Falcon
Falcon glanced back at Bridgette one more time, just to make sure she was all right. Or, rather, to make sure she hadn’t completely broken down. He doubted she would be fully “all right” for a long time.
He’d pulled her back around the building to the place where the contingent of Raging Reapers had parked their bikes; it was a spot that was hidden by the building. The Reapers had managed to find a dilapidated section of the fence surrounding the complex and ride in through the back while Martin and his guys were distracted. And now the spot they’d chosen seemed like a good place to take Bridgette to get her away from the bloody scene that had just unfolded.
Falcon had stripped off his kutte and wrapped her in it. He didn’t exactly know how the gesture was supposed to help, since it wasn’t exactly cold. He’d done it on an instinct. At least that instinct had seemed dead on. She’d curled into the leather vest, wrapping it around herself like a shield, and smiled at him weakly with gratitude.
“We’ll be out of here soon,” he’d promised her. “I just need to tie up a few loose ends.”
She’d nodded at that and settled against one of the guy’s bikes. She looked pale and out of it, but not entirely despondent. Falcon hated leaving her like that, but he needed to figure out with the other Reapers how they were going to handle the mess on their hands.
Luckily, none of their guys had gone down in the shootout. From what he’d heard, it really had been over in a matter of seconds. But in their line of work, they all abided religiously by the double-tap rule: never assume that one bullet is enough. It often led to overkill and lead-riddled corpses, but it was a hell of a lot better than the alternative.
The only injury had, ironically, been to a guy named Clover, who had taken a ricochet bullet to the arm. It hadn’t been a deep wound, just a graze, and one of the guys had been able to bind him up pretty quickly.
Falcon spotted Benny in the group of Raging Reapers. They were usually pretty fucking loud, so even under these circumstances it was strange to see so many of his brothers so quiet and somber. They all turned to him as he approached, most of them staring silently, waiting for him.
Falcon grasped Benny’s hand in a firm handshake, clapping him on the shoulder as he did so. He didn’t have words to thank the man for all the trouble he’d gone through trying to help him out of this tight spot—essentially hunting down every Reaper in the area and getting them to burn up the roads to get to the complex in time. If it hadn’t been for Benny, Falcon knew he and Bridgette wouldn’t still be standing.
“Fuck, man,” Benny burst out, breaking the ominous silence. “That was the closest damn call yet. A couple of us almost busted a nut trying to get up here.”
Falcon looked around him. “Well, that’s why God gave you two,” he shot back. He trusted they’d get the message. He owed them his life, and Bridgette’s.
Benny’s face split in a grin, and Falcon heard a chorus of low chuckles around him. “So, what the hell are we supposed to do about that mess back there?”
“You check for survivors?” Falcon demanded.
Benny’s grin grew wider. “Well, there aren’t any out there,” he said, jerking his thumb back toward the open area where Falcon had met Martin. “But you’ll never fucking guess what we rolled in on when we pulled in the back.”
Falcon cocked and eyebrow at Benny. “What?” he demanded.
Another wave of laughter rippled through the group.
Benny turned to the others. “You guys wanna start searching the buildings and cars? Shark, Bill, Leo, come check on Big Luke with me.”
Falcon cast one last glance back at Bridgette before falling into step behind Benny.
Shark caught up to his side. The smaller man looked pissed. Falcon guessed he wasn’t exactly pleased with the way things had turned out. Falcon could understand where he was coming from. They all knew how little it took to lose a brother out on the road, and what he’d just asked of them—not to come save his ass, but to come save Bridgette’s—had put them all in danger.
“I’m not going to be sorry for doing what I had to do,” Falcon told Shark quietly, so Benny couldn’t hear. “If you don’t like it, fine. But I wasn’t going to lose her. Not again.”
“I get it.”
Falcon hadn’t expected to hear that. And Shark didn’t say it grudgingly either. He sounded sincere.
“She’s not just a girl. She’s your girl. It’s just…shit, man, if that’s how you felt about her, what the hell were you doing fuckin’ around with us for all those years?”
Falcon didn’t really have a good answer anymore. It was like Bridgette had said: if it had just been that he was afraid of Martin, why hadn’t he tried to get back in contact with her covertly?
The truth was, he’d been so damned sure she’d moved on. And he hadn’t wanted to waste a minute of his life in the heartbreak of having lost her. Leaving her, believing they couldn’t be together because of something else—a blood-crazed drug lord who would hurt her to get to him—that had been easy. It was the universe’s fault then.
But trying to get back with her and having her reject him? Having no one to blame but himself? He hadn’t been man enough to face that.
But he was now. No more games, no more pussyfooting around. He had another reason to be in her life now, and he was going to give her every reason to let him back in. Even if it took years. He was ready to put in the work. To fix the damage he’d caused.
“It doesn’t matter anymore,” Falcon told Shark. “We’re going to start over.”
Shark snorted. “She’s got a daughter, don’t she? You think she’s going to want to be within fifty miles of you after all this? Shit, man, she’s going to pick up and get the hell away from all this the moment you two get back to town.”
Shark’s words struck a nerve. The guy had a way of pushing Falcon’s buttons. “You don’t know shit,” Falcon growled. “It’s not just her daughter; it’s my daughter. And we’re gonna work it out. She’s not some prissy little princess. She can handle all this and then some.”
Shark shrugged easily. “Hey, man, all I’m saying is she’s a single mom who owns a bakery. Bottom line, she’s a mama bear and she’s gonna protect her baby however she can. You’re not exactly making a good case for yourself here.” Shark jerked his chin back in the general direction of all the bodies they’d just dropped.
Falcon didn’t respond, though it took a lot of restraint. It didn’t matter what Shark said or thought. He wasn’t a part of this.
Falcon refocused on figuring out where Benny was leading them.
They’d almost reached the far corner of the property, way behind the abandoned warehouses, off in a corner of a dirt-and-dead-grass lawn. Big Luke, one of the Raging Reapers, stood in front of what Falcon could only describe as a Porta John that had seen better days. Its blue plastic was faded and bleaching in parts from sun and weather, and there were streaks of dirt and dust all over it.
Big Luke grinned wolfishly at their approach. He didn’t get his nickname for nothing; he was a tall, burly man, towering at 6’11”, with a body a defensive linesman would envy. He had a bit of a beer gut too, but that extra weight only made him even more of an unmovable mountain, which was good for situations where intimidation was needed. His position in front of the Porta John couldn’t have been coincidental, which meant God knew who or what was trapped inside.
“Yo Falcon,” he called out. “Everyone get out alive?”
“Far as I can tell,” Falcon answered, still scrutinizing the Porta John.
Big Luke barked out a hearty laugh. “Reminds me of El Fuste. Shit, Diego didn’t see us coming at all. Stupid prick.” Big Luke spit on the ground. “But that’s what you get when you cross the Reapers, eh?”
“Wasn’t quite as bloody as El Fuste,” Benny remarked. “Still, feels good to remind fuckers like Martin that you don’t mess with the Raging Reapers. It’s a damned good thing Falcon called yesterday already for backup. We never would have made it if he’d waited any longer.” Benny paused, his eyes widening slightly as if he’d just realized something. “Shit, you never found the drugs, did you?”
Falcon shrugged. “We got all the time in the world now to look. And if we don’t find them, it’s no skin off our backs.” He gestured to the Porta John. “What’s the deal with this?”
Benny exchanged a toothy grin with Big Luke. “Let’s just say someone got caught with his pants down.”
That put a big, broad smile on Falcon’s face. He couldn’t help it. “No shit. One of Martin’s guys was taking a dump?”
“Yep. Hawk thought he heard someone in there, so we had a look, and sure as shit someone picked the wrong time for a potty break. So Big Luke knocked him out and let him stew in there. Figured he might be good for questioning. You know, it might be bad for you if Martin’s little empire here grew another head and came after you for vengeance. I don’t think the ten guys we mowed down out there is all we have to worry about.”
“I bet the guy in there’ll be real eager to cut a deal once he sees the mess out there,” Falcon mused. “Hell, we could have him send out a call to Martin’s lieutenants, have them all meet here thinking they’re divvying up the latest shipment or something. Or we tell them Martin got into a bind, needs help. Whatever we need to say to get them all down here, guns blazing. Then call in an anonymous tip and let the cops do the dirty work.”
Benny nodded along as Falcon hashed out the plan. “The lieutenants go to jail, and the cops draw their own conclusions about the corpses on the ground. The upper ranks collapse, the lower-downs scatter and go into hiding like the roaches they are. And our problem’s solved.”
Benny turned to Big Luke. “He conscious in there?”
Big Luke shrugged nonchalantly. “How the hell should I know?” He stepped aside. “See for yourself.”
Benny pulled back the door and glanced inside. Falcon peered around him, trying to get a good look at the guy.
Falcon saw an average-sized man slumped against the back of the Porta John. Even from his position behind Benny, Falcon could see the fresh swollen bruise on his jaw. Big Luke must have hit him pretty damn hard. At least his pants were up, Falcon thought.
Benny pounded hard against the plastic of the Porta John. “Hey, sleeping beauty!” he yelled.
The man didn’t stir.
Benny snorted. “Eh, we’ll take care of him later. We can take our time. We’re far enough out of the way that I don’t think we have to worry about the fuzz or anything.”
“Good thing this is Texas,” Leo grunted. “No one’s going to worry much if they heard all that gunfire.”
“Yeah, they’ll probably just write it off as some drunk gun nut firing off out in the middle of nowhere.” Benny slammed the door of the Porta John back shut. “You wanna get him nice and comfy in one of those warehouses, Luke?” Benny turned back to Falcon. “We’ve got this handled, man, if you wanna go take care of your girl.”
Falcon locked forearms with Benny and met the man square in the eyes again. “I owe you big, man.”
“You don’t owe me shit. You’d do the same for me. Any of you would.”
Falcon still didn’t release Benny. “You sure you don’t need me here?”
“Get home, man. Get things straightened out with your old lady. We’ll take care of everything.”
Falcon nodded and let him go. Benny was right. Now that the Reapers had a plan of action, he needed to go see to Bridgette.
# # #
He picked his way back over to where Bridgette sat by the bikes. She didn’t look as if she’d moved since he’d left.
He stopped in his tracks a couple of yards back, wondering how he should approach her. She had, after all, just been kidnapped and survived a fucking shootout. And they hadn’t exactly made amends yet.
“Hey,” he called.
Bridgette glanced up at him, her face still drawn and harrowed.
Falcon sidled up to her, doing his best to give her space. He didn’t even know where to start. Out of habit he reached for his cigarettes and pulled one out.
He was surprised when Bridgette reached over to the pack without asking. With her slender fingers, she plucked one out and stuck it in her mouth. Falcon lifted a skeptical brow at her.
Bridgette stared back unblinkingly, her eyes expectant.
Falcon shrugged to himself and pulled out his lighter, making sure to light hers before his own. He let the cigarette dangle in his mouth as he watched her, transfixed.
She took a deep drag off the cigarette, her eyes closing lightly and her head rolling back a little as she held the smoke in. With her head tilted like that, her face lit up by the sunlight, Falcon could see the trails of dried tears on her cheeks. Her red mane tumbled over her shoulders in a wild disarray. She was so goddamn gorgeous. He could see bits of dried grass in her hair, probably from when he’d practically tackled her to the ground. He fought the urge to reach out and brush it away.
He didn’t want to push anything. He wanted to prove to her that even now, after he’d been so damned close to losing her, he could still respect her boundaries.
Bridgette exhaled slowly. The cloud of smoke temporarily obscured her face, and it seemed to Falcon that as it reemerged, the stiffness of her expression seemed to melt away—the worry, the horror. It was as if she’d packed all those emotions into the smoke itself and was now watching it evaporate into the air around her.
“Aren’t you afraid you’ll get cancer?” he mocked her lightly. He couldn’t help himself.
She cast a withering glance at him. “I was just nearly shot to ribbons. Cut me some slack.” She took another small puff, then blew another stream of smoke out past her lips. “Besides, this is a one-time thing.”
“You’d better be careful. They say these things are addictive. Something to do with the nicotine, I think.”
Bridgette’s lips lifted into a weary smile. “I think I’ll manage.”
They lapsed back into silence again. Falcon still didn’t quite know what to say, and it seemed that Bridgette was content to remain in that contemplative state for a few moments longer.
“How do you do it?” she asked at last, when her cigarette had burned down nearly to a butt.
“Do what?”
“Get over it so quickly. Shit, Kyle, ten guys just got their brains blown out, and here you are cracking jokes like we’re back in high school hanging out behind the 7-11. How does that not get to you?”
Falcon finished off his cigarette and dropped it to the ground. He didn’t tamp it out, though. He just let it smolder there, shrouded in spiraling tendrils of smoke. “It does get to me. I think you’re not human if that stuff doesn’t at least rattle you a little. But hell, Bridge, this has been my life.”
Bridgette stomped her cigarette out on the ground and closed her eyes again. “So…what happens now?”
“The guys have a plan for taking care of what remains of Martin’s little empire. You don’t need to worry about it. It’s over.”
Bridgette’s eyes flew open and her head snapped to him. “The drugs. Christ, I almost forgot. Kyle, I found them. You were right, they were in the basement.”
“Where?” he demanded. They’d ripped out everything that they possibly could have. There was nothing left but concrete.
“In the ceiling. They must have papered over the old tiles when they were trying to get it ready to sell.”
“No shit.” Falcon shook his head to himself in disbelief. “God, how the hell didn’t we think of that?”
Bridgette shrugged. “You were having too much fun with your power tools?” she offered.
Falcon heaved a sigh. “Goddamn it. We could have avoided this whole mess.”
“Well, it’s done now, for better or for worse. But I want that crap out of the bakery—“
“Don’t worry,” he soothed her. “I’ll send a couple of the guys over there right away. Like I said, we’ll take care of everything. I haven’t failed you yet, have I?”
Her lips lifted again in another faint smile. “No,” she admitted, “You haven’t.”
Falcon straightened up. “Listen,” he began, “I don’t like the way we left things. I’m not going to try to force anything now because I know you’ve been through a lot. But I think we should go back to my place and just talk about everything. About us, about Gabby.”
Falcon didn’t like the tightness in his gut after he made that suggestion. Shark’s words about her wanting to pick up and get the hell out of Dodge rang in his mind. What if she didn’t want to hear his apologies? What if this had been too much for her or if she thought that him hanging around might put her in the same kind of danger again? He hated feeling so helpless.
Falcon shifted from foot to foot as the silence stretched between them. He didn’t want to seem anxious, but the thought that she might not stay was eating him inside, like a pool of acid slowly dissolving his core.
“Right now?” she asked after a moment. There was no inflection on the question—no hopeful rise or skeptical slant. “You don’t have stuff to do here?”
“The guys have it handled,” Falcon reassured her. “I can take you back to your car if you want. Like I said, this is a lot to process. If you need time—“
“I don’t want to be alone,” she cut in. “Not now.”
Falcon fought to keep his hopes from rising too much. “You need to pick up Gabby?” he guessed.
She shook her head at that. “I just want to go back to the house. You’re right; we need to talk. I might need some time to let this all sink in, but I can’t be alone right now, Kyle. I just…I feel so shaken apart. Like I don’t know down from up.”
Falcon could hear it in her voice and see it in her body. She was holding together for now, but it was temporary. She was a house of cards that had started to sway. She was ready to collapse.
And he hated seeing her like this. Fragile. Vulnerable. He’d meant what he’d said earlier, that she wasn’t delicate. She was tough and made of stronger stuff than most women. It took a lot to knock her down and keep her down.
She’d bounce back from this. He was sure of that. But he hated even seeing it affect her like this.
“Hey,” Falcon told her firmly, “I’m not going anywhere. Not this time.” He took her hand in his and held it tight.
Bridgette squeezed his hand back. “I know,” she said softly. “Let’s go home.”