“HOUSTON…WE HAVE A PROBLEM,” Cam mumbled.
They were in Denver, and it was fucking chilly. Not as cold as Chicago had been but the weather in both states had only made Drae yearn for the warmth of the Arizona sun.
Having gone to stealth mode the minute they’d arrived, he and Cam had checked into a crappy hotel that had its work cut out for it trying to hold on to a three star rating.
Leaving anything that even remotely seemed expensive on the plane, they looked like two thirty-something blue collar guys, backpacks in hand and several days’ scruff marking their faces. They’d paid for the adjoining rooms with a debit card reserved for just this type of occasion instead of flashing the black Amex each of them had at the ready. In short—they did nothing that would draw any attention their way.
Hearing there was a problem? Shit. Now what. “Spit it out, bro. And don’t sugarcoat it.”
Cam snickered, took a bite of the greasy quarter pounder on the table in front of him and fixed Drae with a serious look.
“It’s worse than we thought. This is more than a college flit and a music festival.”
“How much worse?”
Taking a pull from the straw of a gigantic soda, Cam nodded his head and scowled.
“Big time worse. He’s got a bookie on his ass. Don’t have all the details but his phone records show almost daily calls to some douchenozzle going by the name Eddie Balls.”
“Oh, for God’s sake,” Drae snapped.
“Yep. I know. His girlfriend has a yappy thing happening on Facebook. Apparently, nothing is too personal to blab to the entire fucking world. Luckily, her over-sharing is what’s leading us right to him.”
Drae digested this information and thought it all through. “Does everyone know who he is? I mean, is it common knowledge where he comes from and who his father is?”
“No. Not as far as I can tell. The University has him registered as Mark Allen. His real name, Majid al-Alain, appears nowhere.”
“Thank Christ for that.”
“Yeah. Agreed—but…the dumb fucker has been throwing money around like he’s printing it in his dorm. He started off betting on sporting events, and then moved on to the horses. Classic tough-guy, wannabe BMOC behavior.”
“Motherfucker,” Drae groaned. “I’m gonna Big Man on Campus his dumb ass when I get a hold of him.”
“Grab the keys to the rental and let’s go check out his motel. See what’s crapening.”
Twenty minutes later, they were parked down the street from a seedy, one-story motor court with a dozen rooms that looked like it had been in this part of town for a century. There were a couple of cars and trucks parked in front and the old office, which was detached from the other building, had a NO VACANCY sign in the window.
It was Cam who sauntered into the office to see what he could find out. The man did scruff a thousand times better than Drae did, something he had to admit as he glanced at his reflection in the rearview mirror. Even when he looked like shit, his fair coloring and rigid swagger earned more attention than it deflected.
“Which room are they in?” Drae asked as Cameron slid back into the passenger seat.
“End one, dammit.”
“Fuck,” Drae bit out. The rooms on the end were always the most exposed. “Is there a rear door? An alleyway?
“Both,” Cam sighed. “Laundry room in the rear and a two bin dumpster backed against some woods that stretch into the next block. Plenty of hiding spots. Manager says there’s also a path leading to a convenience store on the next street.”
“Kid picked a great time to not flash some bills,” Drae replied. Concern was crowding his thoughts as he picked apart the situation facing them. “Do you know if he’s in there?”
“No, but the girl is. Manager has a hard-on for her sophomore ass and has been watching. Probably waiting to come on to her if he catches her alone in the laundry. Piece of work, that one. Iraq Vet—which is the only reason why he gave up any information at all.”
“Hmph,” he growled. “Will he mind his own fucking business or do we have to watch out for him, too?”
“He asked if we did bounty. Think he wanted a cut if there was money on the line. I told him the kid owed us and we were here to collect. He backed off after that and let slip that we aren’t the only bad asses asking about who’s in room one.”
“Shit.”
“Yep. And just for shits ‘n grins, there are a couple of working girls at the other end. It’s quiet now but once the sun goes down, well…we won’t be the only guys lurking in the shadows. What do you think we should do?”
Drae was already running options in his head. Time was not on their side. “Got an email from Calder. Sharif has flown out of London—on his way to Chicago. We’ve gotta wrap this kid up and get him out of here before this becomes an international incident.”
“Hold up. Look,” Cam murmured tilting his head at the motel. “There’s the girlfriend.”
They watched while the coed stood in the doorway to the room and spoke to whoever else was there. Hopefully, it was Majid. She fished around in the satchel slung over her shoulder, nodded a few times, then closed the door and took off at a fast clip—slipping behind the building and out of sight.
“Convenience store run?” Cam questioned out loud.
Drae was already pocketing the car keys and unbuttoning his old denim jacket. “Cocked, locked, and ready to rock, bro. Let’s do this thing while we have a chance.”
They were out of the car and across the street with Cam taking up point at the window next to the door while Drae surveyed the area to make sure no one else was around. On instinct, he hugged the corner of the building and quickly peeked when a beefy paw came out of fucking nowhere and caught his jaw with a ferocious punch. It was a hell and a hand basket moment that quickly escalated.
Next thing either of them knew two tremendous thugs, muscle for the pissed off bookie no doubt, were laying down one hell of a fight as Drae and Cam went into ass-kicking mode. They might have surprised the hell out of him with that initial punch, but Drae wasn’t someone to be fucked with in a physical confrontation. And neither was Cam.
Fists flew, legs kicked, punches landed and blood dripped. In less than two minutes, they’d dropped both meat heads onto the pavement—looked around then calmly forced open the door to the motel room to find a shocked looking Majid cowering in a corner. They quickly dragged both unconscious men inside and slammed the door.
“What the fuck, Majid!” Drae barked as he angrily stalked into the bathroom, grabbed a washcloth that he swiftly soaked with cold water and tossed to Cam who had an ugly gash on his temple that was oozing blood down the side of his face.
He knew his own face hadn’t fared much better, conscious of the taste of blood in his mouth and the rapid swelling in one eye. Pretending his rib cage wasn’t on fire was going to be a lost cause. His knuckles were seriously fucked up, raw and bloody, and dammit if his favorite sunglasses weren’t in several pieces outside on the pavement. Drae almost laughed. Here, two steroid-crazed muscle men had just tried to fuck him up and he was cool-headedly lamenting the loss of a fucking pair of Ray-Bans.
“Drae? Jesus Christ. You scared the fucking shit outta me.” Majid was white as a sheet and definitely looked like he’d seen better days. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
Drae sneered at him and tossed Cam the cord from the clock radio on the nightstand that he yanked off. “Tie ‘em together back-to-back. Make it hard for them to get up when they come to. Will give us time to disappear.”
“Charlie Mike,” Cam drawled while casting Majid a dark scowl. “Motherfucking stupid-ass kid,” he muttered under his breath while he set about putting Thing One and Thing Two in a Chinese knot that’d take them some time to wrangle out of.
“I’m here, you little snot, because your dad is having an epic meltdown over you disappearing. Seriously, Majid. What in the fucking fuck is wrong with you? Did you really think you could go off radar and not expect Dashur to sit up and take notice? You’re a goddamn crowned prince, not some hipster dumbass. Although judging by the trail of stupidity we followed to locate you, dumbass is being nice.”
Fuck. His ribs were killing him and the blood coming from Cam’s head hadn’t lessened. He’d had enough of this shit. Angrily stomping around the room, he picked up a backpack in the corner and tossed it at Majid’s head.
“Pack. Now. You have five minutes tops and then we’re outta here. Where’d your girlfriend go?” Swiping his hand across his mouth, he scowled at the bloody evidence from the altercation with the unconscious thugs and turned murderous eyes on the nineteen-year-old who had been foolish enough to bring all this on.
“Oh, uh….she went to the 7-Eleven around the corner. She’ll be right back.”
“Pack her shit, too, and hurry the fuck up.” Nodding at the two men on the floor he barked, “How much are you in for?”
Majid didn’t pretend not to know what he was talking about.
“Ten grand,” he muttered sheepishly.
Drae glanced at Cam and nodded briefly. “You got this?” he asked.
“Be right back,” he hissed then swiftly exited the room, shutting the door quietly behind him after leveling a savage glare at Majid. Cam hated privileged snots like this kid. Pissed him off royally having come from nothing and fighting, quite literally, through blood and guts to get to a place where he no longer had to worry about where or how he’d lay his head every night.
Sitting carefully on the rickety bed, his arm banded across his stomach, conscious of how bruised his ribs were with every difficult movement, Drae watched Majid who had the good sense to keep his fucking mouth shut while he hurriedly stuffed his belongings into the bag.
“Two minutes,” he growled as the door to the room opened and Cam appeared with the girlfriend in tow.
She was plain and rather unremarkable, something that sort of surprised Drae because if Majid had played the royalty card, he could have had the hottest girl on campus. Even though he was putting his best hard-ass attitude on display, specifically to scare the shit out of the kid, he liked him even more. Maybe there was hope for his sorry, stupid ass.
The girl looked frightened to death. Cam had a way about him when he was in a fury that would have scared every superhero in the Marvel universe. This would all be a funny story to tell later, but right now, they were still in a world of jeopardy.
“Mark,” the girl cried. “What’s happening?” She was shaking like a leaf, clutching her big satchel against her body as if it would protect her from harm as she caught sight of the two thugs tied up on the floor.
Majid hurried to her side. “It’s okay, Nora. They’re friends of mine. But we have to get out of here. I’ve got your stuff, okay? Let’s just go, and I’ll explain later.”
Drae struggled from the end of the bed, walked into the dimly lit bathroom and spit into the sink. He turned on the water, watched the bloody spittle wash away, cupped his hand beneath the faucet and brought it to his mouth. Rinsing as best he could, he glanced in the mirror and noted the bruises on his cheek and around his eye. Fuck. Tori would not be happy. And when Lacey saw the nasty gash on her husband’s forehead? He was pretty sure there’d be some uncharacteristic swearing going on.
They’d come prepared to deal with Majid’s bookie issue. Drae watched impassively as Cam tucked an envelope full of cash into Thing One’s back pocket. When he straightened and nodded, he looked carefully around the room making sure nothing was being left behind.
Shuffling the two college students to the door, he grabbed Majid by the shoulder and demanded, “You all paid up here or do I have to take care of that, too?”
The kid turned beet red and hung his head at Drae’s obvious rebuke.
“Oh for Christ’s sake,” he grumbled, exasperated and frustrated. “Cam?”
Cam stood there and shook his head in disbelief. “Are you fucking kidding?” he snapped.
“Apparently not,” Drae bit out. “You take care of the manager while I get these two fucktards in the car.”
It was over. They’d done what they came to do. Rescued one pathetic wayward Middle Eastern prince, side-stepped a multi-national security crisis, paid off a gambling debt, and gotten out of it in one piece. One bloody and bruised piece, but still.
They drove to the craptacular motel where Cam and Drae had been staying in total silence. Cam did the driving while Drae, too banged up to handle the wheel, tapped away at a series of emails and texts on his phone. The cowering college sweethearts in the backseat had the good sense to remain silent. The tension in that shitty rental car was so thick and heavy you’d need a chainsaw to cut through it.
“Sawyer’s on standby,” he murmured to Cam.
“Good,” the other man muttered. “I’ve had enough of this shit,” he added while glancing into the rearview mirror to shoot Majid a dirty look that almost made Drae laugh. All he could think of just then was poor Dylan. With Cam playing the hard-ass, don’t-fuck-with-me father card, his kid was going to need to watch his P’s and Q’s if he wanted to survive childhood.
When they got to the motel, Cam made quick work of grabbing their stuff while Drae, Majid, and Nora stayed in the car. At one point in the damning silence, Majid had asked what happened next.
He’d started to turn around to answer when his ribs made that impossible so he motioned with his hand for Majid to lean forward.
“How much does she know?” he asked quietly.
“She doesn’t,” came the hesitant answer.
“Well, buck up then dude, ‘cause this ride’s about to get bumpy.”
Cam made his way back into the driver’s seat with a pained grunt. “Can we get the fuck out of here now? I need some goddamn ice and a handful of Ibuprofen.”
“Uh, actually bro, you may need stitches,” Drae told him. “Your head is still bleeding and judging by the old man hunch in your walk, I’d say something heavier than some anti-inflammatories is needed.”
“One thing at a time,” he muttered. “Let’s just get on board and deal with the particulars once we’re in the air.”
Drae heard a faint gasp from the backseat and smirked. Majid has some fast explaining to do because one look at the luxurious private jet waiting for them and his little girlfriend was going to explode with questions. Humph. And wait till he told him the King of Dashur himself was making a cameo in Chicago.
True to his word, Sawyer was waiting when they got to the private airfield. He’d already filed a flight plan, and judging by the flurry of activity happening upon their arrival, the captain was just as anxious as they were to get underway.
“Jesus. You two look like shit,” he remarked as they limped to the steps of the plane. “Need help?”
Drae, who never enjoyed admitting he lacked in anything for any reason, made a wry face and tossed his travel bag at Sawyer. “Yeah. Carry that, would you?”
Cam was bringing up the rear, still with the menacing dark scowl plastered on his face as he tersely told the two kids to hurry the fuck up.
Sawyer had a comical expression on his face as he watched them scurry up the steps into the plane like a gun was being held to their heads.
“Do I even wanna know?” he asked Cam with an ill-disguised laugh.
Once they were out of earshot, Cam dropped his bag on the tarmac and snickered. “Fucking idiots. You’ve got a boy, don’t you, Sawyer?”
“Yeah. Ten years old in January.”
“I hope you’re teaching him to use his fucking head.”
Sawyer grinned. “Oh, you can bet on that! The wife is a teacher. Both our kids are expected to have a brain. She makes dinnertime quite lively, let me tell you. No pop culture bullshit—all current events. At least as much as a twelve-year-old girl and a ten-year-old boy can understand.”
“Well, maybe there’s still hope then,” Drae added. “’Cause this lot,” he bit out, gesturing with a nod to the just departed college students, “are a sorry bunch.”
“Hey, when’s your little one due, St. John? It’s soon, isn’t it?”
“Not soon enough. These last couple of weeks are hell.”
Sawyer gave him a good-natured slap on the back. “Hang in there, buddy. Right, Cam?”
Cameron grinned and let out a booming bark of laughter. “That’s all we men get to do at the end. Just hang in there!”
“Indeed,” Sawyer agreed. “Well, let’s get this show on the road. Next stop Chicago—then it’s back to sunny Arizona.”