“I have to know if I can live with it.”
He had to take a chance. Either way was a risk. “We hunt pedophiles. We hunt for children that need to be taken from them. We hunt for trafficking rings. In order to do those things, we stay in good with other clubs. We sometimes take jobs escorting people through a territory. Or we eliminate threats to others. We’re careful, but we do what we were trained to do.”
He didn’t take his gaze from hers. She stared at him for a very long time. He heard the clock ticking. He wanted to put his arms around her and hold her as tightly as he could, but he made himself stay relaxed, as if this moment wasn’t every bit as important as every other moment since he’d asked her to tell him she loved him.
“You were trained as assassins.”
He nodded. “Yes, we were.”
“Is that what you do best?”
Was it? He frowned at her. “Maybe. I don’t know. We’re damn good. I’m as good at killing as I am at saving lives, probably better, but I don’t know if that’s what we do best. I’d have to say it’s hunting pedophiles. We started perfecting our technique at a very young age. We were like a wolf pack, spreading out, each of us doing his or her job in order to find them, corner them and kill them without getting caught.”
She pressed a kiss over his heart and looked back up at him. Waiting.
“They set traps for us, but we always stuck to the plans. Always. No one deviated, because that meant death. We’re good at it, baby, maybe the best in the world.”
“Okay, then.”
“Okay?”
“Just don’t get caught in traps or deviate from the plans. I want my man alive.”
Relief swept through him. It was so strong that he felt weak. “Need sleep, baby. Just stay there and close your eyes.” He glanced at the clock. “I told the others we’d leave after ten. We’re buying you new boots, and don’t give me shit. You need them.” He tipped her face up, took her mouth and kissed her thoroughly.
She laid her head on his chest and he let himself drift off, knowing Maestro and Keys had just switched shifts so the other could sleep. Breezy was well guarded.
FOURTEEN
They arrived in Slidell, Louisiana, at five in the morning. They’d made good time, but stopping had been necessary and that had slowed them down. Steele was getting edgy over the delays. Now it was growing light and all of them were tired. He needed them at their sharpest. They had rented a house neighboring their target overlooking the lake, and they slept, taking turns keeping eyes on the house where Bridges was most likely holding Zane.
The information Steele had gotten from Bruiser and then Scalp had been enough to bring them here. This was where Bridges’s old man had a family home. It was right on the lake, a large estate, and the last three of Bridges’s texts had come from this area. Code had the exact address and had informed them that Boone was most likely in residence because every other family member was gone. It stood to reason that if Bridges was in the area, he would be at that family estate.
The Abernathy estate was composed of several acres overlooking the lake. The house was enormous, reputed to be twelve thousand square feet, with six bedrooms and as many full bathrooms and a couple of half baths.
Code had gotten the plans to the house and sent them. It had a marble foyer and grand staircase, a sunroom and a private library with a separate entrance, which was good for them. They had the locations of each bedroom and bath, formal dining room and massive kitchen. Code even found which security company was used and had managed to get a hold of the actual layout for it. That was Code. If it was digital anywhere, it was his.
The back of the house was mostly glass to take advantage of the lake. The backyard of the Abernathy estate was an oasis—a beautiful area specifically for entertaining and enjoying the weather and the lake. There was an inviting pool that lazily wound around a spa and fountain where water spilled over rocks, falling from fountain to spa to pool.
The cabana and bar were located to the left on the expansive lawn that led down to the boathouse. The estate had a manicured landscape that rolled right into the large pier that ran out over the water. Two boats were suspended beneath a covered canopy just beside the pier.
The nearest neighbor was a good distance away, too far to ever question any noises coming from the mansion or guest cabins. Torpedo Ink had gotten a lucky break. The neighbor used his home as a vacation property, renting it out when he wasn’t using it, and Code had managed to get them in for a week’s use. The house came with all the amenities, including a boat. Of course, they’d paid extra for that, but money didn’t matter to them and finding Zane did.
Preacher lay up on the roof studying the estate, looking for signs of life. There were two trucks parked at the back of the house and one near the cabin. He’d been up there for hours—since before dawn. Humidity was a bitch and the mosquitoes could be a problem, but he didn’t move, nor did he take his eyes off the house. Transporter was on the other side with glasses, watching the cabin. Mechanic was watching the road.
They’d sent the license plate numbers of each vehicle to Code. He hadn’t yet responded but Steele had a gut feeling they had come to the right place. Wealthy families weren’t immune from having sons like Boone, mean men who robbed others and felt they were entitled to take what they wanted rather than work for it. Boone seemed to have passed that trait on to Bridges, who’d clearly passed it on to Junk.
That made Steele think about what he wanted to give his son. Certainly, the ability to protect himself. He was going to continue Breezy’s self-defense training as well as ask the others to help him with that. All of the women and children should be taught. They needed a shooting range. He’d have to talk to Czar and have it put on the list of businesses they would open. An indoor shooting range would be good as well as one outdoors. Somewhere to teach self-defense classes as well. His mind went over the possibilities, allowing him to keep from losing his sanity as they waited.
It was difficult, looking at the serenity of that house in the early morning hours, to think that his son might be held prisoner there. For one terrible moment he remembered a little boy, no more than four, thrown down the basement stairs where he tumbled soundlessly, rolling until he hit Steele’s legs. Steele was in chains and couldn’t cushion him. Couldn’t reach for him. There was no way to help him. The boy had died three hours later, staring at him. Never once did he make a sound until that last rattle of his breath.
Breezy came up beside him as he stared out the window, looking at the quiet estate next door. Her hand slid up his back as she moved into him and then she was in front of him, frowning. Her fingers slid over his face from his eye to his jaw, and just that small touch seemed to quiet the demons in him.
“Honey.” She wrapped her arms around his waist in an effort to comfort him.
He felt like a fucking pussy to have her see tears tracking down his face. What the hell was wrong with him? “I’m good,” he said, his voice gruff. He was. He had to be. He wasn’t going to be worth anything to his son—or to her—if he didn’t stop letting the present situation trigger memories of his past. He couldn’t think about his son in the hands of madmen, not when he needed to be sane and rational.
Breezy didn’t respond to his bullshit, but then she often didn’t. She seemed to know when to soothe him just by staying quiet. He wrapped his arms around her and dropped his chin to the top of her head, inhaling her scent. He was supposed to be the one comforting her, but right at that moment, he knew it was the other way around.
Breezy had a quiet strength that he counted on. He’d taken the lead when they’d been together for that one perfect year. He was always going to take the lead. He’d been doing it since he was a child and had been ripped from his parents and brought to the hellhole Sorbacov called a school. He was good at thinking through problems and coming up with solutions.
Breezy was good at life. S
he read people, but not in the same way he did. He had been taught to assess people with the idea of getting close to them, so he could seduce and kill them. He looked for weaknesses and he used them against people. Breezy read people with the compassion in her. She did it and quietly set about helping them, giving them whatever it was they needed. She’d done that for him the entire year they’d been together.
His woman had focused on him and given him everything he could possibly want or need. She’d anticipated and provided. She’d done so quietly and without thought of him giving back. He hoped he hadn’t taken her for granted, but knew he had. That was one of the biggest lessons he’d learned in her absence. He’d had three years to figure out everything that he’d done wrong.
Steele had no trouble turning the spotlight on himself and analyzing his strengths and weaknesses. He did it all the time. He had no understanding of people who pretended their failings away. How could you fix what was wrong if you didn’t admit to it first? He had made up his mind that he would find her and when he did, he would offer her the world. He wanted her to always have more reasons to stay with him than to go.
Breezy wasn’t the type of woman who would stay for money or advantage. She would stay for love. He knew that. He respected that. And he was going to make certain she felt it in the way she made him feel when they were together. It was just when they were away from each other that he found his demons rising to tell him there was no way she could love what a monster he was.
“I’m going to have to get quite a few tatts when we get home, baby,” he murmured softly.
She tilted her head to look up at him. “One will do.”