Page 44 of Mercenary
“No harm done,” I say in a soothing tone, because the poor kid looks crushed. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Lucky Pudding,” I tell the puppy, giving him a quick pat on the head before waving good-bye to the boys.
The passenger door is still open and I climb back inside the pickup.
Declan’s staring straight ahead. All traces of the playful man who basked in a little puppy mauling now gone.
I sigh and slam the door shut. Disappointed this carefree moment ended so suddenly. Not wanting the chemistry between us to disappear along with it.
I bide my time, hoping he’ll say something.
He doesn’t.
I wait until we’re back en route to Dayton before asking, “You like dogs?”
“No,” he responds without missing a beat.
I roll my eyes. “Puppies then?”
He doesn’t answer, and hits the gas.
As far as this conversation goes, it’s clear he’s hit the break.
Hard.
13
Declan
I’ve got to hand it to Kylie, no one saw her treachery coming. Especially Jaxson, my only friend and her partner. That’s what you get for underestimating a woman. Or in Jaxson’s case, loving one.
I rub my hand across my jawline. Ignoring the woman sitting quietly in the seat next to me as I ask myself how I got into this situation.
Two-word answer.
Goddamn Kylie.
When DiCapitano’s men showed up outside TORC headquarters, a ranch located outside of Shelby, Hayden wanted answers. So I bided my time surveilling Kylie’s trailer, waiting for her to come home.
And who did I find instead? Madelyn. Carrying a grocery bag and humming a Blake Shelton tune, something about rednecks. Fitting, considering good times had long passed by Happy Times trailer park. I stepped forward, for a second mistaking her for Kylie, with her long, blond hair and fair complexion. Until Madelyn turned her face my way and I spied her warm smile. A punch to the gut, that smile. An innocent, straight-from-the-heart one a shithead like me rarely sees. A smile that reminds me of what I never had.
What I never will have.
I stayed late into the evening, waiting for Kylie.
And instead who came calling?
Three of Franco’s men.
Damn it. Kylie fucked up royally. Left herself vulnerable. Exposed her Achilles heel: Madelyn. Hard to believe—being the sly, capable woman pissing everyone off and showing fucking trained professionals what’s up—she’d leave her sister at risk.
TORC had been monitoring DiCapitano for months. Unsuccessfully trying to infiltrate his mob, gather information, and position ourselves for our real target, his foreign business associate Novák. The international militant leader recruits pissants like Franco to collect money to fund sleeper cells being set up across the globe. A worldwide threat to security. A job only an off-the-grid organizations like TORC can handle without a public outcry. Because we get inside the darkest corners, rooting out the worst threats to social order, doing sometimes the unthinkable, without anyone’s—even our targets—knowledge. Hit hard, hit fast, then disappear. Whatever it takes.
For better or for worse.
That night, it’d been fucking for worse for Kylie.
Franco’s men had taken an interest in Madelyn.
Until I stopped them with three bullets to the head. Pop. Pop. Pop. The woods behind the trailer were a convenient place to bury the fuckers. Was I helping Kylie out? Protecting her sister? Whatever the reason, the next night I returned to Happy Times.
