Sabotage: A Vigilante Justice Novel

by Kristin Harte

  On my way.

  As unfortunate as that was. “I’m sorry to break up this party, but I’ve got to go.”

  Beckett looked up, frowning. “You’re leaving?”

  “Sorry, Mr. Beckett. I need to go to work.”

  He glanced at his mom, who was decidedly not looking at me. “What kind of work do you do?”

  And wasn’t that a hard question to answer? I’d been a soldier most of my adult life, had gone to prison for avenging someone’s death, and was still battling my way through the big bads…just from the wrong side of the field, it seemed. “I fight for people who can’t fight for themselves.”

  His eyes went wide. “Like on the A-Team.”

  “You watch the A-Team?”

  Mercy finally caught my eye. “He loves it. Drives me crazy.”

  Court-martialed soldiers running from the law and hiring themselves out as soldiers of fortune? Fitting. “It’s a good show. And yeah, sort of like the A-Team, man. But cooler.”

  “Can I go to work with you?”

  Mercy and I said no at the same time, making the kid drop his smile in an instant. I wasn’t happy about that look, but there was nothing I could do about that.

  I shot a smile at Mercy, making sure she knew I wasn’t about to take her son on some crime spree. “No worries, beauty. I know where that particular line is. But the weather’s supposed to warm up—maybe this weekend we can bust out your bike and go for a ride together.”

  That might have been overstepping—assuming I’d be allowed back into the little bubble of their life—but fuck it. I wanted to be here, and if Mercy had a problem with it, she’d just have to adjust.

  “I don’t have a bike.”

  Those words from Beckett’s mouth pulled me up short. “No bike?”

  Mercy’s face tightened. “He had one but outgrew it, and I was going to buy him a new one, but with the Soul Suckers hanging around…”

  She didn’t have to finish that sentence. With the Soul Suckers around, it would be too dangerous for Beckett to be riding around outside. Even if he only rode down the block, that would be too far for her to get to him if someone came riding up.

  But while the Soul Suckers were definitely dangerous, I had one up on them. From my perspective, I was the most dangerous man in town. And I’d prove it to keep that little boy and his mom safe.

  My phone buzzed again, and Mercy’s eyes darted to where it sat in my hand. “Time to go?”

  I nodded, not even needing to look at the screen. “Yeah.”

  She nodded, that frown back in place. Killing me with a look. “Say goodnight, Beckett.”

  “Goodnight, Mister Parris.”

  Fuck, I hated that name on his lips. I hadn’t gone by my true name in too many years, though.

  Maybe someday…

  “Goodnight, little man. Be good.”

  He grinned. “I am good.”

  Of course he was. Mercy followed me to the door, crossing her arms and leaning against the wall to watch me leave. “Thanks for being kind to him.”

  As if I wouldn’t. “Thanks for letting me stay.”

  “I don’t remember letting you do anything.” Harsh words, but she tempered them with a soft tone and a slight smile. I’d take that.

  “He’s a great kid.”

  Her smile grew, making her look like the proud mother I knew she would be. “He is.”

  “Tomorrow really his birthday?”

  “Yup. He’s the big six.”

  “Good to know.” I opened the door, pausing before crossing the threshold to shoot her a smirk. “Do I get a kiss goodnight, beauty?”

  “Over my dead body.”

  The words were meant as an exaggeration, but still…my gut dropped. No fucking way. Never.

  “Not happening,” I said, my voice a low growl even to my own ears. She locked eyes with me, that frown back in place. As if she knew where my thoughts had gone. Soul Suckers. Black Angels. Death.

  No way. I reached into my inner coat pocket and grabbed the pen and notebook I kept there, writing down my details. Knowing it wouldn’t be enough but needing to do something to keep her safe.

  She eyed me as I handed her the paper. “What’s this?”

  “My number. Call me if you see trouble again.”

  “I’ll be calling the Kennards.”

  As if they could do a better job than me. Though, at the end of the day, I wasn’t the hero of her story. I was the villain. And maybe I should have kept that in mind instead of pursuing her. Maybe I should have walked away to protect her and Beckett. I’d sooner cut off my own hand, though.

  No way should I fall for her. Any more than I already had. Too bad I was shit at doing the right thing.

  “The Kennards can’t handle what’s coming, but I can. Remember that.” I leaned closer, making her breath catch. Raising my voice as I spoke over her shoulder. “Night, little man. Thanks for letting me help bake.”

  “Good night, Mister Parris. Come by tomorrow for my birthday dinner.”

  Mercy glared at me, her cheeks flushed. Faking her dislike so hard.

  I grinned, ignoring her and answering Beckett instead. “It’s a date.”

  Chapter Four

  MERCY

  I’D NEVER BEEN the type of woman to let a handsome smile and a tight pair of jeans get to me. Never fallen for the wrong guy with intention. Beckett’s dad had been a good guy—stable and sure with solid roots and well-practiced manners. He’d been just about perfect…on paper. Of course, he’d ended up an asshole who’d abandoned us, but he hadn’t started out that way. I wouldn’t have dated him if I’d have ever thought he’d turn out so wrong for me. Parris? He was a bad boy from the start, a man obviously a little too old and too hardened for a woman like me, who was nothing but wrong. I shouldn’t have been lusting after him.

  But I was. I so was.

  All night after Beckett had gone to bed, I’d thought about that man. About the gruffness of his voice and words, dreaming of how that would translate to his hands. I’d have put money on the fact that he had strong, callused hands, and I wanted to feel them all over me. I wanted to know the weight of him, the smell. The heat of his body against mine. I wanted the exact thing I shouldn’t have. Him.

  The man was dangerous from the start—to me, to Beckett, and to our stability in Justice. I shouldn’t want him around, but I did. To the point that I had to go reaching for my favorite toy in the middle of the night to break the tension. Something I rarely did as time alone was a true commodity with a five-year-old in the house.

  Six. Good lord, my baby was six. And if the sound of a herd of rhinoceros coming down the hall meant what I thought it did, he was also currently running my way.

  “Mommy,” Beckett said as he jumped on the bed. “It’s morning.”

  It was. Way too early in the morning after a sleepless night, but I couldn’t blame him for being excited.

  “Happy birthday, buddy.” I snuggled him close, loving the way his little arms wrapped around my neck. The way he still wanted those snuggles from me. I wasn’t an idiot—I knew that would stop someday. His friends would tell him it wasn’t cool to love on your mom anymore, and my affectionate little boy would back off. I had to enjoy every second.

  “I’m six, mom.”

  “Yes, you are. Do you feel different?”

  “Yeah. Can I open my presents?”

  I laughed as I rolled us out of bed, setting him on his feet. “Not yet. You have school this morning. Then tonight, we’ll have dinner at Auntie Katie’s and open them there.”

  His pout matched the whine of his voice as he said, “But that’s so far away.”

  “I had to wait nine months to hug you. You can wait a few hours for your presents.” I pushed him out the door and into the hallway, ready to get our day started.

  Beckett practically skipped on the way to the kitchen, impatience forgotten. His normal sunny disposition back in place. “Was I a good present?”

  A good present? N
ot even close. I pulled him to a stop, leaning down to give him a smacking kiss. Hugging him close as my heart practically beat its way out of my chest.

  “You were the best present I ever could have asked for.” I had to swallow down the tightness in my throat, the emotion trying to tug me under. There were no words to explain my love for that little boy. No way to quantify the feelings he brought out of me. All I could do was love him and snuggle him and try my hardest to give him a happy life. Starting right then. “Come on, buddy. Let’s have cake for breakfast.”

  Two small pieces of cake, a yogurt, and a big glass of milk later, we were ready to get the day truly started. Beckett dressed himself—blue-and-green plaid flannel with a gray undershirt and mustard-yellow sweat pants—while I packed his lunch and hurried through my own morning routine. Once ready to go, I loaded him into my SUV and headed to his school. I was extra careful on the drive, looking out for any sign of motorcycles around me. More worried than usual after the events of yesterday. And if I sort of hoped to see one biker in particular in my rearview mirror, that was only because Beckett liked the guy so much. Not because I actually hoped to see the bastard.

  I made it through the chaos of the drop-off lane at the school and was back on the road in practically no time, my mind already thinking ahead to the work I needed to accomplish. Dealing with local artisans and selling their products on the store’s website had been a huge boon for us, one I needed to feed and grow. Emails, shipments, SEO updates, marketing ads—all details I touched every day. I’d had to teach myself photography, coding, and tax law, had to work hard to build a business that might someday give Beckett and me the security I craved.

  Justice sat as quiet as ever when I rolled through town. Just in case, I double-checked that the alley was clear before heading inside to work, shooting a text to Katie to let her know I’d be in the store if she needed me. Lights on, music playing softly, I dove into my day. Invoicing customers, updating product details on the website, adding new finds, and reaching out to more local artisans with offers to host their goods on my site. Stats, sales, packaging, shipping—it all fell on me alone. I was a jill-of-all-trades, and I would keep my family business relevant in the new market. Even if that meant never selling another hammer again.

  I had just finished an early lunch—my favorite tomato soup from Katie’s and a grilled cheese sandwich—when an email I’d been waiting for popped up. Sam Elliott, a local glassblower and one of my favorite artists to work with, had a couple new pieces for me. The pictures he sent didn’t do them justice, and I knew they’d sell within hours of being on the site. I checked the time and grabbed my keys, typing a response to let Sam know I was on my way before I even hit the door. I had enough time to get up the hill, grab the pieces, and come back before I needed to go pick up Beckett. Plenty, really. This would be a piece of cake. An easy task that came with a view of late fall in Justice.

  The mountains burned in the afternoon light, the snow that had already fallen glistening in the distant peaks. Soon enough, we’d be covered with it again. Not yet, though. The weather had turned warmer lately, early snow giving way to an Indian summer sort of pattern. Perfect for getting outside for one last adventure before the chill of winter set in completely.

  The idea of the snow and ice that would be coming made me think of Parris and wonder what he would do when the weather turned. Not that it was something I should be worried about. Not that I should care one iota what a biker did when they couldn’t ride their motorcycle. But I did…I thought about it. About him straddling more than just a piece of machinery during the cold winter months ahead. About ways I could help him warm up after a long ride.

  “You are such a hussy,” I said to myself, shaking my head as if the motion would clear the man from my thoughts. It didn’t. At all. But pulling up to Sam’s house and seeing the doors to the barn he’d converted into a workshop did. Time to get to work.

  “Well, hey there, sunshine,” Sam said, smiling my way as soon as I walked in the door. “I didn’t mean to interrupt whatever you had going on today.”

  I shrugged, already eyeing the pieces he had ready to sell. They’d move fast for sure and would bring a nice profit. If I could buy them for a decent price, I might even be able to set aside Christmas-present money. Maybe buy Beckett that bike, after all. There were a ton of empty businesses on Main Street. Alder would certainly let me use one so Beckett could ride inside of it.

  “You know how much I love your work,” I said, smiling at Sam. “These are stunning.”

  “I figured you’d like them.” He strolled over, wiping his hands on a rag. “The early snowfall we had put me in a creative mood. I finished them all in the last week.”

  That piqued my interest. Sam usually labored over his pieces, taking days on end to make a single one. If these had less time put into them, I might be able to haggle him down on his price a little. Bonus.

  “What were you hoping to sell them for?”

  He frowned, looking over the glass vases and orbs for several long seconds. “I was hoping a hundred a piece.”

  Yeah, I could probably sell them for that. My profit would come from that, though—meaning Sam wouldn’t get that full hundred. Something I always made sure my clients understood so there were no hard feelings later.

  “If I put them at a hundred retail, that means you’ll walk away with seventy-five after my cut. Are you okay with that?”

  He waited just long enough for me to begin worrying he wouldn’t sell them to me at all before he shrugged. “Yeah. That seems fair enough.”

  I held out my hand, shaking his before reaching for my phone. “Great. I’ll send you a receipt for my acquisition of these right now. I expect them to sell quite quickly, so you should have your money in a few days.”

  “That fast?”

  “I can’t keep your stuff on the site. People love it.” I gave the blown-glass sculptures another look, capivated by the gracefulness and colors he’d used. “I might even try to set the price a little higher on these. See if the market will support it. They’re truly unique.”

  “And if they pay more, we both make more.”

  “Exactly.”

  Sam grunted his approval to that thought. “Well, perhaps I’ll try to spend a little more time in the workshop now that summer’s ending. Give you more stock to sell.”

  I boxed up one piece, wrapping it in bubble wrap to keep it safe on the ride back down the mountain. “You make them, I’ll sell them. But don’t work yourself to death.”

  Sam laughed, carrying a couple boxes toward my SUV as I followed him. “I’m technically retired. This is fun for me.”

  “Good. Then have lots of fun this winter so we can make a little extra cash. Just text me when you have more to sell.”

  “I’ll email,” he said, his response firm. I almost laughed. We’d started our relationship with phone calls, then I’d slowly moved him to email. He still preferred to call and actually speak on the phone, which wasn’t my thing. Texting might have been too far outside of Sam’s comfort zone to ever expect, but I’d keep pushing.

  We finished wrapping and loading all the pieces—eight in total, which would definitely earn me enough to get Beckett a decent mountain bike. Score one for mom. Sam strapped everything into place for me, securing the boxes as best he could before slamming the lift gate closed. Transaction complete.

  “You be careful on that mountain now,” Sam said just as the rumble of engines coming closer broke the more natural sounds of mountain life. We both turned, staring toward the head of the driveway. Dread made my gut tighten, the sound far too familiar at this point. Did Sam even know the trouble brewing in Justice? He wasn’t a resident, so perhaps not, though he had to know about the fires. About Leah’s death.

  If he didn’t know, it was too late to tell him because six motorcycles crested the hill and headed our way. Six men in black coats and heavy boots, a wall of danger moving closer. Crap.

  “Sam—”

&nbs
p; “Stay calm, Mercy. I can handle this.”

  But I had my doubts. Not many men could handle six bikers alone. A picture of Parris popped into my head—the idea that he likely could settling over me—but there was no way to alert him. No way to call for help without the trespassers seeing. I was stuck with Sam, who certainly didn’t have the same skills as Parris.

  “Afternoon,” one of the bikers yelled as soon as they had all shut off their engines. “Nice day for a ride.”

  He looked me up and down as he said ride, his gaze telling me he wasn’t talking about riding motorcycles. The feeling of being exposed—of danger—made my heart thump loudly in my chest, but I didn’t flinch. Didn’t move a single step. I figured I should treat those bikers like the stray dogs they were—show no fear.

  Even though fear was quickly making my stomach turn.

  “You lost?” Sam asked, pulling that ever-present rag from his back pocket and twisting it between his hands. “We don’t get many visitors up this way.”

  “Not lost, no. Just checking out our neighbors. Got friends bunking down in Rock Falls at the campground.” He peered past Sam, lifting his chin toward the view over the ridge. “Thought maybe you’d seen them setting up down there.”

  Sam shook his head, glancing over his shoulder toward the city of Rock Falls. “Trees are too deep up here to see much of anything. I hadn’t even realized anyone had been using the old campground.”

  The biker didn’t look convinced, though he did smile. The expression of a predator knowing he had his prey cornered. “Funny. Our friend said he could see the lights of your house from down there.”

  “Nah, that’s probably the workshop.” Sam edged in front of me, walking slowly toward the bikers. “My boss here was just leaving, so I’ve got a little time. Why don’t you come down to the barn with me? I can show you the view.”

  The biker leered at me, that dangerous smile firmly in place. “Boss, huh? I’ve never been one to let a bitch tell me what to do, but I might with someone who looks the way you do in a pair of jeans.”