“Most likely,” Lana agreed. “And then the others would have gone after you.”
“But she should have told me,” Steele reaffirmed. He believed that wholeheartedly. She should have told him. His head hurt from trying to understand what was the right way to handle Breezy’s reticence. He could plan a battle against an enemy whose numbers were far more than his team’s, carry it out and never so much as blink, but knowing the right thing to do with a woman he loved, that was completely different—and much more difficult.
“Yes,” Lana agreed, “she should have.”
They all waited for Lana’s take on it. No one spoke. Living in a society other than their own was difficult when they didn’t know the basics. They had been children making up their own rules for survival. They’d kept those codes because they’d worked all those years under the worst possible conditions.
The instructors at the other three schools may have been brutal but they’d taught the inmates how to fit in because it had been helpful when they’d been sent on missions. No member of Torpedo Ink had been expected to live. They’d been sent out on straight seduce-and-kill missions. How to use a fork at an upscale restaurant had been deemed useless to them.
“Were you angry with her?” Lana asked.
“Yes. He could have done any number of things to her and . . .” He trailed off, the sneaking suspicion coming to him. He didn’t want to voice it.
Lana did it for him. “Mostly, she should have trusted you.”
The others were nodding, but Steele knew it was more than that. So, evidently, did Lana. He could tell by her voice. Breezy should have trusted him, and it angered him that she hadn’t. He thought she was all his, but she wasn’t. In Torpedo Ink’s world, they trusted one another to have their backs. They talked things out. They didn’t keep secrets . . . He pulled himself up short. That wasn’t true.
He hadn’t told the others that Breezy was his one. His only. Reaper had kept secrets, and it had nearly blown up in his face. Everyone had secrets, even them. He closed his eyes for a moment, anger stirring. He’d had a shit childhood. His teenage years hadn’t been so hot. His early twenties hadn’t been anything to write home about. Now he was blowing his one chance because he didn’t know shit. Not one fucking thing about relationships. Relationships were a minefield, far more dangerous than any battle he’d ever been in.
“This is a difficult call, Steele,” Lana said. “I’ve spent a lot of time with Blythe. She seems to navigate this stuff so smoothly. I would have been angry at my man if he’d done it, but her reasons were to protect you. You wouldn’t have told her and you would have taken the beatings if you thought it would save her from harm in some way. I would have done it. Any one of us would have.”
That was the truth. Steele’s eyes met Savage’s. Simultaneously, they both shook their heads, rejecting the idea of it. “It isn’t,” Steele said. “It’s not the same thing at all.”
“Nope,” Maestro weighed in. “Not at all.”
“Why? Because she’s the female? I’m a woman. I have the right to protect my man if he has the right to protect me.”
“That’s different and you know it, Lana,” Transporter said. “Breezy doesn’t have our background. She’s . . . I don’t know. Not supposed to get hit. If a man hit you, you’d have him for breakfast and not in a good way.”
“Thanks for clarifying,” Lana sang to the melody on her playlist. There was a hint of laughter in her voice. “What did you do, Steele? How did you react?”
Steele hesitated, but he really wanted Lana’s input. He needed to know how to deal with problems of trust that came up between Breezy and him. “I wanted to turn her over my knee and I made that very clear.” A part of him still wanted to go back into the house and do just that. Another part of him recognized the hurt on Breezy’s face and wanted to pull her into his arms and comfort her.
The others nodded, deeming that an appropriate response. Lana took so long to respond that Steele thought she might not.
“So, you threatened to hurt her because someone else hurt her and she didn’t tell you. I’m not altogether certain that makes sense, Steele.”
“It’s not the same thing,” Steele muttered, no longer sure if it was or not.
“You’re wrong, Lana,” Maestro said. “It’s not at all the same thing. If a man’s woman goes rogue on him and puts herself in danger, he has to make absolutely certain she won’t make that mistake again.”
“There are probably better ways to make the point,” Lana sang.
During the entire exchange, Mechanic was relating the conversation between the three Swords members.
“What better ways?” Steele asked immediately. That was what he was looking for. An answer. A better way. Something to make Breezy want to stay with him always. There had to be a way to make a point without hurting her.
Again, there was a long silence. “I don’t know,” Lana finally admitted. She sounded frustrated. “You should ask Blythe,” she reiterated.
“Blythe doesn’t know how dangerous the world is,” Savage contributed unexpectedly. “She doesn’t have the experience to judge when something is potentially life-threatening.”
“Breezy withheld important information from her man,” Transporter added.
“From the club,” Preacher put in his two cents. “Lana, they’re getting antsy. Put on a little show to grab their attention. I’ve got them now. One bullet for each, take me three seconds.”
“Don’t,” Steele cautioned. “We don’t know where Zane is.”
His anxiety level was going through the roof, when he was always the calmest man. He found it was far different experiencing trauma as the father. When it was his own child. They went after pedophiles as a rule, planning out the rescue of children, both boys and girls. He had never had his heart pound, or his lungs feel raw from lack of air.
Lana rose up to her knees, her red hair a sheet of pure fire. She tossed her head back and her hair went flying, drawing attention. The men at the railing who had begun talking among themselves turned back, gazes riveted to the woman on the boat. She stood slowly, pulled her glasses off and walked toward the side of the boat, looking at the water.
Preacher had his eye to the scope of his rifle. His hands were rock steady. The first target was Donk. The big man had always been unpredictable. He would be the first to go. Ink didn’t so much as blink, his gaze in the air rather than on the water or the three men, but his concentration was utterly focused. Maestro had dropped flat, lying in a prone position, a rifle to his shoulder, his aim not on any of the three men but on the door of the house. The others trained their binoculars on the backyard of the estate, that beautiful oasis the Abernathys had created, only to have their son take it over whenever he was released from prison.
Lana dove into the water, swam around the boat and caught at the ladder to climb right back out. She was naked, beautiful, the water running off her, first in sheets and then drops as she once more climbed on board, mesmerizing her audience. All three Swords members had their binoculars to their eyes, their attention once again riveted on Lana.
“I hear a female voice,” Mechanic reported.
Steele held his breath. His son had to be there. He had to be. His stomach was in knots. How many times had he crawled through the ventilation system at their prison when he was a child, stealing medical supplies and sometimes killing one of the adults. He’d never
so much as flinched. He had nerves of steel. It was an often-told joke. He didn’t feel that way now. He didn’t want to exercise caution. He wanted to run to the house and search it, room by room, taking apart those inside until he found his boy.
“A child’s voice.” Mechanic’s usually steady tone cracked. He cleared his throat. “Definitely a very young child inside. Second floor. On the move with the female. She’s talking low to him and cautioning him not to speak until they’re outside. I don’t think she’s aware that Donk or the others are out there.”
Steele was grateful he was sitting down. He knew his legs would have given out in sheer relief. “Keys.” He spoke into his radio. “Tell Breezy he’s there. Inside the house. We’ve found him. Don’t let her do anything crazy, like run over there.” That was exactly what he wanted to do—get to the house and take his son back.
He kept his binoculars focused on that back door. Breezy had shown him pictures of his son, and now he had them on his own phone. He wanted to see his son in flesh and blood. Alive. The relief was overwhelming.
“Pickup on the move, the small little rocket that was parked in front of the guesthouse. Lizard is driving,” Ink said. His voice was pitched low, but it carried over the rooftop so all of them could hear. He sounded as if he might be in a trance, talking while hypnotized. “He’s making his way to the main house.”
Steele didn’t allow that information to divert his attention from the entrance. The door opened, and a woman stepped through. She was leaning down slightly and talking. He could see that it was Candy, although she seemed grown up in comparison to the young girl she’d been three years earlier.
She was laughing, and she reached down. He could see a little hand going into hers. Together they stepped through the door. They walked along the patio and rounded the corner where the flowers formed a small barrier.
His son. Steele focused the high-powered binoculars on the child. He had a wild mop of tawny hair. His heart ached. Beat uncontrollably. The boy was thin. There was a bruise on his face. Very distinctive. Very dark. Rage burst through him and the monster inside roared.