Chapter Five
Later on in the evening, Justice sat by the fire pit, smoking a joint and staring at his phone, willing it to ring. He’d left a couple voicemails for Woolly, and he’d even called his job. Woolly worked as a car salesman and according to the receptionist, he’d gone to a conference in Houston, so he wasn’t due back for a couple of days.
Justice hoped Woolly was okay, and he could chalk this hunch up to the approaching anniversary. Regardless, Justice planned on paying him a visit, if only for his own sanity.
Right then, an SUV slid into his driveway. The vehicle purred like a lion, all sleek, smooth, and deadly.
You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kiddin’ me.
Byron Beauregard hopped out. As far as Justice was concerned, the mobster was about as welcome as a porcupine at a nudist colony.
Byron wore a charcoal suit with a gray silk paisley tie, which probably cost more than Justice had paid for his moldy ass trailer. Beauregard stood around six-feet tall with blond hair and blue eyes. By all rights, he should be ugly as sin to match his black soul, but perversely there was something downright angelic about Beauregard, but a pair of horns held up his halo.
The mobster had blackmailed the club into assisting his organization, the Lone Star Mafia. He’d just become the Underboss a few months ago after rising through the ranks as a vicious hitman.
Their two groups couldn’t be more different.
The bikers considered themselves vigilante on bikes. They helped people who didn’t have any legal recourse. While the mobsters murdered and swindled their way to the big bucks. The bikers made a decent living, but they didn’t live in enormous mansions like the mafia dickheads.
“Good evenin’,” Beauregard drawled. “Nice place ya got here.”
With an eyebrow raised, he took a gander at the ramshackle trailers, scrubby brown lawns, and rusted out pick-ups surrounding them. When Beauregard squinted at Justice once more, his expression faltered, as he searched for something to say.
“Cut the crap. We both know you hate the trailer park.”
“Fine, this place is a bit Deliverance for my taste, but whatever works for you.”
Justice blew out an impatient breath. “Why are you here?”
“Got a business proposition for you.” Byron pulled out a handkerchief embroidered with his initials and dusted off a lawn chair on the opposite side of the fire pit. He sat in it and fixed Justice with an expectant look.
“Take it up with the prez.” Beauregard could shove his deals and schemes right up his ass. Justice was sick of dancing to the Lone Star Mafia’s tune.
“Why should I? From what I hear, you’re takin’ a break from the Four Horsemen.”
“Oh? And where’d you hear that?”
“I’ve got my sources.” He swiped a speck of lint from his lapel.
“Axel don’t know about this little visit?”
“Not unless you tell ‘em. While we’re on the subject, you should consider joinin’ a different organization. A person with your skill set could be useful.”
“Is that a job offer?” He’s trying to poach me like a headhunter?
“Perhaps.”
“For the record, I’d rather scrub Perdition’s floor with my toothbrush than become a mobster.” A gross prospect since it was covered in dirt, blood, and other bodily fluids.
“Never say never. How about a temporary gig?”
“Not interested.” He crossed his arms over his chest.
“And here I thought you might like a change of pace and a hefty paycheck for your trouble.”
Hmm.
Despite himself, Justice’s ears perked up. Any chance to add to his house fund was welcome. The question is, could he tolerate Beauregard long enough to get a payday.
“I ain’t sayin’ I’ll take it, but what kind of work are you talkin’ about? And what’s it pay?”
“Two hundred a day, plus expenses.” His smile was downright oily. “And it’s right up your alley.”
“How do you figure?”
“Well, it’s somethin’ a boy scout would do. My boss’s granddaughter, Mary Cobb, is in trouble.”
“What kind of trouble?” Babysitting some spoiled brat wouldn’t be worth it.
“Somebody tried to snatch her the other night.”
To use her as leverage against Tucker? Whoever was behind it, had some brains.
“Okay, so what do you get out of this?” Beauregard always worked some kind of angle.
“Maybe I’m helpin’ out a veteran. I appreciate your service, by the way.”
“Go fuck yourself.”
“I’d watch how you speak to me.” A killer calm settled over his features, his face going blank.
“Yeah, I’ll work on my manners.”
After all he’d been through, Justice wasn’t afraid. He knew how to handle himself. He was deadly, and if Beauregard wanted to compare combat skills, Justice was game.
“So why are you comin’ to me? Why not have one of your boys handle it?” Justice asked.
“You could say we’re in a staffin’ up phase. I got two newbies, who’ve never seen any action, and everybody else has a full docket.”
It made sense, but he wasn’t sold yet.
“Other than the money, why should I help you?”
“Like I said, it’s a boy scout kind of gig. Mary’s done nothin’ wrong, and she needs help.”
Justice wasn’t sure Beauregard was qualified to make such a determination. And yet, for a split second, there was almost a glimmer of something human in his eyes, before it disappeared.
“And you don’t wanna take a chance on the girl gettin’ hurt.”
“If you say so.”
“Jesus. Don’t tell me you care about her.” Because that was nuts.
Then again, from what Justice had heard, Beauregard had taken up with Jane Hunter, the club’s defense attorney. She was a bit of an odd duck, but easy on the eye, and whip-smart. Maybe she was a positive influence on the mobster. Like the Grinch, maybe his heart had grown two sizes since the last time they’d crossed paths.
Nah.
Byron’s lips thinned. “Want the job or not?”
“I’m mullin’ it over. Got an idea who’s after the girl?”
“In this business, we got lots of enemies and hardly any allies. We’re still tryin’ to sort it out.” He rubbed his jaw. “Although, we got some intel about someone makin’ their grievance with the outfit a bit more personal.”
Justice bet the list was as long as his arm. Whoever it was, he or she had to be suicidal. The mafia had a reputation for going all scorched earth on their enemies. That’s why the club hadn’t retaliated.
In the past, things were even worse. The mobsters had crossed every line, even dragging women and children into their feuds. From what he could see, Beauregard seemed to be toning it down, but he was still a Grade A dickhead. And he’d use whatever means at his disposal to get what he wanted.
“Just out of curiosity, why’d you settle on me?”
“As a matter of fact, Vick suggested your services.”
Victoria Hale worked as tech support for the Lone Star Mafia. A couple weeks ago, he’d taken a job protecting her from a stalker. Things had gotten hairy after she’d been wounded, and he’d left Vick in the care of her another mafia member, Jasper Tan.
“Did she?”
“Yeah, although she never gave me the full rundown on your association.” He leaned in, as though expecting Justice to trade confidences with him.
As a cover story, Vick had told the mobsters they were dating, so she’d had an excuse to be seen with him. Justice knew Vick hadn’t told Beauregard about the stalker, much less Justice’s true role in the operation, and he refused to break her confidence. It was her business. Besides, he liked Vick. Unlike the rest of them, she was a decent human being.
“Guess you’ll have to take it up with her.”
“Maybe I will.”
“Tell me about Mary.”
Byron rattled off a brief biography—straight A student, headed to medical school at Harvard in a couple months, blameless for her grandfather’s misdeeds. Basically, an innocent in need of protection.
Damn. I’m a sucker for a damsel in distress.
“Fine, I’m in.”
He could stomach working for the mafia if it was for a good cause. Besides, it would be better than sitting here, twiddling his thumbs all day, obsessing about Afghanistan and the terrible memories crawling around in his skull.
Things better left forgotten.
Byron stood. “Excellent. Come by Tucker’s place tomorrow morning—eight a.m. sharp, don’t be late.”
“I’ll be there.”
***
“Fuck me, I’m in Rome.”
Or at least what passed for it in these parts.
Justice had dragged his ass out of bed early, drank a half pot of coffee, and arrived at the Cobb mansion right on schedule. He’d driven by the house before, but he’d never had the opportunity to get up close and personal with the structure. After Justice was waved past the gatehouse, he parked at the edge of the long driveway.
The home made Las Vegas look less tacky in comparison. Tucker lived between Hell and Crimson Creek in an enormous Tuscan-style mansion. It was ostentatious, even by Texas standards, with nude classical statuary, massive fountains, and an over-the-top marble staircase he’d glimpsed through the stained glass windows. So if this place was a Texas-fied Rome, it must make Tucker the flipping emperor.
Maybe this was a terrible idea. It most likely was, but Justice had signed on for some easy cash. If it was anything like the last side gig he’d taken, Justice would come to regret it.
A maid let Justice in, and he gaped at his snobbish surroundings. It was all antique furnishings and priceless paintings. And then he noticed Tucker standing in the foyer. They’d never met before, but Justice had seen the man’s picture in the local society pages.
Tucker made it a point to donate to several charities. Like Beauregard, he gave off an air of sophistication and respectability, which was all a front for his illegal activities.
“You’re one of Byron’s bikers?”
Justice gritted his teeth. “I wouldn’t put it like that, but yeah, my club works for him occasionally.” Under duress.
“And you agreed to protect my granddaughter.”
“Yup, I signed on to watch Mary durin’ the day.” Because I’m a glutton for punishment.
“Excellent, and I got the evenin’ shift covered.” He tapped the gun at his side. Tucker was in his late sixties with gray hair, blue eyes, and a thin build. “I understand you were a SEAL.”
“Still am.” The job had marked him for life. Or death. He’d always be a SEAL, deep down in his bones.
“Then you know how to handle yourself.”
“I do.”
His eyes narrowed. “Just so we understand one another, if somethin’ happens to my granddaughter, you won’t live to regret it.”
Good luck comin’ after me, dickhead. I’m thirty or so years younger and in much better shape.
“Gotcha. Where is she?” Justice wanted this conversation over.
“Upstairs, readin’ like always.” He smiled. “I can’t get that girl’s nose out of a book. She’s a very studious young woman.” Tucker locked eyes with him, trying to stare Justice down, but he refused to blink. “And she’s a real beauty, too.”
Okkkaaay.
“Beauregard mentioned she’d just graduated.”
“Yes, she’s only twenty-one.”
Justice didn’t envy the little twerps who wanted to date her. Tucker probably had them pissing in their pants.
While Mary Cobb was of legal age, it didn’t mean she had maturity. He’d never been a cradle robber. Justice liked his woman full-grown. When he was her age, he’d been in the Navy for several years.
“And she’s just startin’ out in life.”
“Exactly, and I don’t want anythin’ or anyone to derail her progress.”
“Well, she’s a might young for my taste.” All he could think about was Etta these days. Everyone else paled in comparison.
After a moment, Tucker nodded. “As long as it stays that way.”
Not a problem.
“If you don’t mind, I’ll go introduce myself.” He hooked a thumb at the fancy pants stairs.
“Have at it.”
Justice headed upstairs and then down a maze of hallways that would put a labyrinth to shame. Eventually, he heard Taylor Swift’s “Bad Blood” coming from a room.
Justice found a young woman lying on her bed. The door to her bedroom was ajar. Her place was black and pink, an unusual combination. A black chandelier hung from the ceiling. Three huge bookcases filled the room, and all of them were stuffed to the gills. A stylized M decorated the back of her pink desk chair.
A thick book lay open on her lap, and a legal pad rested beside her. Her granddaddy was right to kick up a fuss. Mary had a heart-shaped face, pale skin, and bright blue eyes. Tucker probably had to beat the boys off with a stick.
She glanced his way. “Hey. You’re the new bodyguard?”
“Yup, pleased to meet ya.” He took a seat on the trunk at the end of the bed and offered his hand to her. “I’m Justice.”
“Mary Cobb.” She shook it. “Got a last name?” Mary frowned. “Or a first one, actually.”
“Landon Page, but call me Justice.”
“And you don’t work for my grandad?”
“Nope. This is a temp job. Lately, I seem to be moonlightin’ as a bodyguard.” Maybe he should hang up a shingle in town, and start himself a business.
“Are you any good?”
“You better hope so. You’re up shit creek without a paddle if I suck at this.”
She giggled, and Justice found himself liking her already.
“Doin’ some light readin’?” He gestured to the book.
“Yeah, I snagged an early copy of the syllabus. Well, syllabi is the plural, I think. Anyway, I’m gettin’ a head start on a couple of my classes.”
Talk about dedication.
“I heard you were in school. You’re gonna be a doctor?”
“That’s the plan. I want to be a cardiothoracic surgeon one day.”
“Impressive.” He admired her drive.
“We’ll see. I’m a long way off from my goal.”
“You’re devoted to it, which is half the struggle.”
In his experience, success took more determination than anything else. The only easy day was yesterday, is an infamous Navy SEAL quote and he’d found it to be true. Pushing himself had always paid off for Justice. Most of the applicants didn’t make it through SEAL training because they couldn’t set everything aside and focus on achieving their objectives.
So why the fuck am I livin’ in squalor hidin’ from my past? Good question.
“More like intimidated. A lot of this prep work is about fear. I gotta give med school a hundred and twenty percent if I wanna make it.”
“I know the feelin’. When I went through BUDS trainin’, I was pushed to my limits every damn day.”
Both physically and emotionally. Hell Week had been aptly named. Yet the training had kept him alive, showed him how to survive, gave him something to hold onto in his darkest hours.
“BUDS?”
“It’s an acronym, short for Basic Underwater Demolition SEAL trainin’.”
“Wow.” She nodded. “So, can you kill a man with your bare hands or what?”
His mouth went dry.
A memory slammed into him, nearly taking his breath away.
In his mind’s eye, Justice was caked in blood, sticky with it. It was everywhere—coating his hands, smeared on his face, all over the ground.
And it had somehow soaked into his skin, became part of him.
“Pull it together, Bulldog, they’re comin’ for us. Everythin’s gonna be fine.”
“You think so?”
“Bet your ass I do, soldier, so no worries. You can handle anythin’ for a few days, right?”
“Right.”
It was the biggest lie Justice had ever told.
Stop thinkin’ about Bulldog.
Justice forced himself to focus on the here and now.
“Yup, I learned how on day one.” Mary was obviously teasing, and he did his best to brush it off.
“That makes me feel better. Any idea who’s after me?”
“No clue.”
“I’m in the dark, too. About a lot of stuff, actually.” She opened her mouth and then clamped it shut.
He wondered how much she knew about her family’s illegal activities.
“So your grandad didn’t share any intel with you?”
“No, he refused to give me the particulars.” Her lips pressed into a tight line.
“Why don’t you tell me what happened?” Justice needed details about the kidnapping, so he knew what to expect.
She sighed. “I went to the library the other night and didn’t leave until it was just about to close. I wasn’t payin’ attention, and I should’ve been more aware of my surroundings, but I was carryin’ a big stack of books. A guy came up behind me, and I never saw his face.”
“Think he was waitin’ for you?”
After a moment, she nodded. “He knew my name. The man said ‘don’t move, Mary’ as he pressed a gun against my back and ordered me to get into a van.” Mary shivered as though ice water dripped down her spine.
“How’d you get away?”
“Dumb luck. The security guard came out for a smoke, and I screamed for help. When the plan was blown, the guy took off.”
Justice could tell she’d been rattled by the incident, and he couldn’t blame her. Lord only knows what the thugs could’ve done to Mary—held her for ransom, raped her, tortured her.
At the thought, his stomach churned, and Justice rolled his shoulders, releasing the coiled tension.
“Did the guard get the plate number?”
“Yeah, but granddad said it was a fake. I guess Vick checked it out.” Her brow puckered.
“What’s wrong?”
“It’s got me thinkin’ about my plans. I’m goin’ to Boston any day now, and I’ll be halfway across the country.”
“And then you’ll be on your own.”
“Easy prey.”
“I’m sure they’re workin’ on it, and I promise, no one will take you on my watch.”
She laughed. “How reassurin’.”
“Just bein’ honest.” He couldn’t make any assurances about the rest.
“Vick said you were honest to a fault.”
“So, Vick mentioned me?”
“Yeah. You two worked together on a project, right?”
“We did. How is she?”
“Fantastic.” Mary smiled. “She and Jasper are movin’ in together next month. Mark my words, they’ll be bringin’ home a bundle of joy from the hospital in no time.”
“Glad to hear it.”
Justice had even made Jasper jealous to spur the mobster into action. He didn’t know what had taken them so long to get together in the first place. It made him think about Etta, and he immediately shoved the notion away.
“And what about you?”
“What about me?”
“Well, since you’re tryin’ to save my neck and all, I thought we’d get to know each other.”
“Did you now?” He leaned back. “What do you wanna know?”
“Got a wife? A girlfriend?”
“Neither.”
She shut her eyes. “Dammit. We’re both screwed then.”
“What are you goin’ on about?” He couldn’t follow her logic.
“People who got a reason to wake up in the mornin’ are better at this. They’re less likely to get hurt or killed.”
“Where are you gettin’ this? A study?”
Her brows lifted. “Er, I did a little PubMed research last night. The article doesn’t exactly apply to this situation, but it said people in dangerous professions like policemen or those deadliest catch fishermen dudes have higher survival rates when they have children or spouses at home waitin’ for them.”
He wondered if this was how Mary coped with scary situations. Did she investigate it from every angle, so she could hedge her bets, and get a statistical advantage?
“Allow me to put your mind at rest. I might not have a girlfriend, but I got a person of interest, so to speak.”
“Sexy. She sounds like a suspect in a homicide.”
Justice chuckled. “Her name’s Etta, and she’s a social worker. We ain’t datin’, exactly, but something’s going on.”
“I’d say so.” She snickered. “Your eyes light up when you talk about her.”
Funny. It had been a long damn time since anyone or anything had made him happy.
Mary rubbed her hands together. “Excellent. We might make it outta this situation intact after all.”
“We will. I’m gonna keep you safe, Mary Cobb. For the foreseeable future, I’m gonna be your daytime shadow.”
Justice meant it. Beauregard had been right about her, and he wouldn’t let thugs carry her off. Her granddad was guilty as sin, but she’d done nothing wrong from what he could tell.
The corners of her mouth drooped. “You’re gonna watch me read and take notes? Because when Jasper guarded me, we had our own groove. He was always within earshot, but he gave me space.”
“And we’ll do the same thing. There’s no need to be so up close and personal. You’ve got plenty of measures already in place—a security system, a guard house, a fence, cameras.” He’d done a mental inventory of the security protocols on his way in. This place was locked up tighter than Fort Knox, which was excellent news for both of them. “I want you to have some privacy. Since it's daylight and we’re in a house with a fortified perimeter, I can give you a bit more room to move.”
“Good.” She nodded to her book. “But I should get back to my studies.”
“Fair enough.” He stood. “I’ll be in the den across the hall if you need me. And if you go elsewhere in the house, I’m goin’ with you. Got it?”
“Yup.”
“I’ll be across the hall if you need me.”
Mary was already scanning the textbook once more, as though he didn’t exist.