Page 13 of Remade

“He thinks Karl Hahn is gonna come looking for us.”

Hudson chuckled into his mug. “So he’s young and inexperienced. That’s what training’s for. Don’t tell me you knew how the underworld operated at his age.”

Fair.

I remembered thinking we’d go hunting down cartels and mafia organizations, only to realize that the worst of the worst dressed in bespoke suits and dined with world leaders. The cartels were still there. The mafia was alive and well too, albeit in a new sheep’s clothing. They operated differently nowadays. Butthe men who caused the most destruction ran global networks of legit corporations, and they were surprisingly easy to track, because they had lines upon lines of men who not only did the dirty work but planned most of it as well. Karl Hahn and Omar Said were untouchable.

Between the two, they also had six sons ready to take their places when they died.

Whatever. I’d prefer to think about how fucked the world was when I had a bottle of bourbon nearby.

I shoveled more food into my mouth and looked over at Leighton again.

Since Coach somehow knew about us, my days of mentoring Leighton were over. But even if Coach hadn’t known, maybe it was for the best. I couldn’t be impartial to save my life, and I wasn’t ready to acknowledge just how much that kid meant to me. Not yet. It was way too soon.

“Is he joining us tonight?” Hudson asked.

Fuck no.

Was my knee-jerk response. But…

I released a breath.

Tonight’s operation would be close combat, perfect for anyone who’d come here from a position in the infantry, something Leighton had a few years of experience in already. Coach had cleared him. Quinn and Finlay seemed to like him. Hudson was impressed. The Army had promoted him to sergeant.

How had I become the crazy one for thinking he wasn’t ready?

Ididn’tbelieve he was ready. I really fucking didn’t.

Regardless of his job in the Army, he’d never seen combat before. Not like what we expected to face tonight. According to our intel, approximately twenty people were hiding in thatbunker. Twenty men who were armed and paid to protect their merchandise.

Leighton had killed a man for the first time today, and he hadn’t begun to process it.

What would happen if we added five or six more men to that tally?

“I’ll have to talk to Coach again,” I muttered.

After rehashing our plans with Shira and doing an inventory of our manpower and ammo, I finally got a moment alone with Coach. He’d just come back from making sure the immigrants had been transported out of here.

My stomach twisted with discomfort, because at this point, Leighton was well aware that I was avoiding him. I saw it in the insecurity that bled through every time he looked my way, and it fucking hurt.

He was the eager puppy who just wanted to play, and I was the douchebag owner who left to go to work.

“How did it go?” I asked.

Coach huffed and took a swig of water. “It’s a miracle they’re still alive. At least four of them. But they’re on their way now.”

Yeah, the memory of Leighton taking care of them was fresh in my mind.

He was a fighter. Fast as shit, agile, and strong. Extremely technical but not so that it hindered him from being creative. He hadn’t lost control either. He could’ve easily killed them.

“Op’s back in your control, and we have the combat unit Shira picked out yesterday, adding me and the kid to that list. But I’m assumin’ you wanna talk about Watts,” Coach said.

I nodded with a dip of my chin. “I admit I can’t make a decision without bias. I don’t think he’s ready, and I don’t want a recruit to get hurt. No matter the NDAs and papers they sign, it’s fucking reckless to send someone so green into the field. This ain’t a drill.”

He nodded too. “Under any other circumstances, I would’ve agreed with you.”

“But you don’t now,” I stated.

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