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Retribution (The Protectors 3)

Page 3

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“I…I haven’t seen my father in years,” the guy said desperately. His eyes shifted back to the little boy. “It’s okay, Matty. Daddy’s here. Just be real quiet for a few minutes, okay,” he said gently, his voice surprisingly even.

The boy quieted in my hold.

“No loyalty among murderers, huh?” I said.

“Murder?” the man whispered.

My fury was so intense that I released my grip on the boy and he ran to his father. “Get him here now!” I ordered.

“Jesus,” the man cried as he grabbed his son and put him behind him. “You’re looking for Denny!” he said.

“What?”

“I’m Tate. You’re looking for my father and Denny, my brother.”

Chapter One

Hawke

“You’re lying,” I snapped even though in my gut, I knew he wasn’t. I couldn’t explain how I knew, I just did. And I’d learned long ago to trust my instincts, even when my head was telling me not to. But I kept my gun pointed at the man – Tate – because I also knew he was my only link to the men I was looking for.

“I swear, I’m not,” he said with a shake of his head.

“Daddy,” the little boy whispered with a tug on his father’s shirt.

“It’s okay, buddy,” Tate murmured as he reached behind himself to put his hand on his son’s shoulder. But his eyes never left mine. “Please,” he begged.

But I didn’t just hear his plea. I heard hers too. How many times had the same word fallen from her frightened lips as she was being brutalized? And it just hadn’t been her life she’d been begging for…

“Sir…”

I hadn’t realized I’d dropped my eyes to the little boy until Tate’s shaky voice got my attention. I knew without question that the kid was the linchpin…even a subtle threat against him would get me what I wanted.

“What’s your name?” I asked the terrified little boy.

“Sir-” Tate said again, but a hard glance in his direction had him falling silent.

“Matthew,” the kid said, his voice soft and uneven. “But Daddy calls me Matty.”

Matty had stuck his head around his father’s body to answer me, but even before he finished his last statement, Tate was gently pushing the kid back behind him.

“Please sir, I’m begging you…”

I finally lowered the gun and settled my eyes on Tate. “Where are they?”

A slight shudder went through Tate’s body. “I…can I put Matty to bed? It’s…it’s really late.”

I studied the younger man for a long moment. I was pretty sure I was right about him being in his mid-twenties and though he wasn’t quite as tall as me, he appeared more muscular than I’d first guessed. His brown hair was just a little too long and I found a sudden and very disturbing urge to push back a few of the strands that kept falling over his forehead. I shoved the errant thought away and took in the rest of him. He had a rangy look to him but more than anything, I noticed the strain that made him appear to have lived every single one of his young years and then some. His body said he was in his twenties but his eyes said he was much older…that he’d seen much more than most.

“Give me your phone,” I said.

“I…I don’t have one.”

He must have seen the irritation in my face because his eyes fell to my gun and he said, “I’m telling you the truth. I had one of those disposable ones where you buy the minutes, but I couldn’t afford to reload it so they turned it off a couple days ago.” Tate swallowed hard when I rubbed my finger over the trigger on the gun. It was a habit on my part more than anything else, but I didn’t mind if he thought the move meant something else.

“The phone is in that drawer,” he said as he pointed to a small single drawer table by the door. I kept my eyes on him as I checked the drawer and pulled out an older model flip phone. I had to turn it on and sure enough, when I tried to dial, I got a message saying the phone had been deactivated.

“What about a landline?” I asked.

Tate shook his head, but didn’t say anything. I wondered how the hell someone managed to go this day and age without any kind of phone, but didn’t give voice to my thought. I tossed the cell phone back in the drawer and went back to stand in front of Tate and his son who was peeking around his father’s leg to watch me with curiosity.

“Where’s his room?” I asked.

“Back there,” Tate said, motioning behind him with his head.

I nodded and Tate quickly turned around and picked his son up. He stripped the backpack the kid had been wearing off and dropped it to the floor and then cast me several glances over his shoulder as he went to a small room on one side of the cramped apartment…although apartment was a generous term for the confined space. From what I could tell, the kid’s room was the only actual room besides the bathroom. The rest of the space was open and there was a tiny kitchen with a small table jammed against the dingy window. The living room had one couch which was covered with a sheet and on one end was a single pillow and a folded blanket. There was a small, old fashioned TV on a TV dinner tray table in the corner.



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