28. Band of Brothers
Chapter 28
Band of Brothers
TOMER
S itting in my car in Leo’s driveway, I pull up the surveillance feed on my Redleg tablet. Before I get out, I need a quick peek.
Lettie isn’t on the couch anymore. I check the other cameras but don’t see her. Stella and Freya aren’t around either. Probably all in bed for the night.
On the day after Lettie’s rescue, I sent one of our tech guys over to upgrade the surveillance in the apartment.
During the upgrade, I considered having a camera installed in Lettie’s bedroom. However, that would’ve been hard to explain. Redleg has rules about that sort of thing, and for good reason. We’ve never installed a camera in someone’s bedroom or bathroom without their informed consent. And even in those cases, there are only certain circumstances when we can record, such as when an alarm is tripped, or a panic word is spoken.
We added a camera in the hallway, and if I adjust the angle just right, I can see the reflection of Lettie’s bed off the mirror at the end of the hall. As long as her bedroom door is open.
I know I shouldn’t do it, but I’m too weak to stop myself. After I verify that she’s okay, I’ll be able to move on with my plans for tonight.
Guilt attempts to throw another boulder on my back, but I shrug it off. I can’t walk away from her yet. Especially after watching her get sick earlier this evening. It’s not like I suddenly stopped caring for her just because she left me. There’s no switch I can flip for that, even if I can turn off the rest of my feelings.
When the app finally loads, I take one long, deep breath and access her phone’s camera and microphone.
Looks like her cell is on the nightstand. The front camera faces the ceiling. She has the lights on in the room. But there’s only silence. No TV. No music. No talking.
I lose track of time as I stare at Lettie’s bedroom ceiling, straining to hear her breathing. Longing for a simple connection with her.
And then I hear it. Not just breathing but a shuddery whimper.
Fuck . She’s crying. Again.
Another voice comes through. “Lettie bear, it’s okay. I’m not going anywhere.”
Stella.
She’s comforting Lettie in my place. Because Lettie doesn’t want me anymore.
At least she isn’t alone.
A shadow passes the corner of my eye before a hand knocks on my window. Shoving the tablet face down on the passenger’s seat, I open the door and come face-to-face with Sue. Her large husband trails a few steps behind her.
“What are you doing here?” Sue asks, never one to beat around the bush. One of the many reasons I appreciate her.
I exit the car. “Sorry if I alarmed you. Hope you don’t mind the unexpected visit. I’ll be quick. I came by to drop something off.”
She flings her thumb over her shoulder. “He wanted to wait inside for you, but I was getting antsy.”
Turning around, I bend over to reach into the car for a package of drug-testing straws. After giving this one to Sue, I’ll still have a few left until I order more. I’ve been prioritizing my deliveries based on risk level. I still need to hit Shep’s house to get a package to Valerie and Kri. I can wait another day or so to get to Mia. It looks like she’s been staying over at Klein’s mother’s house. So I don’t think she’s at high risk right now.
Come to think of it, I should probably place a bulk order for all of Redleg. I’ll get with Big Al’s assistant on that tomorrow. She’d probably be willing to help me distribute them. The women aren’t the only ones who should use them.
When I pop my head back out of the car with the sealed package of straws in hand, Leo is standing directly behind his wife with his hands on her shoulders. He has a severe look on his face as if he’s silently communicating something to me.
I recognize the inherent warning written on his features, making me wonder if I’ve already said or done something I shouldn’t have. But I just fucking got here. How did I screw up already?
Oh, that’s right. My presence alone is enough to fuck up people’s lives.
Instead of handing the package of testing straws to Sue, I extend it toward Leo. I suppose he can take a look and decide when and how to give them to her. He takes them with a grateful nod.
Huh . Perhaps he was trying to silently communicate that I should give them to him and not her. But how did he know why I’m here?
“Sawyer said you might be coming by,” he says, answering my unspoken question. “Glad you did. I need to talk to you.”
My vision glides between the two of them. “He told me I should come here tonight.”
“Good,” Leo says with a crisp nod.
“Good,” I echo, unsure where to go from here.
The tension bouncing between us is nauseating. I thought we cleared the air about the rescue op the other day when he showed up at my place with Big Al. Why is it tense again?
Fucking people.
Sue breaks the silence. “This is super awkward, which I have some experience with.”
Despite my downtrodden mood, I chuckle a little at that. Leo laughs too.
Then the silence returns. Painfully thick tension chokes us.
I still have no idea why Sawyer wanted me to come here. And my patience on pleasantries is spent.
Fuck this.
“Let me know if you have any questions about those. I’ve got a few more stops to make tonight.”
“Oh, for shite’s sake, you two.” Sue huffs, then quirks her neck to cut a wide-eyed glare at her husband. “Talk to him already. This is dumb. Tell him what you did. I’m going inside, but I’ll be back.” Before departing, she faces me. “I have something for you, so don’t leave until I return.”
Heaving a deep sigh, I close my eyes, reopening them when I hear the crunch of Leo’s boots stepping on the seeds from the palm trees lining his driveway. He leans against the side of my car, crossing his feet at the ankles.
Guess it’s time for another chat. Excellent . I need that like I need another hole in my head.
Fuck you, Sawyer, for sending me here.
“I got a call from Mia the other night,” Leo starts, dragging out the words.
“About?”
“As I understood it, there was some concern about that douche nozzle Davidov.”
My head sags to the side, and I narrow my gaze at him. “He’s in CPD custody.”
“This was the night before the transfer happened.”
Mentally, I rewind the last few days. Ah. He must be referring to the night Mia and I discussed losing the opportunity to interrogate Davidov once Lettie gave her police statement.
I don’t speak, not wanting to lead Leo anywhere or to confess to something he doesn’t know about.
Does he plan to dress me down for going against Boss’s don’t touch decree? I wouldn’t have pegged Mia for a rat, so I doubt it. Besides, it’s unlike Leo to discipline me. He’s not my superior. Neither officially nor informally.
Sure, the guards would consider him a leader of sorts. He’s Big Al’s protege, most likely to take over when Boss retires. Writing is on the wall there. Not that you’ll find an objection from me. I certainly don’t want to run the fucking company. I’m happier in my lair, where I’m mostly left alone.
Happier being a relative term.
For a time, I knew happiness. Those days are long gone now.
He finally continues. “Well, I sent a mutual friend to pay him a visit that night since you were otherwise occupied.”
“A friend?”
A wry smile spreads, barely concealed by his beard. “Two friends, actually. Four fists. Some rope. Probably a knife. Jumper cables, maybe. Not sure what else.”
He had my attention before, but now he’s really fucking got it. “Spit it out, Lionheart,” I snap, no venom in my tone. Only a hurried curiosity.
Adjusting his body position, he faces me, slinging his big arm over the top of my vehicle and setting down the padded envelope I delivered. “Mia was concerned that we were about to lose our chance to get usable intel from him. Given the leak on the trafficking task force, neither of us wanted to let him go without seeing if he would be a bit more forthcoming than when Boss and I talked to him previously.”
“Was he?”
“Not at first, but our friends were very convincing.”
My lip quirks. “Who’d you send?”
“Jonesy and Aaron. They wanted a little face time with our Russian friend to discuss where he’d been taking innocent girls. Particularly since they’d seen the conditions first-hand.”
Despite my gut souring and bile rising in my throat, I’m perfectly stoic. “What did they find out?”
“Safe house location for three of the traffickers who were there the night of the raid. They had a hideout where they were supposed to go if shit went sideways.”
“Really?”
He nods and continues. “Plus, he told us who recruited him into the trafficking ring. What he was paid, and how. Now, you can get some digital trails on that shit.”
Again, my face reveals nothing. On the inside, however, I vacillate between being livid that no one told me this shit and glad to have a few more people to add to the MFKL. Where they’ll stay until I cross them off the list.
Using their blood as ink.
Assuming Leo and the others won’t try to stop me from doing what I need to do.
“Lionheart, what are the chances you’re going to share the safe house location and name of the recruiter? I’d like to get them off the streets.”
As painfully as possible.
“You see, that’s just the thing.” He makes a clicking sound with his tongue. “With a mole on the task force, turning them over carries the risk of them escaping justice. That doesn’t fucking sit right with us. On the other hand, doing nothing is out of the question. But we didn’t wanna get into a situation where we’re holding them like we’ve had to do with the others. That’s too much risk for Redleg.”
I wait him out, sensing he’s getting to the point.
“At the end of the day, we put a tail on the recruiter. We’re gonna watch him for now. As for the other three, we decided they aren’t the ones who will get us to our end goal. They’re small fish.”
Our goal?
“Meaning?”
“Well, I imagine your goal is eradicating Lenkov’s trafficking ring.”
“Obviously.”
“That’s Redleg’s goal now too. Whether we want to be in this battle or not, we’re in it. They fucked with family.”
He has no idea how true that statement is. I imagine he will soon enough, though. The cat is slowly gnawing itself out of the bag. While Lettie’s currently too upset to do anything about her newfound knowledge, she won’t be forever.
That’s when the noose will cinch tightly around my neck.
Metaphorically speaking. I don’t expect Big Al to hang me. Just fire me. Kick me out of his life. Wish he never met me. Curse me six ways to Sunday. Possibly take a swing at me.
All things I deserve, regardless of whether my deceit was well-intentioned.
When I don’t respond, Leo continues, “Anyhow, we turned the three guys from the prep house over to the cops. They’re in county lockup. No one has posted bail yet. You can take them off your list.” He winks at me when he says that last part.
“My list?”
A deep, humorless laugh rattles his chest. “Do you honestly expect me to believe you don’t have a list of all the fucking people you want to kill for hurting your girl?” He shakes his head, amusement fading from his expression. “Hell, I’ve got a list, and she’s not even my girl.”
Twice in one night, my coworkers have left me speechless. First Sawyer and now Leo. I’m unsure how to interpret the emotions stirring inside me, but there’s no sense in trying. They’ll be gone momentarily.
“Before I go, can I get the names so I don’t have to hunt through arrest records to see who’s already handled? One of the six was in charge at the house level, and I’d like to have a chat with him. Lettie saw his photo and told me about his role.”
Saying her name is like a hot iron poking into my back, right between my shoulder blades, and scorching the cavern where my heart used to reside.
He reaches into his back pocket to pull out his phone. Saying nothing, he swipes and taps across the screen. A second after he finishes, my phone buzzes with an incoming message.
“Emailed it to you.”
Resisting the urge to open the message immediately, I say, “Thank you.”
His eyes shift away, darting around the yard. Mine do the same.
It’s a nice night. No clouds. Gentle breeze. It’s approaching a full moon, so the night sky is fairly bright. On nights like these, Lettie always liked walking on the beach after I picked her up at Bask. It was our way to unwind and reconnect before going home.
“Well, I’ll let you get back to Sue.” I tip my chin toward the package he set on the hood of my car. “Those are straws that detect the presence of roofies. Have Sue use them anytime she has a drink outside the home.”
Closing his eyes, he exhales forcibly. “Those sick fuckers.”
“That’s putting it mildly.”
“Thanks for thinking of Sue.” He finally meets my eyes again, and this time, he appears apprehensive. “I got a call from Josh today to let me know Lettie went back to her apartment.”
“Fuck.” The word slips out before I can stop it, and my body goes rigid. For the first time, my unaffected facade slips.
He puts his giant hands up in front of him, trying to calm me. “Josh didn’t tell me everything. He was trying to protect her confidentiality, but I picked up enough to get the feeling it wasn’t exactly a planned departure.”
Taking a few steps away from the car, I give him my back and drag my hands through my hair, tugging punishingly at the roots. “Is there a question in there, or are you just stating facts?”
My feet keep moving, leading me away from him of their own accord. Away from the pain he’s dredging up.
He sighs loud enough for me to hear it over the distance I put between us.
Planting my feet, I put my fists on my hips and let my head sag. “Go ahead. Ask what you’re going to ask.”
Whether I answer is yet to be determined.
“Listen, T, I won’t pretend to have the foggiest fucking clue how she must feel. And I don’t know how you’re holding up. I’d be fucking wrecked if I were in your shoes.”
“The fucking point, Lionheart?” I spit out, still unable to look at him and frantic to escape this conversation.
“Don’t wait.”
Huh?
Confused by his perplexing advice, if that’s what you want to call it, I turn to face him. “Don’t wait for what?”
His expression crumples, and his throat bobs. “Don’t wait to apologize for whatever the fuck caused the tiff. Don’t wait to tell her how you feel. Don’t fuck up like I did by convincing yourself she’s better off without you or whatever bullshit you’re likely feeding yourself. Give her a little time, but not too much. Let her know how you feel about her. Soon. And often. Don’t make the same mistakes I did. Don’t let her go. Fight for her.”
Shaking my head, I wave him off. “It’s not like that, Leo.”
“What’s it like then?”
“It’s not some fucking tiff; I can tell you that much. No amount of apologizing can fix this.” I huff out an irritated exhale, then march back to my car. “It doesn’t matter, anyhow. I need to go.”
He puts his gargantuan lion paw on the driver’s door, preventing me from opening it.
“What the fuck is with you and Sawyer today? I need to fucking go. I’ve got?—”
“People to kill.” He finishes my sentence, a taunting quality injected into his tone.
“What the fuck would you do, Lionheart?”
While it’s intended as a rhetorical question, I soon realize I’m waiting for an answer, hoping he has some morsel of advice that could wake me from this nightmare.
As if he’s invading my thoughts or doing Big Al’s brain probe thing, he responds, “You want to know what I’d do? Or do you want me to tell you what I think you should do?”
I pop my knuckles on both hands and eye him down.“Is there a difference?”
“There is a difference, and here it is.” He steps closer, putting one hand on my shoulder. “I’d want to burn down the fucking world. I’d want to kill them all. With my own two hands. Painfully as fucking possible. I’d use every fucked-up thing the military taught us to hunt them to the ends of the earth and make them sorry they even thought about touching my girl.”
When he pauses for a breath, I jump in. “Not seeing a problem.”
“The problem is I’d have tried to do it on my own and would get myself captured or fucking killed because my emotions would blind me.”
“That’s the difference between you and me. I don’t have that ailment.” I tap my fist against my hollow chest.
He tsks three times at me. “The fuck you don’t. No matter what the hell you think is broken inside there.” He pokes the index finger of his free hand over what remains of my heart. “You’re the same as the rest of us. You love. You hate. You hurt. You just don’t show your emotions the way most people do. That doesn’t fucking mean they aren’t there. Quit pretending you’re a robot.”
Letting me go, he takes a few steps back.
Caught by surprise at his candor, all I can do is deny his assertion. “I’m nothing like you, Lionheart. I’m different. It doesn’t come naturally to me. You were born that way.” I gesture my hand up and down his broad frame, my volume spiking. “Loving. Kind. Gentle. Emotional.” I motion toward myself. “It’s not like that with me. I was empty. Lettie taught me how to love. She taught me how to fucking feel. Hell, I didn’t even have empathy until her. Now she’s gone, and I’m nothing but a?—”
His icy glare stops me in my tracks. He’s been hanging around Big Al too damn much if he can eviscerate me with a single look.
He throws a thumb over his shoulder, pointing toward his house. “You know that woman in there?”
My only response is to blink at him. Of course I know his fucking wife.
“She used to say that shit. That she was different. She wasn’t meant to have friends or be loved. You’re a lot like her; you know that?”
He doesn’t give me a chance to answer, which suits me fine since I have no fucking response.
“All her life, people told her she was strange. Too quiet. Too weird. Creepy. A freak. All because she didn’t show her emotions the same way everyone else did.” He lowers himself to my eye level when he asks, “Do you think she lacks empathy?”
With only a split-second of hesitation, I shake my head. “No.”
“So why do you think you do?”
“It’s not the same thing. I don’t have autism.”
His face goes slack except for one arched brow. “You sure about that?”
Wait. Do I?
He doesn’t come across as judgmental. It’s almost as if there’s something else hidden behind his words. Oh well. I don’t have time to figure it out.
Punishingly, I drag my palm down my face. “Does it matter, Leo? Fuck . We’re wasting time.”
Seriously, this entire night has gone from bad to worse. None of this bullshit is helping me find Yev or Skidmark.
Or Viktor.
That’s where my focus should be.
He shrugs, ignoring my outburst. “I’m not a fucking doctor. I don’t know if you have it. But I see some of the same behaviors in you that Sue has. Not all, but enough to make me think it’s a possibility. If not autism, then some type of neurodivergence.” Taking two large steps forward, he returns to my personal space. “Whatever it is or isn’t doesn’t matter, as long as you stop fucking pretending you’re a machine. If anything, you have more emotions than the rest of us because you’ve been holding them back for so long.”
My fingers curl at my temples. “What the fuck does this bullshit have to do with anything? I need to focus on finding?—”
“It matters because if you keep lying to yourself, pretending you aren’t blinded by rage, you’re gonna get yourself fucking killed going after them. And I’ve already buried one sibling—well, sort of—and I don’t want to do it again. Ask for help. Don’t go it on your own. Your brothers are here for you.”
“Brothers?” I scoff. “Why do you guys keep saying that? I mean, sure, Rangers for life and all. But I don’t have a family.”
Never have.
Never will.
He pauses, breathing pointedly as if he’s fortifying himself with not only oxygen but with calmness. “Sometimes, the bonds forged outside of blood are stronger and last longer. Blood doesn’t mean shit. Take my father. Your father. Sawyer’s parents. Kri’s. Shep’s. I could go on.”
He gives me no time to react, barreling on to drive home his point.
Shaking his head, he spreads his arms wide open. “Take a look around once in a while. With a few exceptions, we can’t count on our blood for shit. But our Redleg family never fucking falters. That’s why it hurt when you didn’t come to me or Big Al about your girl. I’m glad you went to Mia and Klein, but you actively hid it from us. Don’t do that shit again. Let us help you.”
Some of his words chisel at the stone inside my chest, trying to break through.
I want to believe him.
Logically, I do. Yet it’s not easy.
As if on cue, my father’s voice grates through the fog of my mind, reminding me why Leo’s words—much like Big Al’s or Sawyer’s words—feel false.
No one will ever love you, boy.
A deep bark startles us both, breaking the moment. Sue comes bounding down the stairs, leading a large black dog on a leash.
Leo turns to face her, his cheek rising with his spreading smile. “Walk time, angel?”
“Yeah. I waited as long as I could to give you two time to talk, but his patience is spent. If he didn’t get out here to you, I was afraid he was gonna tear up the front door or go through the window.”
“Sue’s training a new dog for her brother,” Leo explains.
As Sue and the dog approach, I shuffle backward until I’m pressed against the side of my car. My chest grows tight, and my throat thickens. A splitting pain explodes behind my eyes.
Out of nowhere, I’m smacked with another one of those visions like I had at the nightmare house the night I set it ablaze.
Suddenly, I know what I was looking for. That night in my room. I was looking for my dog.
A black dog.
Long, floppy ears.
Not the same as the one in front of me now, but similar enough that it must be jogging the memory.
Clearing my throat, I blink away the haze and run my hands down the front of my jeans. “Got to go.”
This time, when I attempt to open the car door, no one stops me. Thank fuck.
Once seated, I struggle to put my seat belt on with shaky hands. When it’s finally locked in place, I notice Sue standing beside my window with her hands on her hips. A quick look around reveals she passed the leash off to her husband. Leo squats beside the dog, petting his chin and ruffling his ears.
Another jolt of discomfort shoots from my chest at the sight.
Am I fucking having a coronary episode? Is this the universe’s cruel joke to remind me that I do, in fact, have a heart?
Very fucking funny, universe. Fuck off.
Sue taps her fingernails on the car window, then hooks her index finger downward. Reading her request, I roll down the window.
“Here,” she says with no preamble, sticking out her hand to pass me something.
I eye it speculatively before taking it. A business card. “What’s this?”
“Someone who can help you.”
After I give her a congenial nod, she backs away without another word.
Considering how everyone seems to be on the same Talk About Your Fucking Feeling s bandwagon today, I’m going out on a limb here and assuming this isn’t contact info for an arms dealer or someone who can deliver Viktor Lenkov to me on a silver platter.
I glance at the card.
Yep. Called it.
A therapist.
Give me a fucking break.