“Burn it all.” Cruz ordered as his men drenched the carnage in gasoline. He spotted Cochise and approached the Egyptian. “Where’s Clint? Is he outside with the others?”

Cochise nodded.

“Come on.” He lightly smacked Cochise’s arm. “Let’s get out of here. My boys will finish up with the purging.” Cruz frowned when Cochise didn’t move. “Something wrong?”

A ball of tension pressurized Cochise’s chest; he didn’t want to leave it to Clint to tell the man. “Diego was shot.”

Cruz went still, his breath quickening. “What?” Fear filled his eyes. “Is he…?”

His face straining, Cochise nodded. “It was instant.”

Tears formed as Cruz’s jaw clenched. He started to speak then looked away, his throat working as he shoved his hand through his hair. “Fuck…” his chin trembled and he pressed his lips tight, his face pinching. “Fuck!” Breath shuddered off his lips as the wall of tears held precariously. “Who shot him?”

“Tazz,” Cochise told him. “The man we were after. Adrian’s brother.”

Cruz trembled, fury burning through his wet eyes. “Where is he? Where the fuck is he?”

“Crammed in a trunk out back.” Cruz spun around to head that way and Cochise grabbed him. “We’re taking him back alive. He has many sins to atone for.”

“I won’t kill him,” Cruz whispered thickly, teeth clamped, pinching his words. “But you can’t expect me to just walk away.”

Loosening his grip, Cochise nodded. “Do what you have to,” he said. “Just leave him alive.”

 

♦

 

Clint moved quickly when Cruz came out of the warehouse, tears in his eyes and explosive rage masking his face. “Where is he? Where’s Diego? I want to see him.”

“Here.” Clint directed him to the rear door of the car.

Cruz halted a couple feet away, hesitated, then opened the door. He went deathly still as he stared at Diego’s body and tears swam in his eyes. His rage momentarily gave way to grief and sorrow. “He couldn’t wait to be a dad,” Cruz whispered with an empty tone. “It was all he talked about from the moment he found out Marissa was pregnant.” He swallowed hard and blinked a couple times then closed the door. “Where’s the fucker who did this?” Cruz walked to the back of the car and slammed his palm down on the trunk. “In here?”

“Cruz…” Clint grasped his arm but the man jerked out of his grip and stabbed a finger in Clint’s face.

“Get him out here—now.”

The Egyptian had exited the warehouse right behind Cruz and he nodded at Clint. “Let him take his pound of flesh. We would.”

Clint motioned for Cory to pop the trunk from inside the car. As soon as the lid disengaged, Cruz grabbed Tazz and ripped him out of the trunk, slamming down on the pavement. The man’s head cracked against the concrete, twisting his face in pain as a thick grunt exploded up his throat, muffled by the gag. Cruz dropped to his knees, straddling Tazz’s body, and turned his fists loose. “Motherfucker!”

With each punch that landed, a burning tingle rippled through Clint’s hands, curling them into fists. The urge to join Cruz in the assault consumed him but he held his ground. Adrenaline pumped through him as blood shot from Tazz’s mouth, splattering the hard ground, his face a bloody mess of cuts and bruises as Cruz utilized every ounce of his strength to deliver the hits. Cruz choked on his rage and grief, tears running down his face, and pounded the fucker into the concrete…harder and harder…

Cochise stepped forward and caught Cruz’s wrist, halting him as his arm cocked back for another explosive blow to the man’s face. “All right,” he spoke low—almost tender—and lifted Cruz to his feet. Cruz was shaking, bloody fists clenched. The quick brutal beating wasn’t sufficient to calm the rage or ease the pain, but he made no attempt to resume. He walked back over to the car and stared in at Diego. A blankness filled his eyes as fresh tears formed.

“Brother,” Clint murmured and moved closer. He pulled the younger man into his arms and hugged him hard. “He will suffer. I promise you.”

Cruz withdrew and wiped his face. Sanchez appeared at his side, an equally distraught look on his face as he surveyed Diego’s body. The rest of their men emerged from the warehouse as the interior went up in flames. Clearing his throat, Cruz mumbled, “Let’s go.”

Would it be up to him to inform Diego’s wife that she’d lost her husband today? Clint already saw it in the man’s eyes—the burden of guilt settling down on his shoulders. Clint recognized it with ease; he still bore his own burdens.

 

♦

 

Tazz was dumped into a different trunk while Cruz and Sanchez took the car with Diego’s body. Clint, Cory, and Cochise caught a ride with a couple of Cruz’s men who delivered their cargo to the outer basement entrance of the Sanitini residence. Emilio—one of the men who had kept watch over Clint’s brother while he was strung up in the guest room—helped them usher their two new “guests” inside. The men were stripped naked then tied up with chains, suspended in the center of the room, just the tips of their toes reaching the floor.

Emilio approached Tazz and stared at his swollen, bruised face. “You boys fucked up when you fucked with this family.”

Clint liked Emilio. The kid was young and raw, but didn’t flinch when it came to the workings of a torture chamber. Some people had to adapt to their world; Emilio was born for it.

The young man walked over to Clint. “You’ll take care of them?” The anguish of his friend’s death resonated in his eyes. “Throw in a little extra pain and suffering for Diego?”

“Count on it.” Clint nodded.

Emilio looked down. “Diego and Marissa were so in love,” he murmured with emotion. “I don’t know if she’ll ever recover from this.”

Clint had spent two-and-a-half decades suffering the loss of Donny. If not for Axel…he was certain he would still be suffering. “I’m sorry,” Clint offered sincerely. “This was supposed to be a clean sweep, with everyone going home safe and sound.”

Clearing his throat, Emilio raised his eyes. “I guess it’s never a guarantee, is it? Even the simplest jobs can go wrong.”

“Yeah,” Clint whispered.

Emilio breathed deep and released is slowly. He held out his hand. “I guess I’ll be heading out.”

Clint clasped his hand. “Take care. Let us know when and where Diego’s funeral will be held. We’ll be there.”

“I will. And thank you. I know it would mean a lot to Cruz if you were there.” He sighed, his eyes sad. “I wish you could’ve met Marissa under better circumstances.”

“Yeah,” Clint nodded. “Me, too.”

When Emilio and the others were gone, Clint approached the two guests. “Don’t go anywhere,” he drawled. “We’ll be back to play real soon.”

Tazz stared back at him through swollen eyes, his mouth gagged. Blade jerked at the chains, his own face bloody and swollen from Clint’s elbow and Cory’s boot. Muffled shouts bubbled behind his gag.

“Don’t wear yourself out,” Clint murmured. “You’re gonna need your strength.” He and Cory headed for the door then paused when Cochise held back. “You coming?”

The Egyptian pulled up a wooden chair and sat down. “I’ll wait here with our guests,” he said low. His eyes were dull and distant as he stared at the two captives.

Cory looked at the man with uncertainty. “You okay?”

Cochise continued to stare at the chained men and nodded silently.

On the way up to the main floor, Cory expressed his doubts that the Egyptian was all right. Clint said nothing of his conversation with Cochise back at the warehouse. Cory frowned. “Are you all right, Uncle Clint?”

Clint was still uncertain of the answer and didn’t try to offer one, other than a single nod.

“You guys are kind of worrying me,” Cory admitted. “You’re not slipping back into your old mindset, right? I mean, both of you have good lives with men who love you and need you. You would never…go AWOL again, would you?”

Clint huffed. “Axel would kick my ass.”

Cory nodded. “And don’t you forget it. The two of you have been through hell and survived. You belong together.” He paused and halted Clint, staring at him intently. “Tell me you believe that. Just for reassurance.”

Real concern reflected in Cory’s eyes. “Yeah,” Clint said. “I believe it.”

“And Cochise?” Cory added. “Does he know it, too—that he belongs with Kane?”

The Egyptian lived with one foot out the door. In his mind, it wasn’t really his home—his family—and couldn’t be as long as he harbored such a dark and damaging secret. “You’ll have to ask him.”

“That isn’t a comforting answer,” Cory mumbled and continued on.

It wasn’t for Clint, either. Kane and that family was good for Cochise. But under the same circumstances, would Clint feel any more “at home” there? That was one answer he did know…and also knew what he would likely do in the Egyptian’s place. Him and Cochise were men of like mind, and that worried him.

 

♦

 

“Uncle Clint!” Jules leaped into the cowboy’s arms as soon as the man entered the room. He hugged Clint’s neck then kissed his face. “You came and got me.”

“Of course.” Clint held Jules close. “No way we were going to let you go.”

“’Cause you’d miss me?” Jules smiled big.

Deep emotion filled the cowboy’s jade eyes and his voice strained a little. “Yeah. We’d miss you like crazy.”

“Tell Clint about your boots,” Angelo murmured. Having heard Jules’ story of what Blade put him through—especially with his pup—Angelo had to reign himself in from immediately rushing down to the guest room and laying into the bastard. Adrian was barely keeping it together as vengeance for his sister’s death was now at his fingertips. And add to that the emotional trauma they’d caused Jules…the younger man was nearly shaking with the need to get his hands on the guilty men.

Clint grasped one of Jules’ stocking feet and frowned. “What about your boots? What happened to them?” He carried Jules to the small bar and sat on a stool, placing Jules on the bar top.

The child’s face fell, the excitement in his voice waning. “Blade burned them,” he mumbled. “He said they were sissy boots and cowboys were sissies. He said you were a sissy.”

Clint’s brow raised. “He said that, did he?”

Jules nodded. “And…and he was gonna burn cowboy, too.” Tears dampened his eyes. “I told him you would beat him up for being mean.”

Smiling softly, Clint nodded. “You were right, little man. I am going to beat him up. Him and Tazz. For being mean to you, and Callum, and…your mom.”

Jules stared at him with glistening eyes, swallowed, then smiled. “Good.”

Clint took the boy’s hands and kissed them. “And don’t you worry about the boots. We’ll get you another pair. Any ones you want.”

That cheered him up and Jules grinned and flung his arms around Clint’s neck, hugging him hard, then jumped down and ran over to Angelo. “Papa Jo, Uncle Clint’s gonna get me new boots!”

Angelo’s emotions continued to wreak havoc on his senses and he blinked back tears as he scooped Jules into his arms and kissed his face. “I heard. That’s great.” Despite the child’s jubilance that was infectious to everyone around him, Angelo noted the lingering strain on the faces of Clint and Cory; something had gone wrong. He read it plain as day in their troubled eyes. He set Jules down and glanced at Anthony and Adrian who were picking up the same vibe. “What’s wrong?” Angelo murmured. “Something happened. What is it?”

He and the others listened with sick dread as Clint told them of Diego’s death, as well as his imminent fatherhood.

Anthony cleared his throat, his eyes wet. “Cory,” he said quietly with a stiff tone. “You and Colton stay here with Jules and Callum.” He moved out from behind the bar, his movements rigid. “While we tend to our guests.”