Unbreakable: A Section 8 Novel (A Section Eight Novel) (12 page)

She put her arms around him then. Shushed him. Told him not to say anything else. Somehow she had to make this all better for him. “You can tell me, Gunner. I think it’s better if you tell someone.”

“You can’t ask me that. Take it back.”

“No.” Avery’s voice broke. “I’ve done bad things too.”

“You’ve done nothing close to my level.” He pulled back and stared at her. “Does it matter? I did it. And it broke me. I lost everything. The only reason I didn’t kill myself was because it hurt to stay alive. Good penance.”

“Oh, Gunner.”

“I was broken from the job,” he said. He’d practically crawled home after it was done, and it had been like walking on hot coals. His entire body was aching with grief already, and seeing her on the floor, with Petey, was the final fucking straw.

“I wasn’t there for her. I couldn’t have been. I made a choice this time so you stayed safe. And that almost didn’t happen. You’re in danger just from knowing me.”

“And I always will be,” she reminded him. “That ship has sailed. So we have to deal with it, Gunner. Together. Because if there’s going to be risk with or without you, I’d much rather be with you.”

“Why?”

“How can you not know? The way you helped me. Let me mourn that night in the bayou. You know me. You always have.”

He couldn’t deny that. “You’re so strong. Didn’t need me to get that way.”

“Maybe I need you to stay that way. Or maybe I just want you there.” She paused. “Don’t you worry about having to look over your shoulder every day for the rest of your life?”

“You’re implying that I haven’t been doing that already,” Gunner said.

“That’s kind of—”

“Realistic.”

“You know that anyone who loved you would never want you to make yourself suffer, no matter what happened,” she told him.

He didn’t want to talk about this anymore. But Avery still had questions, legitimate ones, especially because she was now in this up to her neck.

“Why was Landon so intent on bringing down traffickers? They don’t even tangentially interfere with any of his business. If anything, he had more in common with them than not.”

Gunner shook his head. It was time to reveal secrets—his, Landon’s. Everything had been rolled up into a big black ball of pain and it was unraveling. Finally.

It finally felt right.

“Landon had his reasons. He’d been in the smuggling business forever. Born into it. And his father screwed over a trafficker on one of his jobs, although not purposely. It wasn’t even anything that led to a huge loss for the guy. And, yes, I researched it. Landon was transparent about it, but I wouldn’t have just taken his word for it. But afterward the trafficker—George Mullin—took Landon’s mother and older sister. Sold them both and Landon never saw them again. Never stopped searching. Every time I’d free people, I had their pictures, and I wore a necklace with a symbol they’d recognize.”

“You never saw them.”

“No. But Landon never wanted anyone’s family to go through that. And then Powell traded me in exchange for the debt he owed.”

“Landon took you in and really felt for you. Cared for you in the way he’d hoped someone had his own mother or sister.”

“I told you it was complicated.”

“And that’s why it doesn’t make sense that Landon would give you a second chance and then hurt Josie.”

“Look, he takes what he considers betrayal very seriously. He didn’t get to be where he is by not being ruthless. And he is. But there’s a part of the picture I’m missing. And it’s driving me crazy.” He stared out the window. “I think I should contact him.”

“And say what?”

“I haven’t figured that out yet.”

•   •   •

Gunner could see the wheels in Avery’s head turning. He wasn’t surprised, but he was glad he’d been able to give her some time away.

“Avery, we don’t have to do this,” he told her.

“What are the options? Do we kill me off?”

“Yes.”

“It won’t work unless he can kill me himself.”

“So we’ll disappear as best we can.”

“No. If nothing else, I’m not letting you give up your life again.”

“Maybe third time’s the charm?”

“Maybe I won’t take that chance. Even if it all ends there, we have to finish this job,” Avery said. “I keep thinking, if we can just get rid of all our ghosts . . .”

“We’ll be free and clear?” Gunner shook his head. “That’s no way to live. Because you’re always going to have a past. Someone who’s going to want to hurt you for what you’ve done, especially if you’ve done it right.”

“You’re a very smart man, Gunner.” She ran a hand through his hair. “Your mom’s coloring?”

“It shouldn’t go together, but it does. Makes disguises easy.”

She trailed her hands over his inked arms. “But these aren’t. You had to know they’d give you away.”

On some level, he had. Maybe he knew that once he was found again, he’d have to make a decision.

“Will you tell me what your tattoos say about you?”

“All of them?

“All of them. First to last. I want to know the reasons behind each one. I want to know you better than anyone. I need that. Because you already know me.”

He could do that for her.

“And the scars too. Everything.”

He thought about the long scar on his lower back. Easy to cover up, and he could probably get away with ignoring it, pretending he’d forgotten about it. But at some point, she’d notice it.

You’re acting like she might not have already.

“Everything,” she repeated, like she knew he was holding back.

“You’re so much like Josie in some ways. And in others, not at all.”

“Are those both good things?”

“Yes,” he said softly.

“Gunner, why all the weddings?”

“I was trying.”

“Trying what?”

“To feel. They seemed to love me. I don’t know if they really did or not. And I figured, maybe I’d learn. Sounds so fucked up, doesn’t it?”

She wound her hands through his hair. “Understandably so.”

“I loved Josie. Was I in love with her? For what I knew about love? Maybe? I think we were a lot alike. I wanted to be as good as her. I wanted that goodness to rub off on me. When being in her proximity didn’t change me or fix me . . .” He trailed off.

“You didn’t need to be fixed, Gunner. Just shown a different way to keep doing what you like to do. You figured that out. I’m only sorry Landon used S8 to try to pull you back to somewhere you never should’ve been.”

“I just need you safe.”

“I will be. At first, I wondered how any of this could possibly work. I mean, look at Darius and my mom. She left when she realized what he did for a living. But her work was dangerous too.” Avery rubbed her bare arms. “Grace wants to work with Dare.”

“And you’re okay with that.”

“She needs training. And I think she’ll be better in support roles so Dare doesn’t lose his mind. But it seems inevitable that who you work with ends up being someone you have a lot in common with.” She looked at him. “Could you have done this kind of work and gone home to Josie?”

“I wanted to try, but working for Landon was a lot different than working for S8.”

“You’ve already worked with me.”

“It’s not that I don’t trust you. I don’t trust myself. You’re not the problem—I am. The men in this group are the problem. I want to protect you, always have, always will above all else and not because you can’t do the job. It’s the way men are built.”

“Some men.”

“All the men in S8. The ones who’d be surrounding you,” he reminded her.

“We’ll all find a way to be comfortable,” she said. “It’s important to all of us.”

“Yeah, it is.” She stretched out on the sheets. “It’s been at least a week since I’ve actually slept.”

“And I feel like trying to s
leep would be futile.” She climbed onto him.

“When you put it like that, sure.” He grinned. She loved seeing that. Over the next months, those smiles might be few and far between. But she’d take what she could get.

J
em had sent Key an
it’s all good
message before he boarded the flight out of New Orleans. As usual, Key wouldn’t believe him and would get pissed, and that was the way Jem knew that things were fine between him and his brother.

Key’d had a tough time coming back to the bayou. Seeing their parents’ house had been more cathartic than either of them could’ve thought. Saying good-bye to their respective careers and delving into the shadowed world of black ops, and so far reporting to no one, was something both he and Key had been trained for. More than that, they wanted it.

Key was on a much-needed vacation and Jem was glad Avery had pushed the issue. Disturbing him was something Jem was unwilling to do.

He was several months–plus out of the last mental institution the CIA had sent him to in order to distance themselves from yet another situation Jem had created due to his overzealous, uncontrolled nature.

At least that’s what he’d read when he’d broken into the shrink’s files.

Jem had been labeled everything from manic to schizo, and the latter was only because he’d told one doc he’d heard the voice of God telling him to jump from roof to roof on two city buildings and then drop twenty feet.

“I caught the guy I was chasing and I didn’t get hurt,” had been his defense. Granted, he’d also been operating inside the U.S., where he wasn’t allowed to—“not legally if you want to get technical,” he’d continued, and yeah, they’d wanted to get technical.

The shrink had simply shaken her head and written shit on her legal pad. And so it went.

And when the plane finally touched down, ending his trip down psycho memory lane, he was fucking grateful. They’d landed on time and he grabbed his go bag from under the seat in front of him and headed to the front of the plane before other people got out of their seats.

The flight attendant who’d slipped him her number earlier didn’t say a word, just smiled and wagged her finger at him. Once into the main terminal, he ambled along in order to make sure he was alone. He didn’t have any weapons on him except the ceramic knife in his boot, a pen and his own hands, which were more than enough.

He hadn’t noticed anyone tailing him in New Orleans and there was nothing suspicious on the plane. He pulled out his phone, slid by the
what the fuck is up with you?
message from Key and had just gone to check in with Gunner instead when the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.

Someone was on his tail. He’d bet his life on it.

He pretended to make a call while slipping the SIM card out of his phone, just in case he was captured. He was going to find out who this asshole was, one way or the other.

He pushed out the door and walked through the crowds gathering with their luggage, waiting for taxis. He crossed the street, broke from the crowds and headed to the farthest long-term parking lot there was.

“I’ll meet you by the car,” he said into the phone, loud enough for his tail to pick up on.

He heard one set of footsteps behind him, then two. And there was a female coming toward him, checking her phone. Clueless.

Or maybe just playing at it, because something was off with this one. She was exuding confidence, but it wasn’t working for Jem. He prided himself on reading people—less of a gut instinct and more of a spiritual thing. When he started talking about auras, most guys in the CIA rolled their eyes at him, but hell, he’d gotten most of their asses out of scrapes that way.

He’d lost partners because he tended to take things too far, had little disregard for his own life, although he’d never let any of them take the risks he did.

Guess you understand Gunner a lot better than most.

To test his theory he grabbed the tall blonde in the short skirt around the waist as she went by him. Suspended in the air against his side, she yelped and hit him.

And then pulled a gun out and aimed it at his forehead.

When he laughed, it threw her. The fucking crazy always did. He grabbed her wrist and repointed the gun as she struggled to regain control, aimed and shot the two men coming up fast behind him. And kept shooting until he’d emptied the clip. Thankfully, she’d thought ahead and used a silencer, but even so, shit echoed in this underground part of the garage.

“How’s that for a one-two punch, sweetheart?” he asked before slamming her wrist against the nearest concrete barrier, breaking the bone and forcing her to drop the gun. No reason to give her any chance of reloading.

She elbowed him in the throat.

“Son of a bitch.” He dropped her down, grabbed her in a headlock, because if she wanted to be equal opportunity, he would treat her like an equal. “Doll-face, you gonna tell me who sent you to kill me?”

“Fuck you.”

“Is that a no? Because I can be really fucking persuasive.” He dragged her toward a supply closet. “We’re gonna have us a strip search, just in case.”

“Don’t you dare.”

“Don’t get modest. Besides, I like my women willing. This is all on the up-and-up.”

In the closet, his hand slid up her shirt, into the front of her blouse, and bingo, he found her phone. “It’s a good spot for it.”

He checked the last several numbers. “Any of these Landon?”

“Please. I have a kid.”

“This isn’t a great job for parenting.”

“He made me.”

Jem noted the track-marked scars on her arms. She was painfully thin too, and this close up, she looked worn and pale, and older than she probably was. “Who’s he?”

“He didn’t tell me. Said you’d know.”

“What’s he got on you?”

She eyed him warily. “Enough.”

“What the hell am I supposed to do with you?”

She pointed to her thigh, said hoarsely, “You’re supposed to die.”

He yanked her skirt up, saw the bomb taped securely to her thigh. She and the men were all part of a fucking distraction and he’d fallen for it. There were ten seconds left.

“Your kid—”

“Better off without me. Go.” She shoved him away and he ran, slammed the door behind him, hit the dirt behind cars as the explosion blew the closet open.

He’d done a lot of things in his life and had pretty much zero regrets at the time, because how could you regret shit that at the time you ultimately wanted?

Had the woman been innocent? No. Was her kid better off without her? Probably. But Jem would be damned if he’d let himself get played like that.

He went for the first car with the door open and hot-wired it, because no one was going to notice a stolen vehicle in this fucking mess. But they would notice a man who looked like he’d been through the explosion.

He dialed as he drove, one hand on the wheel, away from the incoming sirens. “Gunner, fuck—”

“Landon has Avery.”

“Fuck. He just tried to kill me. I’m on my way, but brother, I think your place was made a long time ago.”

•   •   •

G
unner went to the store to grab some fresh food like he’d promised, leaving Avery home to relax in the steam shower. She got restless after ten minutes, although her muscles felt like butter. She wrapped herself in a big flannel shirt of Gunner’s, not bothering with anything else.

It was beautiful here. For a little while, she was content to forget what was out there waiting for them. She just wanted to be. Since her mom had been killed, it had been a whirlwind. And she’d found a lot more good than bad since; she’d discovered her father, got to talk to him before he died. Got to be a part of saving him. And she found a brother. It hadn’t taken long at all for her and Dare to grow close. She couldn’t imagine her life without him now.

As she stared out at the expanse of lands, she thought about options. They’d already dodged two big bullets, had lost Darius, saved Grace. And now they’d gotten Gunner back.

She’d come so close to losing him, to losing herself. Lived a lifetime before hitting twenty-five. And she was thinking of committing a lifetime—a real one—toward more of the same. And asking the people she loved to come along for the ride.

It had seemed like such a simple and straightforward decision five months ago, when they’d been in the thick of it and come out the other side. But she’d just been in the thick of it again, come out a little worse for wear but with the man she knew she loved.

Tucked inside her suitcase were some of Adele’s journals. There were too many to carry, and she’d left them in storage when she’d gone on the search for Gunner. The three volumes she had with her had been read and reread what felt like a hundred times over the past months. Grace had been the one to give them to her, and they gave a unique perspective on being a woman in this kind of job, this kind of life.

It can be done, but it’s never going to be easy for the men you work with, or the men who love you. Accept that as something that will never, ever change and you’ll be fine.

And if Avery couldn’t accept that? Couldn’t let the men in her life constantly worry about her—and Grace too?

She rubbed her arms as she pondered, the flannel soft under her palms. It smelled like Gunner.

What could they do? Work at the tattoo shop? Open a restaurant? Never nine-to-five jobs for any of them.

They were built for this, just as Landon had told Gunner. What they did with that was up to them.

So much risk and potential loss. And that could happen no matter what. She didn’t want to live her life in fear, couldn’t let that rule her.

She couldn’t figure out if her mother would be disappointed in her or proud. Didn’t want to think about that for too long, so instead, she pulled her phone out of the front pocket of the shirt, where she’d slipped it earlier. She didn’t hesitate this time, like all those other times when she’d ended up not letting the call go though and ended up texting instead, the nightly check-in they’d all agreed on. A code that they’d prearranged to change weekly.

This time, she let the call go through.

Grace picked up on the second ring. “Avery! What’s wrong?”

Grace’s tone was equal parts genuine happiness and genuine suspicion

“You’re as suspicious as Dare. I just missed you. Figured I should be able to break my own rules about calling to say hi, or else what’s the fun of being able to make them in the first place? And nothing’s wrong.”

“There’s something, Avery.”

“Is that a premonition?”

“I don’t need premonitions with you. I know that tone of voice. Talk to me.”

Avery did. “I was reading Adele’s journals.”

“What volumes are you on?”

“S8’s still viable.”

“Right,” Grace murmured. “Okay, so . . .”

“Do you think she’s right, that this is going to be harder on us? Make it harder on the men?”

“One hundred percent.”

“Yeah, me too. It’s making me rethink this for the first time, and I don’t think that would’ve been Adele’s intent in the first place.”

Grace was silent for a moment and then said, “Why do you want to be a part of S8? If you can answer that, you can probably answer your own question.”

“At first, it was a way to honor Darius and Adele too. And then it became about more than that. It was like this was where I’m supposed to be, and this is what I’m supposed to be doing. A sense of destiny.”

Grace would definitely understand that. Gunner did as well. But destiny could take you down the wrong path, get you in trouble, which is what she told Grace.

“I don’t think making a decision with your heart is ever wrong,” Grace said firmly. “There are always going to be things you didn’t do. But that’s what it is—a different path. Different, not right, and so it shouldn’t be a regret.”

“How’d you get so smart?”

“Born that way,” Grace told her. “I think we’re all meant to do good. Together, we can.”

And just like that, Avery’s decision clicked firmly back into place. “How’re you enjoying your vacation?”

“Dare’s already getting into trouble—he boarded a speedboat and almost got arrested,” she said wryly. “Any more vacation and we’re going to need a bail bondsman on the payroll.”

“I’ve got contacts everywhere,” she said. They hung up, and she was smiling. Lighter.

Gunner had told her earlier that the decision was hers. And she’d made it, again, and it was definitely the right one.

She’d read the next three journals as soon as she could get her hands on them. Even though she knew how Adele’s story ended, she still wanted to know the journey. That was the most important part.

Still grinning, she stared out at the lake. Heard the door open behind her and said, “That was quick.”

“Glad you think so.”

She barely had time to register that it wasn’t Gunner’s voice before she felt the pinprick of a needle in her neck. She faded fast, grabbed for the deck’s railing as she started to fall to the floor.

She tried to fight, but her limbs weren’t working right. She wasn’t completely out of it, but she knew whatever she’d been given had immobilized her badly. She couldn’t even scream.

She was aware of being carried, put into a car, and she tried to count to figure out how many miles she was being taken, but she went in and out of consciousness and her mind wasn’t cooperating when she was awake.

Her eyes opened what seemed like hours later. She was staring at a ceiling, her head propped on a pillow on a bed, with a mirror above her. She was still in the flannel shirt, but it had risen and she was partially exposed. Her legs had been tied, and so were her arms, but she couldn’t feel them.

“I wouldn’t bother struggling. You’ve been immobilized.” A man stood in the doorway. “Nice to meet you, Avery.”

“Wish I could say the same.” Her words slurred. Her head throbbed, a screaming pain, which seemed to be a side effect of the drug. She was virtually paralyzed and it was terrifying. She couldn’t move, no matter how hard she tried. It was like being stuck in quicksand and her mind was still sharp enough to process everything. And panic.

“You’re not what I thought you’d be,” he told her as he moved closer, pushed open the flannel shirt. She lay naked in front of him, refusing to cry.

“You’re Landon. Exactly . . . like I thought.”

Drew Landon was maybe midforties. A good-looking man, although she could never give him that compliment, knowing what she did about his past.