Page 11

Chapter Eleven

Shaw

E ver since I got out of the military, my job has been private security. Easton likes to put Leo and me on high-profile targets. When we were told we’d be going to work for Callahan, we automatically assumed that we would be working directly with the senator. He has some political viewpoints that I don’t agree with in the least, but working with high-profile clients means keeping your skills honed.

I don’t have to like someone to do my job.

It’s just part of the contract.

Keep them alive.

Get paid.

Learning we’d actually be shadowing the senator’s teenage daughter was almost insulting at first.

Leo and I are snipers.

I know my skill set and where I can be most useful. Unfortunately, those jobs don’t come up often, at least Stateside. Three or four times a year, at most, is all Easton has ever needed us for long-range kills.

If you call in snipers, you know you won’t get discretion. Sure, it can be an anonymous kill, but there’s no passing it off as an accident or a heart attack or even a carjacking gone wrong.

At least in the US, sniping hits are a big deal.

The press and the Feds take notice.

Internationally, it’s much more common, but even with international combat pay, I’ve never been a fan of lack of air conditioning, questionable drinking water, or long-ass flights to get to whatever hellhole we were being sent to.

That would be why I drug Leo with me through multiple interviews and information sessions at several of the international mercenary companies. I’d heard good things from buddies who left the service before I did, but none of those options felt like a good fit.

We both wanted a home base in the US and to know the majority of our jobs would be domestic.

Luckily, we stumbled upon Shadow Security. Even with as much of a dick as he is, East is the best boss I’ve ever had. It also helps that I don’t have to worry if I’ll have a moral objection when he hands over a kill contract. We still took them on occasion, even while living with Saylor. East would send in a backup team for a week or two under the guise of us taking a vacation or family emergency.

And the little omega was none the wiser.

Or so I thought.

Apparently, the senator has a big fucking mouth.

It blows my mind that Saylor always understood the scope of our jobs. Her age was fifty percent of the reason we kept our distance—she really did need time to date and grow into her own. The other fifty percent was not wanting to let her get tangled up in our line of work.

It’s why we’ve been working our asses off for the last three years. She’s going to come into her inheritance once she turns twenty-one, but Leo and I wanted to be able to provide a decent life for her without her ever needing to touch that. Sure, she’d have it if she wanted it, but we planned to buy a house and spend all of our time showing her how much we want to build a future together.

We want her for her.

Not her obscene inheritance.

I don’t come from money.

I grew up lower middle class. We had the necessities but not much else. Being the oldest of three kids, I always knew I’d need to make my own way. The military gave me that freedom, but the private sector is what’ll allow me to retire by thirty-five.

My dads still haven’t retired, but they love working outdoors. They own a small farm in Tennessee, but they’ll be passing that on to my little brothers. They’ll be happier running things than I ever would. Even as a kid, I wanted no part of mucking stalls and rising at dawn to let the chickens out of their coop. I did it out of respect for my family, but that life isn’t for me.

My head shakes.

Ending up here wasn’t in the plans either.

I do my best to physically shake away the resentment, but it doesn’t help.

Saylor willingly bonded those two.

She knows Valor killed those guys he was locked in with, and she still looks at him with hearts in her eyes.

That means she could have done the same for me.

That little omega has no idea the lengths I would go to keep her safe, but it makes me feel…tainted. Like she’s far too good to end up with someone like me.

Only, she already has.

A slow smile crosses my face as I realize the senator is eventually going to meet Omen. That pretentious fuck is going to shit a golden brick when he gets a look at that beta. Hell, Valor has neck tattoos too, and his trail up his neck to the underside of his jaw.

They have that rough-around-the-edges appearance that would never mesh with American politics. Hopefully that means Senator Callahan will finally back the fuck off and leave Saylor to live her life in peace. If he was a decent father, I might feel guilty for hoping he stays the fuck away, but the man isn’t worthy of her time.

All he wants to do is to control her so she can’t impact his rankings in the polls.

* * *

While Valor is busy talking to the giant red-haired alpha, I do a little covert searching for McCabe. It’s a pain in the ass having to search through the grated ceiling, but no matter how many times I pass the halls, I can’t find him.

Nor does he seek me out.

The only idea I have hinges on getting a message to Ridge or Easton. If they can get us out of here before Amato comes to claim his assets, then we’ll have the upper hand. Between Ridge, Leo, and myself, we could take Amato and his men.

Unfortunately, I have no way to make any of that happen without McCabe.

I eventually give up, making my way back to the cafeteria. Since I’m inside the room, I assume I’d be safe to pull off the annoying mask, but there’s really no point. I intend to bring food back for Saylor, and I’ll eat with her to try to coax her into nibbling on something.

This place does nothing for my appetite either. Not knowing how everything is going to play out is giving me indigestion.

Normally, I’m good at rolling with the punches, but that doesn’t apply when Saylor is in the mix. Keeping her safe is my number one goal. And I’ll do whatever is necessary to make that happen… Even watch over a fully capable alpha who’s a motherfucking beast in his own right.

Working private security has trained me well for this mission.

Most of the time, it’s boring as shit.

You secure your client and watch over the crowd, exactly like I’m doing as I lean against the wall near the back of the cafeteria.

Valor stands next to the equally large red-haired man. They’re by the corridor that leads to the women’s rooms. If I were them, I’d have my back to the wall to ensure I could appraise any approaching threats, but they’re both turned toward each other, almost as if they’re in a heated debate about something.

A pair of men approach from my left. It’s the direction the basketball court is in. I’m still not sure if it’s open at all hours when we’re free of our cells or if it’s something that’s only accessible at certain times.

My head tilts as I study the two men. They’re interested in Valor or the guy he’s talking to, and that niggles at my instincts. Shoving off the wall, I weave through the tables, keeping my eyes on the men, but staying close to the side of the room that Valor is on.

The closer I get, the easier it is to see the newcomers look like shit. The shorter of the two has light blond hair, icy blue eyes, and a hell of a cut on his cheek. It’s closed, which indicates some level of healing, but it’s fresh—not more than a week old, if I had to guess. He also has bruising around his neck and one side of his forehead.

The taller man has darker blond hair and brown eyes. He’s in better shape than the other, but he’s rocking two shiners. Someone fucked him up, and based solely on his interest in Valor and the red-haired guy, I’m going to guess there’s a reason why they’re glaring.

The taller man drops to a crouch, like he’s about to tie his shoe, but I’ve seen that move a hundred times.

I’m too far away to be able to reach him, so I do a quick search for anything I can use as a weapon.

I’ve never felt as naked as I do in this shithole. Even the chairs are bolted to the table.

Two women sit at the table just in front of me. They have plastic utensils like we all use at meals, but those trays have some weight behind them.

I stride over, grabbing one of their trays and dumping the remnants on the table. It’s mostly trash, but the woman yelps, asking something in German that I can’t make out.

The man pops to his feet, partially concealing the blade in his hand.

“Motherfucker,” I hiss, pulling the tray up. “Valor!” I’d rather be needlessly cautious than to watch him take a knife to the kidney.

Why does he have to be in the middle of any problem to pop up in this place?

The man flings the blade at Valor’s side, and I chuck the tray directly into its path, hoping my timing is right.

Being able to gauge when and where a bullet will land with wind speed and direction is one thing. Stopping a flying knife is another completely.

The plastic tray collides with the knife handle, sending it flying at an angle.

The tip of the blade embeds in the plastic garbage can two feet away from Valor.

I nod, letting out a relieved whoosh when I see he spun and crouched at my warning.

Now I have to determine if either of those assailants have any other weapons.

I take off, jumping onto the chair of the next table and using it to propel me to the tabletop.

Valor growls. “Sergei, Vlad, I can’t lie. I hoped I’d killed you.” He’s at an angle behind me, making it impossible to know for sure what he’s doing. Based on sound alone, it seems he’s joining this fray, which is the opposite of what he’s supposed to be doing.

I hit the last table and hop down with a foot on each seat.

The taller man turns toward me, taking a swing, but I kick him in the ribs. He stumbles into his friend but quickly rights himself before tackling me onto the tabletop. The backs of my knees dig into the edge of the table, and the fucker wraps his hands around my throat, strangling me.

Valor hits the shorter man like a ton of bricks, but I can’t see anything as dickhead number one does his best to cut off my oxygen.

He’s got the upper hand. With his feet firmly planted against the ground, he’s able to use them as leverage.

Instead of panicking or trying to pry off his grip, I wrap my legs around his right leg, which is the one on my left. My hands dig into his back as I roll with all my strength.

Dick number one’s head bounces to the side, and it does make it significantly easier to propel him off the edge of the table.

Valor’s hand levitates in front of my face as commotion fills the air. I blocked it out in the heat of the moment, but it was always there as background noise.

I grab his hand, and he pulls me up.

“I had that,” I hear myself say as I rub at my neck. Who the fuck knows why that’s what I lead with, but I cringe. Way to sound like a total prick. “Thank you.”

“I should have broken their necks last time. I won’t make the same mistake again,” Valor growls, kicking dick number one in the side of the skull as he scrambles to get back up.

Idiot number two staggers to his feet, and I shove myself up, landing a right hook to his jaw. His eyes go vacant, and I almost laugh as he does the starfish back flop against one of the other tables.

“Come on, we can dispose of them on the court without an audience,” Valor growls, bending and grabbing dickhead number one’s foot.

“Didn’t you promise the pretty lass you’d stay out of trouble?” the red-haired man asks, laughing.

“Fuck off, Conrad,” Valor grumbles.

* * *

I toss idiot number two on the basketball court, shivering when a cutting gust of wind slides through the fence.

The guards don’t come onto the block unless the prisoners are locked down. That makes me wonder if this is where they direct everyone to bring injured prisoners or if this is just Valor’s favorite dumping grounds.

“Is this where—” I spin around, frowning as my head tilts.

Valor has the first guy in a headlock, and it looks like he’s ensuring the man never wakes up.

“Hey,” I hiss, jabbing a finger in his direction. “What the hell are you doing? I promised Saylor I wouldn’t let you get into any trouble.”

“Finishing what I should have the first time,” Valor says, and the veins on his forearm poke out as he tightens his hold.

“Cold-blooded murder is a lot different than self-defense,” I say, feeling like a righteous hypocrite. They attacked first, which is enough for me. And at the same time, he’s already on thin ice. I’m not about to let him get himself into even worse trouble. “It’s not worth it.”

“They attacked Saylor,” Valor snarls. “Her first day here. She wasn’t willing, and they would have had no problem forcing the issue.”

My head tilts, his words replaying in my mind until it clicks.

Well, that changes things.

“Drop him and get your ass back inside,” I growl, falling to my knees next to the fucker who won’t be waking up. “I’ve got this.”

Breaking a neck doesn’t always mean immediate death, but depending on which vertebrae crack, it can be instantaneous. Otherwise, it’s a slow death as the body is starved of oxygen and the organs shut down one by one.

The movies make it seem like it’s a simple left-to-right motion, but that’s only half of it. You also need an upward trajectory, and if you can cause severe tearing to the carotid artery, that speeds up the process significantly. It causes mini strokes, and the victim can bleed out without ever needing to break the skin. Technically, it’s probably hemorrhaging, but either way, it gets the job done.