Chapter Eighty-Three
AJ
“Grace!”
I press myself flat against one of those goddamn poles Grace drew time and time again. The lanterns overhead swing wildly in the breeze. Connor, Hardison, and Jasper are fanned out around the altar. We all agreed. Unless there’s no other choice, Prophet is mine.
The bastard still has the knife held to Grace’s throat. If I make a move, he’ll use it, and she’ll bleed out in seconds.
Sweat beads on her skin. Her muscles tremble so violently with the simple act of holding herself upright, I’m afraid she’ll impale herself on the blade before he gets the chance to kill her.
One wrong move, one twitch, and it’s over.
Jefe has half a dozen of Prophet’s men tangled up in some twisted dance of chaos. Shots ring out. Cartel and cult members alike fall.
I can’t take my eyes off Grace. She’s all that matters.
Movement flickers at the far side of the altar.
Oh, my God.
Parker. She’s barefoot, wearing a pink dress so long it skims the ground.
Her cheeks are stained with dirt and tears, hair plastered to her face, eyes glassy and unfocused.
Her fingertips are bloody, but in her hands, she holds a three-foot piece of metal.
Her entire body shakes violently. How the hell is she still standing?
She flicks her gaze in my direction. A hint of that fire I know so well still remains. Even if it is buried down deep. With a nod, she crouches out of Prophet’s view, rips a long strip of fabric from her dress, and winds it around the metal bar. Then she thrusts it into the flames.
Smoke curls upward in thin, gray wisps as the cloth catches.
Fucking hell. She’s gonna set the asshole on fire.
I want to tell her to stop. That he could jerk and kill Grace. But Parker knows what she’s doing. Always has. Always will. Even now when she looks like she hasn’t slept in weeks.
She almost drops the bar as she stands, but after two shaky steps, she thrusts it at the man, catching the bottom of his robes.
It takes a moment. One long, agonizing moment. He’s still whispering to Grace, and tears stream down her cheeks. I can hear her tiny whimpers, even over the crackle of the flames.
But then, he screams, jerking Grace against him and twisting toward Parker. He doesn’t get a chance to see her face. Only the burning end of the bar as it connects with his temple.
“Hope you like Hell,” she spits out. “Because it’s comin’ for you.”
The stench of smoke and burning flesh hits me. Acrid. Rotten.
Parker took out his eye.
The asshole lets go of Grace, and she crumples to the ground.
My heartbeat roars in my ears. I narrow my eyes and raise my gun. Everything else—the chaos, the smoke, the screaming—drops away.
I take a deep breath. Let it out slowly. And pull the trigger.
A neat hole in his forehead is quickly swallowed up by the flames. He staggers back, his body unable to catch up with his brain. He’s already dead. Flames lick at his robes, bright orange against the black cloth.
Hardison is on Parker before she can even think about falling. One arm under her knees, the other at her back, hauling her off her trembling feet. She coughs, smoke rolling from her nostrils, eyes squinting against the haze.
“Seriously,” Hardison says, half-awed, half-sarcastic. “This ugly pink dress, no shoes, and you still lit a bastard on fire?”
Parker smirks, coughs, and shakes her head. “He…couldn’t take…the heat.”
I jump over the flames to get to Grace and gather her in my arms. Her body trembles against mine, tiny and fragile, but alive. Warm. Real. I press my lips to her hair, breathing her in, feeling the tremor of fear still clinging to her. “I love you. I’ve got you,” I whisper.
Tears streak her face, hot and sudden. “Got. You,” she gasps, clutching me like she’ll never let go.
All around us, the chaos is only getting worse.
“AJ! Over here!” Jasper calls. He points to a stone plank over the flames.
Fuck. How did I miss that before? I carry Grace to the other side, and the six of us skirt the edge of the fray and race down a gentle hill.
As soon as we’re out of sight of the worst of the fighting, I drop to my knees and cradle Grace against me.
“Cap?” Hardison half carries Parker over to us. Up close, I can see the pain in her eyes. She’s wrecked, in some of the same ways Grace is. Smoke still curls around her like she’s some small, fire-breathing avenger. “Can we make like trees now and get gone? If we stay any longer…”
“We die.” I stare through the smoke and the bodies toward the road that leads to the front gate. “It’s gonna be a long walk. A long, dangerous walk.”
“A…J…” Grace curls her fingers in my black t-shirt, tugging slightly until I meet her gaze. “Gr…zuh. Gr…ah..zuh.”
“Garage?” I ask. “With vehicles?”
“Yes.” Even that simple declaration is still muddy. Still broken and jagged from her lips. But it’s so much clearer than anything she could say twenty-four hours ago, I think…maybe she’ll be okay. Maybe we got lucky.
“Where, darlin’?”
She tries to lift her hand, but her arm shakes, and she lets it fall with a little whimper.
An older man with white hair steps out from the shadows. My brother and Connor draw down on him, and he raises his hands. “The garage is a quarter mile past the barn,” he says. “The gray building. Go quickly while my son’s clerics are…otherwise engaged.”
“Your son?” Jasper grabs the man’s arm, forces him to his knees, and jams his SIG against the guy’s temple.
Grace tugs on my shirt again, hard, then starts moving her fingers. “Darlin’, I don’t know all the letters—”
“She’s saying, ‘Kept alive.’” Connor lowers his gun slightly. “He kept you alive?”
With a shuddering breath, she nods, then lays her palm over my heart. If that’s not code for please believe me, I don’t know what is.
I hold her close, my eyes narrowed on the old man. “That smoking pile of garbage is your son, yet you saved Grace’s life? How? Why?”
“Zeke trapped me here years ago. I’m an old man, Captain Stone.
And he has—had—an army. But when Grace told me you were coming, I realized I had one chance to save my soul.
To defy him in a way that mattered. So I slipped her the knife.
Tainted the juice in the hopes it wouldn’t stay down.
And”—he glances at Parker, limp in Hardison’s arms—“slid a piece of metal through the floor of the box so that girl would have a fighting chance.”
Nate stares down at his partner, at her bloody fingers, her soot-stained cheeks, and tightens his arms around her. “Cap, we gotta take him with us.”
I motion for Jas to let the old man up. His brows lift, but he takes a step back.
“I sure hope you can run,” I say. “Because we ain’t stickin’ around.”
The old man shakes his head. “No. My place is here. The wives and children…they’re innocent, Captain Stone. And they need me,” he says. “You’ll send someone for them, won’t you?”
“Yes. But…not until tomorrow. What happens next… Get them somewhere safe… Indoors. Away from any of the men. You hear me?”
Tears tumble down Grace’s cheeks. She reaches for the man, and he grasps her fingers briefly. “Your life is yours again, Grace. Live it well.”
In the next second, he’s gone. Melting back into the shadows.
“Zephyr? Where’s this goddamn garage?” Connor asks.
The hacker’s voice is like a whole fuckin’ choir of angels in my ear. “Northeast of you. Wait for ten seconds, and you’ll have a distraction.”
They’re some of the longest seconds of my life.
“Now. Everyone move!” The order shakes us all loose. Connor goes first, Jasper close behind. Hardison carries Parker next, and I hold Grace close, bringing up the rear.
One of the drones flies over our heads, and a second later, Zephyr calls out, “Get ready for a big boom, folks.”
“Parker, it’s gonna get loud,” Hardison warns.
She flinches, while Grace winds her arms around my neck and buries her face against my chest.
The percussion blast is strong enough I feel it all the way down to my toes. Grace jerks in my arms, a tiny whimper escaping her lips.
The effect is immediate. Men scatter, the gunfire dies down, and the battlefield collapses into silence and smoke. Thank God the women and children ran for their homes the second the shooting started.
Prophet is nothin’ more than a smoldering heap of burnt skin and blood, and my body unclenches a fraction. We’re safe. We should be safe. As long as Sandoval kept his word.
Inside the garage, more than a dozen vehicles wait. Jasper beelines for a white van.
“No!” Grace cries, panic sharp in her voice, clawing at me like the van itself might swallow her whole. “Took…me.”
Jasper stops inches away, frowns, then scans the place again. “Not the van, then.” He points at a newer pickup, clean, with a backseat. “That’ll have to do.”
Connor climbs into the bed, rifle at the ready. Jasper swings behind the wheel. Hardison and I get Grace and Parker into the back seat. We wedge in tight, me supporting Grace, Hardison bracing Parker.
Nate shoots me a sideways glance, lips twitching. “No offense, Cap, but if Parker drools on me, you’re swapping.”
Parker rasps, “Not…my…best look.”
“Sweetheart, it’s top five,” Hardison says, squeezing her shoulder gently.
Grace leans into me, murmuring broken syllables I have to piece together. “Safe. Home?”
“Yeah, darlin’. Home,” I say and press a kiss to her hair. It smells faintly of oleanders, and, fuck. Will the scent ever truly leave her now?
We rattle through the gate. Connor’s voice carries, sharp and commanding, calling out in Spanish. It’s a phrase Sandoval told him to use if we encountered one another. For a breathless second, I think they’re gonna shoot us anyway. Until the men stand down.
Miguel steps forward. Tall, broad, the kind of man who’s spent his life under sun and war.
Black hair streaked with gray, bronze skin lined from years of carrying other men’s burdens.
His eyes are sharp, flinty, the sort of stare that could cut a weaker man in half.
If I didn’t know a little of his history, I’d be worried we were trading one devil for another.
Reyes steps out from behind him with a bag slung over his shoulder.
Thank fuck.
“Which one of you is Stone?” Miguel asks.
“I am.” I shift Grace a little closer to me.
“The compound’s clear. Prophet’s dead. Most of his strongest fighters too.
Women and children should be safe in their homes.
Along with the Prophet’s father. He saved Grace’s life.
Parker’s too. Leave him be. You’ll have some stragglers, but nothing you and your men can’t handle.
The FBI will send for the survivors. Get them deprogrammed, contact any families missing them.
But not until tomorrow. Clear out by noon, and you’ll be good. ”
Miguel frowns, like he doesn’t quite trust me.
“Zephyr,” I say, “give him eyes.”
A second later, the feed from the drones pings onto Miguel’s tablet. He watches as Zephyr toggles through aerial sweeps—the burning altar, the dead all around it, the cartel trucks abandoned.
Miguel gives a single, curt nod, then gestures to Reyes. “See to them.”
The doctor doesn’t waste time. He goes to Parker first, who’s leaning against Hardison like he’s the only thing keeping her upright.
He checks her pulse, and his eyes narrow at the shredded skin on her hands. The burns on her lower legs. “Fluids, oxygen, pain management,” he mutters.
Then, his gaze turns to Grace. For a moment, he just looks at her, almost in awe. “It is good to see you again, my dear.”
Grace’s lips tremble. She manages a broken, “Ray…yez.”
Reyes squeezes her shoulder gently, careful. “Sí. It’s me. You’re safe now.”
“She had another craniotomy just two days ago,” I explain. “A bone fragment broke off inside…” I swallow hard, the realization of how close I came to losing her hitting hard.
“Aphasia,” Parker adds, then coughs weakly.
Reyes nods, understanding flashing across his face. “To be expected. May I examine you, Grace?”
She nods, but keeps one hand fisted tightly around my shirt.
The doctor pulls out a small flashlight, aiming it at her pupils. She flinches, then steadies when I start rubbing her back. He listens to her lungs, frowning at the faint wheeze. Then he carefully peels back the edge of the bandage at her temple.
One stitch has popped, and a bit of blood has soaked into the gauze. Reyes’s mouth hardens. “This needs attention tonight to avoid infection. Parker’s hands too. They both need fluids. I can clean, re-stitch, start antibiotics. What they need most is rest.”
He straightens, turning back to Miguel. “They cannot stay here. Nor would I advise the long trip back to Austin tonight. I can take them across the border to Ojinaga. The clinic there will not ask questions when I demand rooms and supplies.”
Miguel studies him, then me. Finally, he gives a short nod. “Captain Stone, you are a formidable man. You have my respect. And guaranteed safety until you return home. But after that, I never want to see you in my territory again. Understood?”
“Got it.” I press a kiss to Grace’s forehead. “Give me a minute, darlin’? Just one, I promise.”
“O…kay.” The look in her eyes almost stops me. But when Reyes steps forward to brace her, she relaxes and lets him help her into the back of a large SUV.
Miguel and I stare at one another for a long moment. Two men who’ve lost, fought, and won in the end. “I’ll always be a Ranger, Sandoval.”
“And I will always be cartel. But we understand each other, yes?”
“More than that, I think.” I offer him my hand. His grip is strong—as is mine—but not crushing. “You gave me my wife back. Twice. That’s a debt I can never repay.”
“Then you are lucky I forgot my ledger at home,” Miguel says with a small smile. “Now go, before one of my men insists I start a new one.”