It’s a stalemate.
Except not really, because I’m the only one bound, bloody, and unable to breathe.
I know what he’s going to do. I can see it in his eyes and feel it in his grip. He’s past caring what I do or don’t know, what I can or can’t tell him. From the time I was nine, Croc has taken pleasure in controlling every aspect of my life. Being the one to snuff it out will be his Big Finale, one he’s probably fantasized about for years, just as I fantasized about my revenge.
There’ll be no Count of Monte Cristo ending for me now, though. Maybe things would’ve been different if I hadn’t agreed to work with the FBI. But I can’t bring myself to regret the decision that brought John into my life, fleeting as it was. I think I always knew Croc would somehow get the upper hand eventually, so I’m grateful I had the time that I did with John before my fate…my fate interve…
I don’t remember where I was going with that… Thick fog is pressing down on my brain… Thoughts are leaking out like water through my fingers, I can’t hold on to them… Blackness creeps in at the edges of my vision. I try to sip air into my lungs…even a tiny bit…doesn’t work. Finally, the lack of oxygen tugs on the last thread of my strength, unraveling the hold my muscles have on my bones…my knees buckle.
This time I’m released to fall to my knees, but Croc’s merciless grip only gets tighter…
“Holy shit, boss, you hear that? What the fuck’s going on?”
The panic in Alf Mason’s voice injects me with one last dose of adrenaline to fight against the relentless darkness.
And that’s when I hear it, too.
A distant cacophony of shouts, commands, and screams among the peppering of gunfire.
The vise grip on my neck pops off and I collapse. I manage to twist my body at the last second and land on my side, preventing me from face-planting without the use of my hands. My head begins to clear with the return of sweet oxygen rushing to my brain, my lungs, my muscles—fuck, I never want to be without air again.
Still mentally sluggish, I try to follow what’s happening. The bust is happening now. Not in a couple days. Now. Shit, this is so not good. Croc is barking orders, telling a couple of the men to stand guard and sending others out to secure an exit. Doubt he’ll find one. Pretty sure the place is surrounded by federal agents. Not telling him that, though. As he continues to swear up a storm and threaten the lives of anyone still in the room, I take a move out of my old playbook and let my mind start to drift…
The cold from the concrete floor starts to seep through my clothes and into my skin. I try to adjust my position but freeze when I see Smee’s lifeless body facing the corner not even ten feet away. The nightmare of losing him and my brother rushes back to me like a tidal wave of devastation. Tears fill my eyes and fall in steady drops to the ground from my temple and the bridge of my nose.
There’s nothing I can do for either of them now. There’s not much I can do for anyone, considering my current situation. But in one final, desperate act, I do the only thing I can think of. Closing my eyes, I offer up my first-ever prayer to a higher power I don’t entirely believe in.
Dear God or whoever the hell is up there listening… Don’t let John know I’m fucking here. Please. I need him to focus and stay safe. I can’t let him worry. Goddamn it…
I made him a promise…
Chapter Thirty-Nine
John
Laser-focused with adrenaline pumping, I slip through the shadows between the shipping containers with a small team on our way to the rear of the warehouse. Our job is to secure the girls and the back entrance while other teams work to clear the warehouse from the front and side exits. The main objective is to arrest, but with the type of hired firepower present, it’s not likely they’ll go quietly. As long as our guys make it out safely and the bust ends with Croc in cuffs, I’ll consider this whole operation a success.
My need to take that fucker down has eaten at me forever, years before I ever became a cop. This day has been so long in coming, it’s almost surreal it’s finally happening. It’s a small miracle we managed to put our plan in motion less than thirty-six hours after getting the green light. I don’t know that I could’ve lasted longer than that. Croc is evil personified, a sociopath and predator, and he’s grown more volatile with the added pressure of the human trafficking deal coming up. He’s unpredictable, and my biggest fear is him fucking with James when I’m not there to protect him.
Not that he needs me for that—he’s proven he can protect himself and everyone else—but I can’t be expected to think rationally when it comes to him. James has survived more shit than any one person should have to in five lifetimes. He deserves to be shielded from any more shit, so that’s what I’m going to do. As soon as we get Croc into custody and behind bars, James will be able to breathe easier and sleep better. Then we’ll focus on healing from the past and building our future.
Staying low, we quickly cross the last twenty feet to crouch behind a shipping container. Once all my guys are ready, I speak quietly into my comms unit. “Blue Team in position.”
“Red Team in position.”
“Green Team in position.”
That’s all of us. We’re minutes away from getting the order to go in.
“All teams hold,” the Team Leader says. “We’ve got a black Escalade arriving.”
Cookson? Shit. Is he alone or did he come with any of the others? We know that four of the Pirates were here to pick up their weekly Dust inventory and left about a half hour ago, but James and the other four were back at the clubhouse from the last report we heard.
“Be advised, the vehicle is parking on the west side of the building. I have the driver and two rear passengers exiting—wait. There was two in the very back, so that’s five but I can’t see if there are others. Schmidt, you got eyes on them?”
An answer comes through from Schmidt, leader of the Green Team that’s positioned to take the main entrance. “I see them. Three exited on the passenger side. They’re all heading toward the front.”
Eight in the truck? That’s one short of the whole group. Dare I hope… Touching the unit in my ear, I ask, “Schmidt, is Hook with them?”
There’s a few seconds of silence, then, “Affirmative.”
My heart stops. Oh God, no. No no no. Suddenly my body armor weighs five hundred pounds and I break out in a sweat all over my body. What the fuck would possess him to come here? I told him to stay away. He promised me he would.
Goddamn it, I want to call the whole thing off, tell everyone to fall back and regroup for another night. But I’m not in charge of this op and I sure as hell don’t have the authority to call off one of the biggest busts in the region for both the DEA and the FBI simply because I’m terrified the man I love will get caught in the crossfire.
No, there’s only one thing I can do, and that’s find James as fast as I can. Once I get him somewhere safe—I don’t care if it’s a fucking barricaded closet—I can focus on doing my job and helping my teammates. The only thing that gives me any consolation is that he won’t resist arrest. He knows it’s coming; he just doesn’t know it’s coming now. Once he realizes what’s happening, he’ll surrender.
It’ll be fine. He’ll be fine.
I repeat that in my head, over and over, like a mantra I can make into reality if I believe it hard enough. I refuse to think about the dozens of ways this can go sideways and end with anything other than James getting out of this unscathed. If I let myself go down that path, I won’t be able to focus.
The Team Leader’s voice comes through the comms. “They’re in the building. All teams stand by to go on my command…”
An eternity ticks by as we wait for the final order. I mentally say a quick apology to the guys next to me. I’m about to abandon them for my own mission. There’s enough of them to deal with whatever’s on the second floor, but I’ll catch hell for going rogue later. I don’t care. It wouldn’t matter if it meant my job; there’s nothing more important to me than get
ting James out of here.
“Go!”
We spring into action and charge the rear entrance. There’s only one guard. We yell for him to surrender as we advance. He raises his weapon. Never gets off a single shot. We sidestep his prone body and breach the building. Distant shouts and gunshots echo through the halls from the other areas, but we stay focused and head for the back stairs that lead to the rooms where the girls are being kept. Except when we get to the stairwell, I peel off down the hall in the direction of Croc’s office. My gut tells me that James wasn’t here with his entire crew to pick up a few more kilos of Dust. Something happened, which means Croc is at the center of it, like always.
“Darling! What are you doing?”
I turn around to see Sanchez stopped at the bottom of the stairs. He’s a fellow task force officer and a good friend. Last night, I confided in him about my relationship with James. It was a risk to admit that I let an op get personal, but I’ve been shut off from my family for months and I needed to confide in someone.
“I have to find him,” I say, praying he’ll understand.
Sanchez curses, then gives me a chin lift. “Go. I’ll cover for you. Don’t get fucking dead or I’ll kill you again myself.”
“Deal. Thanks, man.”
I spin on my heel and take off, sticking close to the wall as I approach the turn in the hall that will give me a clear view of Croc’s office door. Before I get that far, the sound of boots pounding and voices I recognize has me ducking into an alcove. I move just enough to see around the wall and watch as five Pirates run toward the open warehouse, none of them the one I’m looking for. I don’t know which Pirate is missing, but if the whole group of eight were in Croc’s office like I thought, that means James and two others must still be back there.
Once the five are well past my position, I move to the end of the hall then flatten myself against the wall to look around the corner. Skylights and Noodler. That leaves James still in the office, and I don’t like what that implies at all. Wasting no time, I spin out into the hall and raise my Glock. “FBI, put your weapons down, you’re under—”
I don’t know if they recognize me without the fake tattoos or facial scruff, but it ceases to matter as soon as they raise their guns. POP! POP! I get off two clean shots that drop them both to the ground. I run over with my gun still drawn, remaining cautious until I kick their weapons away and check their pulses. Gone. Fuck. I don’t care how bad the person is or that I’m forced to do it in self-defense, it’s never my goal to take a life. I’ve only done it once, and it still weighs on me.
Standing, I kick in the office door…and rush straight into my nightmare.
In just a few seconds, I take note of the situation. Croc is standing in the middle of the room, shielding himself with my boyfriend’s body while holding a gun to his temple. James is roughed up. His cheek and lower lip are cut open, swollen, and bleeding, there are red marks on the sides of his neck in the shape of fingers and a thumb, and his hands are bound behind his back. Smee is in the corner, lying deathly still in a pool of his own blood. Fuck, Smee. A punch of grief hits me, but I can’t let myself feel it yet, so I mentally shut the door on that for later.
“Croc! Put your fucking gun down. You’re under arrest.”
“I don’t think so, JD,” he snarls. “You pulled one over on me, I’ll give you that. But I have the upper hand now. Kick your gun over or I put a bullet in his head.”
My heart slams against my ribs at the speed of a strobe light, but I keep my features schooled. He doesn’t know what James means to me. He doesn’t know I’d fucking die for him. I don’t have a clear shot, and I have no intention on risking James, so I hold steady and prepare to bluff my way out of this.
But then James leans his head against the barrel of the gun. “Do it, Croc. Stop being a fucking pussy and finish the job you were doing before.”
“Shut up, Hook,” I bark, hoping the panic riding me isn’t coming through in my voice. “You’re in no position to give orders here.”
James locks gazes with me, his electric-blue eyes swimming with unspoken emotions. “He drops me, you drop him. It’s the only way this ends.”
“No, it’s fucking not.”
His eyes plead with me as he whispers, “Johnathan…”
I grit my teeth. “No.”
“What’s going on here?” Croc’s gaze lands on my hands. I adjust my grip, but I can’t stop the slight tremor. Then he looks at James, right as a set of tears slip between his lower lashes. “Oh, this is just too fucking perfect.”
Croc’s chuckle grows into arrogant laughter that sends a chill through my blood. We just lost any chance at having the advantage. I release a slow breath, trying to clear my mind and come up with a new plan. The stricken look on James’s face kills me. Forcing a lopsided grin, I say, “You were supposed to stay gone.”
“I know,” he says, his voice raspy. “I fucked up. I’m sorry.”
Two more tears fall, and I wish more than anything I could wipe them from his cheeks. I wish I could kiss him and hold him and let him know it’s going to be okay. All I need to do is keep Croc talking, give my guys time to make their way here and take this motherfucker out.
“It’s okay, babe,” I say. “Everything’s going to be fine.”
“As touching as this is, I’m in a bit of a hurry.” Croc puts the gun under James’s chin and presses so hard it cuts off his air. “Kick your gun over here, Johnathan, and do it fast. If I’m going down, I’m taking James with me, so your best bet is to let me walk out of here.”
James tries to shake his head, but Croc just shoves his gun in deeper, making James wheeze. “Okay, okay!” I say, holding my hands up in supplication.
I slowly lower my gun to the ground and shove it across the floor to him. I expect him to pick it up, which might give me a chance to overpower him if I act fast, but he doesn’t. He just kicks it off to the side where it slides somewhere underneath the desk. Goddamn it. I’d have to move the desk away from the wall to even get to it.
Worse still, if Croc’s willing to leave a gun in the room, then he’s not planning on leaving anyone in here. At least not alive.
“Now,” he says, pulling his lips back to bare his teeth in a grin fit for the devil. “Let’s bring your story to a close, James. It’s been a long time coming.”
Chapter Forty
Hook
I thought I knew fear intimately.
At the age of nine I stared into my mother’s lifeless gaze with a baby crying at my feet. Not long after that, I knew what it was like to look into the gleeful eyes of a demon right before he hit me so hard I fell unconscious—the first time of dozens. And for four years, the mere sound of a ticking watch struck me with terror so deep it burrowed into my very marrow and never left.
Yet none of that comes close to the fear gripping me in its talons right now.
Not because there’s a gun jammed against my carotid. But because I’m afraid that soon it won’t be. As long as it’s on me, it’s not on John. I need to keep it that way. At least until I can get these fucking zip ties off.
John had made good on his promise to get me my own pair of Get Out of Jail Free shoelaces. Before Croc dragged me off the floor to use me as a human shield, I managed to get one of the tiny metal shivs without him noticing. I never really thought I’d get the chance to use the laces for anything serious; it was more of an inside joke. But that joke is about to turn the tables. If I don’t sever my hand first.
Fuuuuuuck. I grit my teeth as I try to work one of the plastic strips around my wrist. I need to move as little as possible so he doesn’t catch on to what I’m doing, but they were put on tight as hell. The plastic is cutting into my skin, which hurts like a son of a bitch but has the bonus of making shit slide easier from the blood. I need to get the locking mechanism at a certain spot on my left wrist for the fingers of my right hand to be able to slip the shiv inside and release the teeth. All I need is one tie free to have use of both
my hands.
“Come on, Croc. You’ve got me as your hostage. Let’s go,” I say, hoping to keep his focus on me and his need for escape.
John counters my suggestion. “You won’t get anywhere, Croc. Your best bet is to surrender and try to cut a deal in exchange for information on your Brazil contact. No offense, but you’re not the biggest fish in the pond. Give them someone bigger and you’ll get leniency.”
Is it wrong to notice how sexy John looks in the middle of our lives being on the line? Maybe I’m slightly out of it—okay, probably a lot out of it—but I can’t help but admire how strong and badass he is. His fake tats are gone and his jaw is clean-shaven now, but the way his all-black tactical clothes and gear hug his large frame is fucking hot. If this wasn’t a life or death situation, I’d definitely be turned on. Speaking of turning…the zip tie is almost there…
Croc snorts. “I think I’ll take my chances. But first,” he says, turning his head to speak against my ear. “Say goodbye to lover boy.”
The world slows down and speeds up simultaneously.
The gun leaves my throat as Croc switches targets, and the resigned expression in John’s eyes guts me. I can’t let him get hurt. I won’t.
I finally get the metal strip shoved into the zip tie and yank my wrists apart, immediately reaching up to grab the gun out of Croc’s hands by using the element of surprise and sheer force of will. I refuse to accept an outcome that doesn’t end with me giving my tormentor some poetic fucking justice.
And now I can.
Roaring with every second of pain and fear he’s caused me, I spin around and thrust the gun against the center of his forehead, pushing him backward until he slams against the wall. “Now what are you gonna do, motherfucker? Huh? Not so tough now, are you?”
Croc doesn’t give me the reaction I want, the reaction I deserve. He should be pissing his pants right now, begging me to spare his life, apologizing for every vile thing he did to me. But not Croc, no. He’s chortling like I just told him the joke of the century.
Hook (Neverland Novels Book 2) Page 27
