Page 94 of Back in the Saddle

“Why do you believe that?” I asked in a small, terrified voice, even though I knew he was because the General told me.

“Because, we’ve just learned, they refer to themselves as Shadow Soldiers,” Cap said.

I closed my eyes and slouched in the chair.

I opened them when I felt a strong hand wrap around the back of my neck and saw Eric had seated his ass on the arm of my chair, therefore it was his hand there.

Jacques remembered my existence at this juncture and jumped into my lap.

Eric made to grab him, but I cuddled him to me because I needed some doggie love. Nothing in life was certain, but in that moment, my need for doggie love was.

I got a jaw bath, and, fortified, I looked to Cap.

“What else do these Shadow Soldiers do?” I asked.

“Clear dealers from doing their business around schools. After the shit you women dealt with a couple of months ago, they started offering presence on patches where sex workers do their business.” Cap took a big breath, which spoke volumes even before he laid it on me. “And we believe they go undercover in criminal organizations so they can anonymously pass information to the police.”

I lost Eric’s hand when I stood and snapped, “Oh my God!”

Jacques barked in solidarity.

“Your brother is young, fit,” Knox stated. “We think Mountain saw him sleeping rough, noted his potential, helped him get his shit together, and folded him into his operation.”

I put my coffee down on Luna’s coffee table and started pacing, taking Jacques along for the ride, something he enjoyed if his happy panting was anything to go by.

I looked among the women. “We need to find this Mountain guy.”

Eric was suddenly in my space.

Jacques made a lunge for him and Eric caught him easily, tucked him under his arm and spoke to me.

“Honey, look at me.”

I tipped my gaze from pup to him.

“I didn’t know Jeff was involved with Mountain. Now that I do, I gotta ask you to let us take this from here,” Eric requested.

Yep.

You guessed it.

Now evenlesswarm fuzzies, and when there were none to begin with, the negative ratio of warm fuzzies was a sensation I never wanted to feel again.

“Why?” I asked.

“Because this guy is serious,” Eric answered. “And his crew is serious.”

He drew breath into his nose, and I braced.

“This is blood pact shit, Jessie,” he said carefully. “This is, you’re in it until you die. They get ink. They take oaths. It’s like being in a gang, or a motorcycle club. You aren’t inducted unless they know you’re one of them, and when you’re inducted, everything you used to be is gone, and all you are is one of them.”

I took this in, grabbed my mug, sat back down and sipped coffee.

Everyone stared at me.

I kept sipping coffee.

After about my fifth sip, I set the mug aside and dug my phone out of my bag.

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