Chapter 23
23
ROBE
Brandon: He moved us on. No police, men in all black holding automatic weapons. A few broken ribs, maybe a bone or two, and a whole lotta bruising.
I reread Brandon’s message for the third time, my phone creaking in my grip. The sun hadn’t even risen yet, and already the day turned to shit.
“I’m out.” I tossed my phone onto the bar as I strode through the kitchen and grabbed my jacket off a hook on the wall. “I need a bike.”
“Whoa, Robe. Slow down.” Alan popped up from beneath the bar, a half-empty box of beers clutched in his arms. He leaned down to read the message before the screen blacked out. “Shit. Hold up. I can be there in a second—” He looked around for a place to unload his burden and ended up dumping the box on the floor.
“No, stay with Mari,” I snapped. “Will, Miller. You’re with me.”
“Sir.”
I didn’t know who said it, nor did I care. Only that they did what I required.
“Maybe you should think about this.” Jon gripped my shoulder. “He expects you to retaliate.”
A deep growl rose in my chest as I faced Jon head-on. “I’m not retaliating. I’m looking after my damn people.”
People I let on my land, promising them security.
A friend I’m responsible for.
Now Brandon’s protesters who relied on him—and by proxy, me—for protection were hurting.
“These aren’t your men, Robe. They knew the risks when they asked to form a picket line on your land.” Though Jon kept his tone light, it belied the reproach in his eyes. “Be smarter. Isn’t that what you taught me?”
“I gave my permission, which makes them my responsibility,” I grated. “Get out of my way.”
Jon held my glare for a breath. His broad form filled the space between me and the exit, a blockade I’d break, though having his permission would be easier. His frown deepened as he folded his arms over his chest in a show of discomfort.
My rage boiled over, and I wondered what it would take to make him move without doing permanent damage to the man who’d had my back since I walked out of New York City with nothing but the clothes I wore and twenty bucks in my pocket.
A sigh gusted from between my clenched teeth, frustration and understanding mingling in the pensive air between us. Jon dipped his shoulder to let me storm out of the cabin, Miller and Will trailing at my back.
As I hit the veranda, where I shoved my feet into my boots, a small commotion drew my attention back to the bar. A glance over my shoulder confirmed that Mari stood rubbing her eyes in the doorway to my bedroom, her sleep-mussed hair looking sexy as fuck.
“What’s happening? Where is he going?” She spoke to Alan, but her gaze found mine and locked on.
My heart tugged at the mix of confusion and betrayal written on her face. I pushed a residual dose of guilt away and focused on the people who needed my attention right now. Broken bones meant a hospital, which entailed leaving our relative security on the ridge to head into the public eye. My personal vendetta had been revisited on innocents. Guilt gnawed at me from the inside.
Without a second glance, I walked away from Mari and the hurt straining her face.
* * *
The bikes were housed in a camouflaged shed at the back of the house. Like our weapons hidden around the property, the bikes were checked and maintained under the cover of night when the rest of the ridgeline’s scant residents slept or went about their own business. Not that a little night vision mightn’t stop Gideon or his team of mercs from getting a glimpse into our own nocturnal activities. Perhaps the turnabout was fair play, after all.
The midnight blue finish glittered beneath the dappled light as I pulled the cover off and ran my hand along the machine’s familiar curves. The leather seat felt like an old friend as I settled over the dirt bike—a road bike in our section of the woods would be worse than useless. Hitting the mountain tracks cleared my head like nothing else.
It didn’t take long to work my way down the mountainside, followed by Will. Miller, as usual, took his own route, crossing that boundary line into Gideon’s land we were supposed to honor.
An aggressive rubber profile churned over dirt and stone beneath me. I didn’t bother to look for Miller, keeping my eyes on the faintest track in front of me. I’d made my way down the rock face enough times over the years, and Will covered our tracks so the path disappeared behind him, even when I knew where to look.
I paused at the edge of a short cliff face outside visual range of the house. Shouts echoed up the rock strata, the picket line closing out in the attack’s aftermath. I cursed myself for not foreseeing the event that was right on brand for Blackthorne. At least I didn’t hear the gunshots I expected, which left me cloaked in relief—for now. I tipped my wheel over the edge of a granite block and stopped, scanning the ground below.
No path appeared where it should have been. For the life of me, I couldn’t see beyond a breakneck drop and a sudden stop with a mortal end written all over it.
“On your left.” Will edged around me. Sandy-brown hair flopped over one eye as he shot me a cheeky grin and dove off the cliff of death. His bike bounced on a slab of granite and disappeared over the next low rise, the sharp report of his exhaust heading down the mountainside.
Jesus fucking Christ.
The kid was a daredevil, and I was a crotchety old man. Shit, if boredom filled his brains, then I needed to give him something better to do on his nights off.
Kidding. We never took nights off.
I revved the bike and followed his path, bouncing across the hard slabs. My tire sank into a concealed layer of peat moss as I followed him over the rise. Minutes later I parked my bike at the bottom of the hill on the well-maintained dirt road that bordered the northern edge where my land met Gideon’s.
Well maintained because I made sure we kept it that way, for a multitude of reasons.
The picket line had devolved into a bedraggled cluster of campsites scattered around the foothills of the ridge filled with haggard, rugged-up civilians. I counted maybe thirty heads milling about. Recluse I might have become, but if this was what Brandon considered small, I’d hate to see what a big protest looked like.
I sought out the balding head above the blue puffer jacket Brandon favored. His height and glowing dome made him an all-too-easy target. Rheumy sky-blue eyes lit up. He dashed to my side, speed belying his age.
Mind, after that trick at the top of the hill, sprightly might never describe me again.
Will gave us a short wave from where he was kneeling beside a man with a makeshift bandage wrapped around his ribs. My leg cramped, but not as bad as my ass. I swept one boot over the bike seat and stretched.
“What happened?” I asked.
“Three were sent off to Mount View Hospital. A few more went home. Quitters,” he muttered under his breath, but there was little animosity in his tone. “No police turned up, though.”
“Funny that.”
Fucking hilarious.
I swiped my hand across my mouth as I searched the clusters of people talking in muted voices, noting the absence of several figures in particular.
“Where are the men Gideon sent?”
Brandon gestured into the trees behind a huddle of people in the opposite direction from the one we came from. Most were twenty years the junior of those in Brandon’s picket line and underdressed for the conditions. My lip quirked. I knew what his next words would be before he said them.
“Over there—well, they were over there.” Brandon rubbed a hand over more than a day’s growth on his chin. “Damnit. I wanted you to talk to them.”
I nodded, keeping my thoughts to myself. These people weren’t anything more than social activists working toward a goal that looked good on paper. Their cause hadn’t riled Gideon enough to send a small army down the ridgeline. Whatever the men he sent did, Brandon stayed. How bad could it be?
But I knew better and glanced into the trees above for the telltale glint of a scope. One hand poked out of foliage in a thumbs-up to disappear just as fast. I disguised a laugh as a hasty cough behind my fist and turned back to Brandon.
“I know I gave you permission to protest here, old friend.” I held his gaze as he nodded. “But that time has passed. It will be safer for all of you if you leave now. Send me all the information you have, along with your costs, and I’ll try to secure resources and votes for your cause in other ways.”
Brandon reached around me and squeezed me between long, lean arms. “We worry about you, Robe. And your boys up there. Take care of him.”
This last was directed at Will, who joined us, offering a hug Brandon returned, gratitude clear in his wide smile and crinkled eyes.
Brandon hesitated, his mouth open, though he didn’t say anything further. I set my teeth in a hard line. The old man had no idea how close his people had come to losing their lives today.
If his group were any smaller, the casualties would have been much worse, or Will and I might have found a campsite filled with bodies. Their number saved him; that, and his setup on my land, not on the other side of the road.
Swallowing down my fury at Gideon’s assault, I returned the embrace with care. “You, too, old man.”
Brandon gave me a mini salute and trotted off, rounding up his members. Within an hour, a few posters and a large patch of disturbed ground were all that remained of their protest.
If Gideon had a problem with that, or his missing men, he was welcome to chat with me any time.