The Egyptian stood stone still over the dead man, his back to Clint. Blood smeared his right hand—the one used to slit the man’s throat. Clint moved closer. “You all right?”
Cochise didn’t answer; brow tight, eyes vacant.
“Hey.” Clint touched his shoulder. “What is it?”
Cochise blinked and slowly raised his hand, rubbing his bloody fingers together. “Is it just an act?” he murmured.
“What?”
“Our lives…” Cochise looked at Clint. “…at home. We pretend to be…family men. But this…” he held up his blood-stained hand. “…is what we really are.”
Clint stared at him. “It’s not an act. That part of us and this part are not two complete opposites. It is the same. We protect our family. And this…” He grabbed Cochise’s wrist and gripped hard. “…allows us to do that by any means necessary. The two go hand in hand. We do what we have to do to take care of our own.” He squeezed Cochise’s wrist tighter. “Without this—what do you think would have happened to Jules? To Callum? This keeps the people we love safe.”
“This,” Cochise whispered tightly, clutching his hand into a bloody fist. “Tried to kill Gianni Venetti. An innocent kid.” Guilt and pain pulsated behind the man’s gray eyes. “This and family do not go hand in hand. I cannot be John’s father—I killed his father.” His eyes darkened with the shadows of his past mistakes. “Out of pure fucking revenge.” He stared at Clint, his facial muscles knotting as he clenched his jaw. “You said even I deserved to be happy.” He shook his head. “I don’t. I don’t deserve a fucking thing that’s waiting for me back home. Somehow you made the transition with Axel, and you do deserve it. But you’re not the one who shot a kid just to even a fucking score.” His throat worked and brow pinched tighter. “Eye for an eye. One of his for one of ours. That’s what I told Venetti—right after I put a fucking bullet in his son’s head.”
That was a night Clint would never forget; it haunted his dreams. Cochise wasn’t just “haunted” though; he was fucking tormented every second of his life.
He was in the way…I guess that makes him collateral damage. Cochise’s final words to Carlo Venetti before emptying his gun into the man’s head.
Clint stared at his friend; his brother. The man was suffering a slow death. Clint gripped his shoulder. “A man can’t go back and change his past,” he murmured. “He can only move forward. Being a father to John…that’s a step forward. You could have left him in the hospital, alone, and let him wake up to an empty world with no one to look after him, care for him…love him. But you didn’t do that. You made sure there was someone waiting for him, someone to take him home and make him part of a family.” Clint took hold of his wrist again and raised his bloody hand. “This is not who you are. It’s simply what you do to keep your family safe. A family that knows about this…and loves you regardless.” He shook his head. “Don’t say you don’t deserve what’s waiting for you at home, my friend; you damn well deserve it all.”
An uncharacteristic dampness glistened the Egyptian’s eyes. “And when they learn the truth about John…do you really think they’re still going to love me? Do you think John is going to forgive and forget? I killed his father. I tried to kill him. Do you think he’s going to give a fuck if I’m sorry?” he released a hard breath. “There’s no going forward. Not from that. I will lose everything…as I should.”
Clint started to counter his argument when Cory entered the room with Cruz, Sanchez, and a few of their guys. Clint cast Cochise another glance then turned to the other men. “Let’s get this done and get home.”
♦
“Take it easy.” Anthony reached out and took away the bottle of scotch from Angelo. “You want to be clear-headed when they bring those fuckers to us.”
A lead ball of fear sat heavily in Angelo’s gut. He couldn’t relax until Jules was safe at home again…until he saw him with his own eyes and held him in his arms-
The front door opened and distant muffled voices drifted up the hallway along with the sound of…
Angelo trembled and gripped the edge of the bar, breath quickening. All eyes turned to the doorway as Cowboy exploded into the room so excited he was practically tripping over his own paws. His throat knotting as tears filled his eyes, Angelo moved unsteadily from behind the bar. Please, God…
“Papa Jo!” Jules burst through the doorway, eyes bright and an ear to ear grin spread across his sweet face.
“Jules…” Angelo choked and sank to his knees in a single move as the child dove into his arms, hugging his neck with as much strength as his little arms could muster. Sobs rose inside Angelo and he clung to Jules, tears spilling down his face. Thank you, God…thank you…thank you…He broke down completely, his hand cupped against the back Jules’ head, and cried openly.
He didn’t know just when Adrian and Anthony kneeled next to him, but simply became aware of their arms wrapped around him and Jules, their tears mixing with Angelo’s own.
“My little man,” Anthony whispered with a tremor and kissed Jules’ soft hair. “Thank you, God,” he shuddered as a sob lodged in his throat. “Thank you.”
The presence of others filled the room and Angelo slowly raised his head, vision blurry. Colton stood close by, quietly watching them. Just behind him…
Angelo let go of Jules and nearly lunged to his feet, startling the other two men beside him. “You,” he choked, rage boiling up inside him as his eyes locked on the kid standing with Colton. “You fuck!” He moved forward, fists clenching. “I’ll fucking kill you!”
The kid stared at him wide-eyed and scared shitless, taking an unsteady step back.
“Wait!” Colton blocked Angelo’s path and held out his hand, warding off the enraged man. “Just…wait. Callum…he fucked up by taking Jules, but he tried to bring him back.”
“What?” Swallowing thickly, Angelo stared at the young man, noting the bruises on his face and his cut lip. “You…” his throat worked as the anger lingered, sizzling his blood. “You were going to bring him home?”
Callum nodded hesitantly. “I-I tried. Twice. But I couldn’t…I couldn’t get him out. I-I swear, I tried. I’m sorry.” Tears formed. “I’m sorry I took him. I am.”
Jules wriggled out of the men’s arms and ran over to Angelo, grabbing his hand. “He tried to bring me home, Papa Jo. He did. Uncle Tazz and Blade got him and beat him up. They’re mean.” His face scrunched. “Really mean.”
Angelo picked him up and hugged him again, holding him tight.
Coming closer, Anthony frowned. “Jules? Son, where are your boots?”
♦
“We’re going to do this nice and quiet,” Clint said. “Scatter them and pick them off one by one. I want Tazz alive. He goes back to guest room with the other fucker.” He turned to Cruz. “You got the stuff?”
Cruz nodded and motioned to one his guys; a young man in his early-to-mid-twenties with short black hair and hazel eyes. “Diego.”
The young man brought a small metal box to Cruz and opened it up. “Homemade smoke bombs, as requested.” He had a charming grin and gleam in his eyes that reminded Clint of Shay. “Ready to smoke them out?” Diego practically jittered with anticipation, eager to get the party started.
Clint nodded and Diego took two of the smoke bombs from the box and handed the rest to Cruz. “Let’s stick this pig.”
“Hey.” Cruz grabbed his arm when the young man started to scoot down the corridor. “Be extracareful, you hear me? No crazy stunts. You have a baby on the way. If something happens to you, Marissa will string me up by the balls.”
Diego grinned. “Been there.” He winced and clutched his crotch. “You definitely don’t want that.” He laughed low and winked. “No worries, my brother, I shall be in and out like a flash.”
“Marissa’s complained about that exact thing,” Sanchez quipped.
Shooting Sanchez a wounded look, Diego replied with a smirk, “Ouch.”
Cruz chuckled quietly. “Get it done and get back here—in a flash.”
The kid winked again and slipped down the corridor, half crouched, legs nimble, movements fluid and silent. When he came to the turn that would take him out of sight, he cast a quick look back at Cruz, grinned and vanished around the corner. Cruz looked anxious as he addressed his boys. “Get ready to move.”
The small group crept forward stealthily, led by Clint and Cory. Cochise took up the rear, knife in hand. Clint nodded at Cory and they both unsheathed their blades.
A sudden commotion broke out and seconds later, Diego was back with them.
“Go,” Clint hissed low as he and Cory moved quickly down the corridor, followed by Cruz and his men. The main area of the warehouse echoed with shouts and coughing. Someone yelled above the din that the building was on fire as Cruz’s men outside lit up the front of the warehouse. Clint made his way to the opening into the large room. Smoke sifted back into the corridor and filled up the front portion of the structure. Bodies scampered haphazardly through the smoke, trying to find direction as they gagged on the rancid stench. Clint remained motionless as he peered through the haze and locked on the one man who was keeping it together and barking orders at the others, though few seemed to be hearing him.
Tazz.
A body nearly crashed into Clint as one of the men found the opening to the corridor and ran through, coughing hard. Cory grabbed him before the guy could register their presence and put him down, quick and efficiently.
“I’ll get Tazz,” Clint told Cruz. “You and your boys take care of the others.”
“This can’t be the entire gang.” Cory discarded the body and moved closer to Clint.
Clint shook his head. “It isn’t. But I’m betting these are his main enforcers. Take these out, and the rest of the gang—wherever they’re holed up—will likely break apart. And if they’re foolish enough to come after us, we’ll bury them with the rest.”
Diego snatched another smoke bomb from the metal box and grinned. “One more for good measure?”
Clint nodded.
“Bien entonces.” Diego laughed low, stepped forward, ignited the canister and tossed it out into the other room, heightening the chaos.
Nodding at the other men, Clint motioned them forward. “Cory. Diego,” he said. “Come with me. As soon as we take Tazz, you two get him outside while we clean up the mess in here.”
“We don’t get to help?” Diego looked disappointed.
“Do what he says,” Cruz told the young man. “You shouldn’t even be here in the first place.”
Neither should Cory. Clint should have sent him home with Colton. He hadn’t, but Clint did mean to get him out of harm’s way as soon as possible, regardless how skilled and efficient he was in these situations. The only reason Anthony allowed him to come along was because of Jules, but Jules was safe now and it was time for Cory to remove himself from the battle.