Chapter 19
19
VAUGHN
I might be shit at dealing with people, but there was one part of this job I could do well—protecting Hope.
From age five, Owen and I had trained in boxing and martial arts at our father’s insistence. Dad had also taught us how to handle guns and knives, and how to survive in the wilderness. He’d pushed us hard. Harder than any parent ought to, while never being satisfied with our efforts, and it still pissed me off to this day.
As a navy pilot, I’d rarely needed those skills. It wasn’t until Team Zulu headhunted me that my practical upbringing had proven helpful. But Zulu required every member to multitask at an elite level, and if I was going to be useful in the field for anything other than flying, I needed to up my game. So my teammates had thrown me in the deep end by giving me an intense crash course on how to be an operator. Nowadays, I was as lethal as any of my brothers, which made me more than qualified to keep Hope safe.
I’d meant what I’d said about not letting her out of my sight, so the table in the back corner of the restaurant was my new office. Occasionally, I took a walk around the perimeter, but otherwise I stationed myself inside to keep close tabs on my ward as well as the half dozen sleazebags who hadn’t stopped staring at Hope’s tits since her shift had started.
Like the jackass at the table next to mine. Balding. Midforties. He reminded me of a Mexican Homer Simpson, especially the way his dirty T-shirt rode high on his pudgy gut. I swore I could smell his hairy belly button from here. He’d had the gall to return Hope’s smile, even using perfect manners when she’d laid his dinner on the table, only to stare at her ass and lick his lips like a mangy, starving hyena as she walked back to the bar.
It was one thing to be a dirtbag and own it. It was another to pretend you were a gentleman while imagining bending your server over the counter and hiking her skirt up.
Was that what Homer was thinking about? I’d bet he had a boner hidden under that napkin. The asshole must’ve felt my homicidal energy, because he finally pulled his eyes from Hope’s ass to meet my stare. He froze with a beer bottle halfway to his mouth. The chickenshit looked away before doing a double take to check that I was indeed imagining how satisfying it would be to dismember him with my bare hands.
Yes, you, motherfucker. You don’t get to look at her like that.
Very calmly I leaned toward him and said, “If you want to keep those filthy fucking eyeballs inside your skull, don’t ever let them land on her again. Are we clear?”
The beer bottle trembled in Homer’s hand. When he laid it on the table, it clattered and almost toppled over.
To emphasize my message, I pulled my lucky knife from the holster at my hip and used the tip of the blade to clean beneath my fingernails while facing Homer.
Without touching his food, he rose from his seat and tossed a pathetic tip onto the table. I growled, and he quickly added more coins before walking out of the restaurant without looking back.
A moment later, I sensed movement beside me. Hope.
She folded her arms, which only accentuated her perfect tits. “What are you doing?”
I plastered on a fake smile. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You’re scaring away the customers with your knife play.”
I slotted the blade back into the holster and shrugged. “Oops.”
Hope’s friend wore a sour expression as she watched us from behind the bar while sipping a drink through a straw. At least she’d stopped flicking her hair and eye fucking me since I’d told her I wasn’t remotely interested in anything she had to offer.
Hope splayed her fingertips on the table and stared me down. “If there are no customers, I have no job. Do you see the problem here?”
“Nope. No job means fewer places I have to protect you, and less risk. You could’ve avoided all this if you’d flown to Montana with me.”
She grumbled in that cute way of hers before leaning in and speaking quietly. “If you think just because you jizzed on my back like some territorial baboon that you can start messing with my life, you’re wrong.”
“Hmm.” I let out a contented sigh and rested my forearms on the table, getting close enough to inhale the rich scent of her hair. “Still thinking about our little rendezvous, are you?”
She pulled back quickly to glare at me. “You’re such a dick.”
“Am I?” I arched one brow. “How are your tips today, Gatita?”
“What?” She frowned.
“How. Are. Your. Tips?”
She placed her hand over the healthy bulge of cash tucked away in her apron. “That’s your doing?”
Why did she look upset? She’d probably made a week’s worth of tips in one shift.
“Christ. You’re unbelievable.”
I sipped my beer. “No need to thank me. We’ll call it even.”
“Even for what?” Hope’s brow lowered while she pondered what I meant. Finally, it dawned on her. “Even for what I let you do in the casita?” Her face twisted in revulsion, which was exactly how I wanted her to react.
I winked and grinned, leaving her to choke on whatever insult she’d been about to fling my way.
I had two reasons for being a creep. One. Self-preservation. If she thought I was a monster, there was less chance she’d ask invasive, personal questions about my scars. Being around her twenty-four seven meant it was bound to come up if she felt like we were on friendly terms. But if she hated me, she wouldn’t get all Boo-hoo, poor Decker, someone carved him up like a Thanksgiving turkey .
The other reason? So she’d never let me near her again. Something about this woman made me throw my brain straight out the fucking window. One minute, I was in control, and the next, I was ready to pin her to the wall and do obscene things to her body. Someone had to start making sensible decisions, and given how things were going so far, it was unlikely to be me.
A group of four guys rolled into the restaurant. The prettiest of the lot smiled and waved to Hope. He was around her age, taller and broader shouldered than his friends.
Hope quickly recovered from our conversation to return the gesture to Pretty Boy.
She was happy to see him. I didn’t like it.
“Who’s that?” I asked.
“None of your goddamn business.” She turned to leave, but I grabbed her wrist.
I tugged her toward me. “While I’m here keeping you safe, everything about you is my business. I won’t ask again. Who is he?”
“Enrique. He’s a friend, so leave him alone, okay? I mean it.”
Fucking Enrique . The chump who’d been nonstop messaging Hope before I’d blocked him in her phone.
He spoke with Mari at the bar while casting furtive glances in our direction, narrowing his eyes when he noticed my hold on Hope’s wrist.
Pussy . If I saw a guy with his hands on my girl, I’d put him in the hospital.
I let go of Hope, and without giving me any more sass, she went to the group at the bar. I couldn’t hear their conversation, but they interacted easily, smiling and chatting as though they knew each other well. I wondered if Hope was giving them all that bullshit story about me being her cousin.
Her fucking cousin.
That was worse than being friend zoned. After what I’d said to that waitress, maybe Hope would give them some other lie about who I was, one that didn’t include us being related.
At one point, both Hope and Enrique looked toward me before she rolled her eyes and said something that made the dipshit laugh.
I was going to murder him and scatter tiny pieces of his corpse across the country from ten thousand feet.
The group split up when Hope headed to the kitchen and Enrique and a shorter guy went down the hallway to the restroom.
I should probably do like Hope said and leave him alone, but I hadn’t followed orders since I’d gotten out of the military, and I wasn’t about to start now. When I reached the restroom door, I heard voices from within, so I waited outside to listen.
“I need you to come fishing with me next week,” one of them said.
Was it Enrique or the short guy? I couldn’t be sure.
“I don’t know, man. My dad has me helping him at the workshop every day. I’m exhausted by nine p.m.”
Someone flushed the urinal.
“That’s a shame. The nets are going to be extra heavy, if you know what I mean. You’d be able to buy that new motorcycle you want.”
I was no fisherman, but I knew one night’s catch wouldn’t be enough to afford a motorcycle. Were these extra-heavy nets the fentanyl-precursor chemicals Brandon had mentioned that fishermen along the coast were collecting?
A faucet turned on and off at the sink, then one of them pulled paper from the dispenser.
“Okay. I’ll help you out this one time.”
Their footsteps grew louder, so I positioned myself where the door would conceal me as it opened. Enrique and his buddy left the restroom none the wiser of my presence.
The question was which of Hope’s friends was coordinating the pickup. Enrique or the other clown?
I found Hope at the bar and tapped the counter. “What’s the best meal you serve here?”
She tucked a notepad into her apron. “The fish tacos are to die for.”
“Get me that. And a beer.”
As I returned to my seat, Hope muttered something about me being a rude bastard. Ten minutes later, she dropped a plate in front of me and slammed the beer bottle onto the table.
One hand landed on her cocked hip. “You know, you keep acting like everyone in this place is disrespectful, but as far as I can see, you’re the only one without any manners.”
Someone had a bee in their bonnet.
“Sit down,” I said.
“I’m busy.”
Goddammit. Why did this woman never do as she was told? I kicked out a chair, and it scraped along the tiles. “Sit your ass down before I make it so you can’t.”
She flinched and blinked a bunch of times. “Did you just threaten to spank me?”
“More of a promise than a threat. Why? Do you think you’d enjoy it?”
She held one hand up. “Whatever you’ve got to say, it can wait until we get home. I have work to do.”
No. This couldn’t wait. Which meant it was time to try something that went against my nature.
I leaned back in my chair and pinched the bridge of my nose. Here went nothing. “Hope, would you please sit at this fucking table so we can have a civilized conversation like two mature adults?”
She tilted her head as though I’d just surprised the shit out of her. “You said please.”
I gritted my teeth. “I did.”
“Which means you must be familiar with other polite terms. Thank you. Sorry. Excuse me. You probably even know the correct context to use them in.”
I gave her a dry look. “Don’t test me, woman.”
“Just making a point.” Perhaps sensing I had something important to say, she sat opposite me and folded her arms. “What’s up?”
I pushed the tacos toward her. “Eat.”
She gave me a confused look.
“The food’s not for me. You’ve barely eaten anything all day, and I don’t want you passing out from low blood sugar.”
She stared at me in silence before saying, “Stop it.”
“Stop what?”
“Being nice. It makes it really hard to stay angry with you.”
“And I keep telling you that I’m never nice. If you faint and hurt yourself, it’ll be inconvenient.”
“Inconvenient.” She snorted. “Right.”
I gestured to the food. “So eat.”
“Yes, sir.” Hope picked up a taco and bit into it.
I sipped the beer. “I followed your boyfriend and his pal to the restroom.”
She wiped her mouth with a napkin and let out an exasperated sigh. “Of course you did. And Enrique’s not my boyfriend.”
“Whatever. They’re working for the cartel.”
“That’s ridiculous.” She scoffed. “Why would you even say that?”
“Because I eavesdropped on their conversation. They spoke about going fishing next week for an extra-big haul that will bring them a lot of money. They’re talking about picking up fentanyl-precursor chemicals offshore and delivering them to the cartel.”
“Oh, Jesus.” She shook her head and laughed.
“What?” I snapped, not appreciating her attitude.
“Settle down, Sherlock Holmes. It’s a new moon next week, which means it’ll be a bumper fishing haul. Solo fishermen often get help on those few nights each month because the nets are so heavy.”
“You know what else a new moon is good for?” I leaned forward. “Doing sneaky shit and not being seen.”
“You’re overreacting.” She took another bite.
“We’ll see.”
“I hope you’re not planning on making a scene, Cousin . Your presence is already drawing unwanted attention in the village.”
Sure enough, when I glanced around the restaurant, there were plenty of eyes on us.
“When you messed with my phone last night, did you block Enrique?” Hope stole my beer and took a drink.
As soon as she handed it back, I sipped slowly from the same place her mouth had been a moment before and noticed the way Hope’s gaze remained fixed on my lips. I rested the bottle on the table. “Looks like I did you a favor.”
“Because you think he’s working for the cartel?”
“Because he’s not good enough for you.” No one in this village was. Me included.
She lowered her chin. “You couldn’t have known that last night.”
I lifted one shoulder. “Then maybe I just felt like being an interfering jerk.”
Hope rose from her seat wearing a puzzled expression and collected the half-eaten plate of food. “Just…don’t touch my things.”