Chapter 12

Holy hell. He'd never been so glad, in all his life, for Tish to have one of her moods.

He slumped against the wall, stared at the kitchen cupboards. He needed a moment. One where he wasn’t caught in the glare of those large dark eyes, one where he didn’t have to answer the silent question her ghost screamed at him even as she served him wine and crackers. The question he'd been able to push down all these days, months. and years by overwork and the knowledge that he'd really had little choice.

The ugly, rutting beast in the room.

Why the hell did you leave?

And the simple truth was—he couldn't tell her.

That had been part of the condition when the group of thugs had pressed him into service. To call them a cartel was a joke. These were just a bunch of unreliable jerks who hadn't grown up mentally or socially, just physically. And they had way too much power.

They'd told him that if anyone found out about them or what he was doing for them, they'd gleefully hunt down and slit the throats of anyone and anything he loved.

So he'd ponied up. Didn't send anything to Tish, ever. Once, a note to Jace, their mutual buddy, without any identifying comments. Just stuff Jace would know, so he'd realize it came from him. And a veiled reference to take care of Tish. That was it.

For a man who cared desperately about family, it was excruciating. He’d watched as she'd gone off and married that guy.

She'd done well, marrying rich. Good on you, pet, he'd thought, and clamped the emotions down on his heart, cut the blood flow off to that particular area. And just kept on.

Bit by bit, he’d seen flashes of the old Ian emerge as they worked together, outside the law. Once, the kid had let a girl go the bastards had harassed as part of a protection racket, and caught a beating for it later. A severe one, though they’d dressed it up as a play fight. But everyone knew.

Ian had told the bastards that she’d managed to get away, but he’d seen the proud lift to the young man’s chin, for just a moment.

That’s the kid he remembered. Which made the anomaly of who he’d become all the crazier.

What the hell had made him switch? He’d been this great kid, kind. Balanced. Even sweet.

Then overnight, he’d become a demon boy who didn’t care who knew it or what he did.

Well, one more delivery, and he'd be done with the whole lot of them. And he'd move on to give his life to the other group of guys he'd fallen in with, who called themselves, almost jokingly, the brotherhood.

But he had high hopes from what he'd seen that they might exactly be that.

Arc, the leader, had been cold at first. Very focused in what he did.

But in the short time he’d spent with him he’d seen the other men’s loyalty to him—through all the bullshit and rabble-rousing guys normally did—and he’d realized the dude just might be the real thing. He’d completed one job for Arc, very privately, and the way Arc had used the information had made the risk he’d taken worthwhile.

And Arc was fine with him dispatching the bastards first, once he came on over to them fully. In fact, he was in a perfect position to do so, knowing many of their secrets.

Yeah. He fingered the precious jump drive in his pocket, felt its contours.

Bastards. They’d rue the day they’d messed with the Austins. They’d damn well rue the day. And…

A loud series of bangs from upstairs intruded on his thoughts, rattled him as he felt the walls actually shake.

What the hell?

He jumped up, tore down the hallway. Sprinted halfway up the stairs, heart in his throat.

"What in blazes are you doing up here, Tish? Taking the top half of the house off?"

Her yell reverberated down the drafty space. "Leave me alone!" A balled-up rag flew at him, caught him off guard.

Okay. She really didn’t want him upstairs.

He headed back down, weirdly missing being in on whatever she was doing.

He grabbed a plastic cup, poured a slosh of Perrier into it.

Went through mentally what he still had to get done tonight. And realized, hell. If only the drop was scheduled for later, the party across the street would probably be burned out by then, and he could escape out the back door, knowing Tish was in less danger.

If only…

He gulped the drink down, considered. Could he change it? Dare he, when he needed their good-will, such as it was…just to get through it?

He'd been told not to contact the bastards for any reason tonight. Blackout, they’d called it.

But if there was one reason in the world it made sense to break the cardinal rule that had been drummed into him about this drop and the other drops he'd made for them—this was it.

He yanked the phone from his pocket and tried to tell himself his fingers were shaking because of the cold. He keyed in the necessary info, sent the text.

Then a sound, from upstairs, floating down the vertical airspace of the staircase. A soft, solitary cry. And was back here in the old house, with this woman who tugged at every part of him.

He had to get to Tish.