there anyway, so Darius left the protected hallway and stepped onto the platform slash seating area, shoulders squared and hands behind his back like any other guard who’d been on this yacht, instructed to blend in with the background.
The good news was that six men were better than eight. The bad news was they arrived on a speedboat, indicating they hadn’t traveled too far. Either they had a larger boat nearby with more men, or they had a physical location somewhere on the dozens of islands in the region.
The boat slowed down as it got closer and closer. Darius wrapped his fingers around his gun and practiced patience, counting the seconds until the speedboat slid up next to the little dock.
Darius stared stoically at two of the men. While they boarded the
yacht, the one who’d been driving asked where Vanya was. Darius picked up on the accent and wasn’t too surprised to deduce they were from Mexico.
It was interesting, though, that they were buying instead of selling. It made Darius wonder what kind of contacts the Valerie’s bosses had in South America, where he presumed the drugs originated. And why the Mexicans were using an American middleman. Surely they could’ve made their own connections in South America.
“On his way with the merchandise.” Darius gripped the gun tightly and let his gaze travel quickly. At least two of them wore bulletproof vests. A short stretch of silence brought the men closer but also put some tension in their shoulders. Fingers approached triggers, gold chains glinted in the sun, the sound of the calm ocean stopped to register, and Darius’s focus became razor sharp.
It wouldn’t get better than this, and he could tell the second the driver’s internal warning bells went off. The guy’s mouth flattened, framed by a thin mustache, and his eyes narrowed.
Darius sucked in a breath and drew his gun, the first bullet hitting the front guard in the head. The sound exploded in his ears, and it was followed by rapid shouting in Spanish. The dead guy hit the water with a splash. No time to waste, Darius ducked and grabbed his combat knife, quickly sending it flying into another man’s neck while he aimed his gun at a third. Ryan fired two fast, sharp shots just as more bullets started whizzing through the air.
“Raoul!” someone shouted.
“No veo al otro cabrón!”
“What’re they saying? Two more coming up,” Ryan warned, his voice traveling straight from his hiding spot. “Shit, three o’clock!”
“That they can’t see you.” A white-hot wall of pain threw Darius backward, and he missed a shot. He slammed into the door with a thud and a growl. Motherfucker, he’d been hit again. Shoulder—fuck. The hurt radiated, and warmth seeped down his already bandaged arm. On the second try, he took out another guy, and Ryan finished the last threat.
