Unbreakable: A Section 8 Novel (A Section Eight Novel) (19 page)

G
oddamn, it had be
en a long day. All the sitting around and talking rather than getting out there for some action was making the men act like caged lions. Pretty soon, they were going to start wrestling in the middle of the living room to blow off steam.

It was close to three in the morning after Jem had finished doing some research with Key, left his brother still working to relieve Dare and check on Drea.

She was in bed, but reading. Looking wide awake and fucking adorable in his T-shirt and a pair of sweats that were broken in just right.

“Can’t sleep?” he asked.

“Lately, it’s the last thing on my mind.” She accepted the mug of hot chocolate he handed her and tucked herself under the covers. She’d left room for him in the bed and oh yeah, he liked that.

Too much. It was fucking with his game. “Look, I appreciate what you did back there—”

“No, you’re pissed about it.”

Her honesty disarmed him. She was such a straight shooter. “Yeah, I am. Worried more than pissed but . . . dammit, Drea, you’ve got to stop putting yourself directly in trouble’s way when I’m trying to get you out of it.”

“I guess I’m good at finding trouble.” She let her gaze fall on him meaningfully.

“Aw, come on, that was too easy.”

“You walked into it,” she pointed out. “Can you tell me a little more about this Landon guy you’re all discussing? What he does for a living?”

“He’s a smuggler. He helps criminals leave the country, but he also stops human traffickers. Lots of shades of gray,” Jem explained. “We’d have no problem with him if he didn’t keep trying to kill us.”

“He’s the one who hurt Avery?”

“Yes. Now can you understand why I don’t want you anywhere near him?”

She nodded. “But Grace can’t do it. And you don’t have anyone else.”

“We’ll find another way. There’s always another way.” Only this time, there really wasn’t, and Drea knew that as much as he did. As much as they all did.

•   •   •

A
very dreaded reading Adele’s missing journals, but once she’d forced herself to start, she was angry she hadn’t done so earlier.

It’s the worst thing that could ever happen to a woman, and they know that. It’s why it’s their best weapon. But after months of healing physically, I’m going to accept that I’ll never be the same. That’s all right. I’m still strong. I’m just different. And to change is to live. To survive.

She was a survivor.

“It’s a shame she never had kids,” she’d told Grace after she’d finished the first journal. “She would’ve been the best mom.”

“She was,” Grace said, hugging her arms around herself.

It was then Avery remembered how much they’d all lost. If they hadn’t been broken by now, she had to assume they never would. “I forgot how long you spent with her.”

“I didn’t read these journals until she’d left. But then I understood why she got me—didn’t yell at me about being promiscuous. She understood it was my way of taking back my power,” Grace said.

The planning was happening around her. Gunner briefed her at night, and sometimes she fell asleep while he was talking. That was all right—it was as if what he said was solidifying in her brain, adding fuel to the fire. And every day, the need for strict vengeance wore a little thinner. The need for justice grew stronger. It was a much better balance.

After a month, they moved locations. A different state, a better safe house that Jem and Key vetted for a week before they allowed the others to move here.

It was all temporary, Avery knew. Her ultimate goal was to get Gunner back to his tattoo shop.
Back to at least drawing, which she hadn’t seen him do once.

She’d forced herself to look in the full-length mirror daily since Drea took the bandages off. Wanted to know exactly what Landon had done, wanted to watch the black stitches dissolve and the bright red scars fade to pink and then eventually white, knowing her anger wouldn’t fade as quickly. Not until Landon paid, and paid dearly.

He didn’t have family. No one close to him that she could hurt him with, beyond Gunner. Even if there were, she didn’t think she could do that.

But not having anyone to care about was how the man stayed on top for so long. You couldn’t care about anyone or anything that could be used against you. And that was S8’s fatal flaw. She couldn’t see that changing any time soon. It was the only way to keep their consciences in check, the only way they’d ever be able to love.

“We could retire to an island. Work enough to live and then just hang out,” Jem had suggested yesterday.

“You? Hanging out? Doing what, lying in the sun? I give it less than an hour,” she’d scoffed.

“Maybe I’d love it.”

She knew she wouldn’t.

She traced the scars now, her fingers trailing as her eyes never left the mirror.

Every night, she curled up next to Gunner, fully clothed. And every night, he’d held her through nightmares that went from multiple ones nightly to one per night and then a few times a week. Body and mind seemed to heal at the same time. Having Grace and Dare and Key there helped. She could concentrate on healing, without worrying that everyone was in danger.

There were thirteen scars in all. Different sizes, some vertical, some horizontal, done purposely to scar. The biggest one bisected her tattoo and she traced the X that marked her beautiful flowers.

Gunner would work miracles on this. She knew that. But she hadn’t wanted him to see her naked yet, because she was more worried about how these scars would affect him than anything.

She drew a bath, sank into the bubbles and tried to relax. Time was passing. Plans were being made. Soon, it would be time to put up or shut up.

She would make Landon pay for everything he’d ever done to her family.

I
t
had been seven days since they’d moved to this house, and the closer they got to firming up plans to take Landon down, the harder Avery had been pulling away from him.

She’d been in planning mode. She was healing. Stronger. Sharp too, but that didn’t mean she was totally ready for this. None of them were.

Gunner glanced into the kitchen and found the others there, except for Avery.

“Thought she was with you,” Jem said.

“She’s taking a bath,” Grace told him. “I just checked on her.”

And now he was going to. She’d been avoiding him and he wouldn’t let that happen. He burst into the bathroom and found her soaking in the tub, up to her neck in bubbles.

“Can’t a girl have any privacy?” she asked.

“No. None. You’re not leaving my side.” Jesus, he might as well have simply said,
Me caveman, you woman.

She blinked, stared down at the bubbles. “Can you at least wait outside the door?”

“I won’t leave you alone inside a room with a window.”

“I’m below the window.”

He wanted to tell her that a sniper wasn’t the only way Landon could try to get to her, but instead he told her, “You need to get out.”

“Is it me or Landon you’re worried about?”

“Both. Now up,” he said firmly, held up a towel.

“I’m all soapy. I have to rinse off.”

He sighed, moved to the window and said, “Go ahead.”

“Can’t you at least look away?”

“No.” Why was she being so stubborn? He’d seen her naked, made love to her. Now wasn’t the time for false modesty. “And if you don’t move soon, I’m hauling you out of there myself.”

“Fine.” With a determined set to her jaw, she let the water out of the tub and stayed seated and used the handheld showerhead to wash off for a while. And then she finally stood, her taut body naked and dripping wet.

He stared as something caught his eye. She stilled, because she knew.

She’d hidden the scars from him. Jem had helped her. He’d assumed the bandages she’d worn for weeks had been because of broken ribs.

He’d been so very wrong. There were deep cuts through her beautiful tattoo. And the initials DL carved into a heart. Slashes on her breasts that were on their way to healing still looked angry. They’d never fully fade.

“Not as pretty as tattoos,” she said tightly.

“You’ll always be beautiful to me, Avery.”

“Dammit, Gunner, I didn’t want you to find out about them like this.”

“Come on.” He wrapped her in the towel because she’d started to shiver.

“I don’t have regrets.”

“I do, Avery. It’s my fault you sank deeper into this world.”

“I would’ve been here sooner or later. It’s my legacy, remember?” she said almost defiantly as she stepped out of the tub and walked into the adjoining bedroom, holding the towel around her.

Gunner started after her. She was still in pain, and pretending everything was fine when it goddamn wasn’t. So what was this all about? Revenge? Redemption? Or more than a generous helping of both?

He followed her now, found her sitting on the bed, holding a sketch pad. It was brand-new, and there were pencils there too. She must’ve asked someone to pick them up on one of their runs into town.

“Draw me,” she told him.

The seeds for his revenge against Landon had been planted when he’d found Josie on the floor. He just hadn’t seen a way out that didn’t involve him losing what little he had left. And when his art had soothed him, he’d clung to that, because he didn’t want to lose it again.

The art—the tattooing—was to honor Josie and what she’d done for him. But she’d always known that his art was important to him.

Avery wasn’t going to let him forget that. She dropped the towel. “Do it. Scars and all.” And just like that, she fucking posed for him. “Plan what other tattoos you’ll do after that.”

Those he would draw right on her body, just so he could get the curves right. For now, he concentrated on sketching the warrior he saw in front of him. Because he didn’t see the scars, not the way she’d thought he would. “I’m drawing you exactly as I see you.”

“Tell me what you see,” she said.

“You. Beautiful survivor. Map of where you’ve been, how far you’ve come.” He looked up.

“The scar over your heart . . .” He paused, then bent down to sketch again. “Means you’ve been given more room to let people in. More room for me and all my mistakes.”

“Not so many mistakes,” she said softly. He heard the smile in her voice as he traced a breast on paper with the edge of the pencil.

“Scars make you stronger.”

“Until I had them, I never understood what people meant when they said that.”

“But now you do.”

“Yes.”

“When I look at you, I don’t see scars, though. I see . . . you.”

“And places you want to tattoo.”

“That too.” He stood, moved closer. Traced the pencil’s eraser over the lines on her breasts. “I’ve got plans. Short-term and long-term.”

“Does short-term involve you in my bed?”

“Definitely.”

•   •   •

Gu
nner’s hand wound around the back of her neck as he spoke. He dropped the sketchbook onto the night table as she stood, pressed her naked body against his clothed one.

Her heart was beating so loudly she was sure he could hear it. But she’d never felt more strong and sure in her life.

“Don’t be gentle with me. Don’t you dare,” she told him. Something glinted in his eyes and he swooped her up and brought her over to the bed. But instead of covering her body with his, he rolled them so she was on top of him. She stared down at him, wondering how he could know so much, how he could just know what she needed.

“Go ahead, woman. Have your way with me,” he murmured. He wound his hands around the metal bar across the headboard. “Use my T-shirt. Cuffs. Whatever you’ve got.”

“I want you to touch me,” she said, even though she knew he was right, that she wouldn’t handle that well.

Reluctantly, she used the handcuffs from Gunner’s bag, because she knew he would have a tougher time getting out of those. Hated that Landon had done this to her and then realized that she never, ever wanted Landon in her mind, in her bed ever again. That would mean he won, and she couldn’t let that happen.

She kissed him. He kissed her back but let her set the rhythm. She gripped his hair, kissed him like there was no tomorrow as the familiar passion filled her. She was wet between her legs, her nipples hard.

Her body still worked. Maybe scars really did make you stronger.

His cock was hard against her sex. And although she wanted him inside her, this felt too good to stop. It had been too long, and before she could think about it, her belly clenched with pleasure. “Gunner.”

She heard the surprise in her own voice.

“Yeah, baby. Just like that. Keep looking at me. You’re with me, and you’re safe. And you’re so fucking beautiful, I can’t stand it.”

She rubbed against him until the orgasm burst through her. She saw stars, held on to his shoulders.

And then she wept. When she was able to stop, she wiped her eyes, looked at him and then at the sketchbook.

He’d drawn her with no scars at all.

I drew you exactly the way I see you.

N
ea
rly four months had passed since Landon tried to firebomb them. He hadn’t called, and things had been quiet on that front. Not so much with Landon’s business, which Jem helped Gunner trace.

Landon—Drew, Donal or both—was still active. And so their plan to have Drea pose as the wife of a recently indicted businessman was moving forward full steam.

And Jem wasn’t happy about it at all. He’d voiced his unhappiness in every way, shape or form he could think of.

“It’s not them. It’s us,” Gunner had muttered just last night, and Key nodded in agreement.

“And we’ll drive ourselves and them crazy if we keep focusing on it,” Jem had added.

“You were already there,” Key pointed out.

Now Jem concentrated on putting a microphone and camera buttons in some of the high-fashion bags and accessories Drea would wear when she met with Landon. Grace had taken her shopping, with Dare as their escort.

He’d grumbled something about it being horrible, but he’d come home with new clothes, Jem noted.

But the transformation hadn’t stopped with clothing. Drea spent part of the day at some kind of spa—and Dare got a manicure, Grace was quick to point out—and when she came home, she looked beautiful, but different. She looked high society. The right makeup and hairstyle, the right dress and jewelry and suddenly Drea was Andrea, pronounced with an O sound.

Drea was used to dealing with deadly maniacs. She’d been threatened for so long, standing in a room with men of Landon’s caliber wasn’t going to throw her.

That didn’t mean that Jem was ready to let her do it. And the fact that he’d bucked the idea so hard let him know that he had feelings for Drea. Real goddamned feelings, and he’d somehow let that happen when he’d promised himself he never, ever would.

She stood in front of him almost shyly, the expensive fabric of the well-cut dress draping over her perfectly. Her legs were long and lean and finely muscled and the heels she wore emphasized that.

He’d forced himself to stop sleeping in her bed weeks ago, when the planning intensified. They hadn’t done much more than kiss, even though he wanted much more.

“You look fucking fantastic,” he told her, and she blushed.

“Jem, come on. I don’t look like me.”

“No, you don’t. And when you’re done, I’m going to help you wash it all off,” he promised.

Her blush deepened. “Stop. I’m already nervous. I’ve never dressed like this. I feel . . .”

“Hot?”

“Silly,” she countered. “Why do women feel like they need all of this?”

He shrugged. “Armor. I carry my gun, a woman shields herself with makeup and earrings and bags.”

The meeting was set up for two o’clock. Drea had perfect identification—Jem saw to it that there were no mistakes. The real wife was in federal custody—Landon wouldn’t know that. For all intents and purposes, S8 made it look as though the feds leaked that she was still missing, that they were searching for her. The situation played right into their laps.

Except Jem would have to let Drea out of reach to pull this off. Landon insisted on sending a car for her. Jem would wait at the second safe house with her, but after she got into the car, she was on her own.

He’d spent the better part of the month making her brush up on her self-defense skills. She went to the shooting range. He gave her knives that were sewn into strategic places in her dress, ceramic ones that wouldn’t set off any metal detectors. She had pills she could dissolve into people’s drinks, if things got bad.

“It’s just a meeting, Jem. She’ll pull it off and be right back to us,” Gunner said, but his voice was tight too.

Everything they’d done over the past months had led up to this. Key and Dare, and sometimes Jem, had spent the time traveling to various ports and thwarting cargo ships filled with women and children. Gunner had the edge, knowing Landon so well, and although Landon might suspect Gunner was behind it, he had way too many fires to put out and his resources were stretched thin trying to plug the holes in his business. Because Gunner also stopped two major criminals from leaving the country with Landon’s men. It was all taking a chance, but that’s what they were all about.

Word was beginning to leak out that Landon’s business was suffering. Add to that the other men that S8 put out of business, traffickers and other businessmen who would normally support Landon, and Jem knew the walls had begun to close in on Landon.

He leaned back and snapped a picture of Drea, the way he’d been doing over the past months. And he fed it into the facial-recognition software.

They’d run tests on Drea for weeks now, with all different programs, and there had never been a hit.

Until now.

When the computer started beeping, he stared at it in surprise. Thankfully, Avery had called Drea away, so she hadn’t noticed, but Key had. Stared over Jem’s shoulder.

“The feds are after her,” Jem told his brother, who gave a low whistle.

“She ever tell you anything about that?”

“No. Don’t know if she even knows,” Jem said. “She’s been honest about everything else and it’s the first time she’s come up in the system. Maybe that asshole ex is using her for an immunity plea?”

“Either way, they’re gonna force her to testify.”

“Dammit.” Jem sighed, because she was definitely a fugitive. It was one thing to have her hiding out from the OA. But the feds were a whole other story, and once they got their hooks into S8 . . .

“She’ll compromise us, yes. But Avery’s not going to care.”

“Avery’s not the only one on the team.”

“Jem, did you stop to think this could actually work in our favor? The guy’s wife is wanted by
the feds. If Drea’s face shows up as wanted . . . can’t we just change the information on her?”

Jem could easily change Drea’s name and other details, and he would, but that didn’t change the fact that he hated this plan. “She has a right to know.”

“Agreed. You tell her, and I’ll share with the rest of the group.” Key patted Jem on the back as he walked away, calling, “Hey Drea, Jem needs to talk to you.”

Drea came over to him. She’d taken off the heels since this was only a dress rehearsal for next week. She was already tugging at the dress and he knew she’d be back in her jeans as soon as they’d let her.

For now, Avery was busy taking pictures, building up a portfolio of a life Drea didn’t have.

“What’s wrong?”

“Your face came up on the recognition software.”

“What does that mean, exactly?”

“It means someone put you into the system as wanted.” He pointed to the computer and let the screen do the talking.

“The FBI?” she asked.

“And they don’t see the picture I scanned of you—I made sure of that. You haven’t been caught, but they want you.”

“What did they say I did?” she asked, her eyes wide. “Wait. I know. Dammit.”

Her eyes were troubled. He didn’t push her, thought about how he couldn’t wait until she showered and got all that shit off her face. She’d drop her towel and pull on a T-shirt to sleep in. Then she’d run her hands through her long hair—that was the extent of her beauty routine and she always ended up with hair that looked like something out of a magazine. It amazed him every time that she was so carelessly beautiful.

He’d fallen in love with her, maybe from the second he’d seen her helping a woman most doctors would’ve gone out of their way to avoid. In that split second, he’d known everything he needed to know.

Seemed maybe he didn’t know
everything
.

Finally, she told him, “It’s the drugs. Morphine mainly. Some Oxy. I never gave it to them—I told Danny they’d take my medical license. But I know the clinic was robbed a few times.”

“So Danny told them they got the drugs from you?” Jem asked.

“He’d do anything to get his ass out of a sling. Especially if it means I sit in jail next to him so he can keep an eye on me.”

“What’s their main source of income?”

She shrugged. “I didn’t get involved in that. I know they did some gun runs. Some drugs, obviously. Maybe some prostitution, but nothing I have any evidence of. Danny made sure I knew just enough to keep me in line and not enough to ever get the club in trouble.”

“I’ll figure something out.”

“In all your spare time?”

“Drea—”

“Jem, you’re going to have to let me go hide somewhere. I mean, this tour of the world’s been great, but sooner or later, you’re all going back to your home base. I can’t compromise what you do.”

And she’d put it together faster than he thought she’d be able to. “Maybe turning myself over to them’s for the best. They can put you in protection.”

“You do not trust that shit, Drea. Trust me—you cannot tru
st them worth a damn. They will fuck you over to make their case. Use you and spit you out.” He heard his own voice shake with anger. “I’ve seen it. Not pretty. I won’t let that happen to you.”

“Then what, Jem?”

“How about we finish off Landon first, and then we figure out you, okay, baby?”

She nodded, because there wasn’t much choice. They were too far into this to stop now. Landon had more heat on him with each day that passed. His contacts were slowly turning on him. It satisfied S8’s need to help people along with scaring the shit out of Landon. Much more satisfying than a slow kill.

If Landon was trying to send men after them, they weren’t showing up on anyone’s radar.