“No, we certainly can’t.”
I look up sharply, but I’m not the only one. Reagan, Quinn, Peyton, Hudson, Bryce, and even Logan are also jerking their heads up to look at the Major.
“What?”
The Major grins; “I said we certainly can’t.”
“Logan,” Quinn says pointedly; “What if it was me? What if they’d been after me and he stepped in?”
Logan glares at my sister; “But it wasn’t-”
“It might have well been, man.” Hudson says sharply; “They were after her to get to us. It could have been Reagan, and it could have been Quinn, and the only reason she’s not hurt,” He nods at me; “Well, Javier Toro is the only reason.”
Logan closes his eyes, shaking his head for a moment before he opens them; “He called me, you know.”
I jerk my head up and stare at him; “What!? When?”
From before he broke you out, when you were there with Benson and Blackriver.” Logan nods slowly; “He called my old second line and just said that he was settling up with karma, and that he was sorry.”
My heart almost breaks right there, and I find myself clinging to Quinn as if I might shatter and scatter to the winds if I don’t.
Logan turns, and when he does, I can see him drop the rest of whatever he’s holding onto. He looks pointedly at the Major; “How soon could we do this?”
Major Lawson grins and cocks an eyebrow, looking almost excited; “Well the three of you are military trained, you all own planes, and I’ve got a SEAL team on speed dial and pretty much a blank check on matters I deem of interest to national security.”
Logan nods quietly, before he turns and shoots me a hard look; “Let’s go get our man.”
31
Javier
When I was younger, I used to have a lot more machismo, and a lot more bullshit swagger than I do now. When you’re young, and poor, and scrounging from the street, you talk a whole lot of bullshit to get you through each day. I can distinctly remember a gang of us, poking around the shadows of the market looking for pick-pocketing marks and bragging about how we didn’t care about death or dying; like that was some kind of badge of honor to not give a fuck. We’d make jokes about the devil telling us when and how so that we could pull all the shit we wanted to pull before he took us.
We weren’t fearless, we were just fucking idiots.
Because I can say now that knowing when, and how you’re going to die is…well, it doesn’t feel like I ever expected it to feel. I’m not standing there with arms wide open like the jackass kid version of myself who used to brag about it before stealing pocket change from old ladies. I’m not raging, or laughing in the face of it either.
I mean I’m pissed about it, because if this is my time to go, I’d just want one more day with her; one more perfect day with that angel. But I guess we’ll always want one more something when our time comes; one more day, one more drink with friends, one more time with a lover. But fuck it, if the last few days of this fucked up and broken life were the cards I got dealt, then I can call that a good run.
A very good run.
I can see the sun starting to peak over the treetops, through the barred window of the cell I’m in.
One more sunrise.
They’re going to kill me today. Well, Benson’s been promising that for four days now, but there was something about the finality in him saying it last night that got me. And maybe it was that he’s just gotten tired of having me beaten, or electrocuted, or denied sleep, and wants to be done with me; not altogether different than most people I’ve known in my life. At some point, they just get tired of me and my bullshit.
Except for her.
I grit my teeth when I think of her; my one regret and the one thing I’m angry about having to leave. But I know she got out OK, and that’s all that matters. She’s safe, and if I’ve gotta take the hit for that, so fucking be it.
There’s the sound of yelling from outside the door to my cell, and I steel myself; fuck it, let’s get this over with.
But the sounds of yelling are quickly drowned out by gunshots, a crashing sound, and something that sounds like an explosion in the distance.
What the fuck?
I’m wide awake then; well, as wide awake as I can be considering I’ve been tortured, beaten, and deprived of sleep for four days. But my eyes are glued to the door as I hear someone banging on the other side of it. The sound goes silent for a second, but suddenly there’s a horrible sound of wrenching metal as the door explodes inwards, rupturing in two in a cloud of black smoke.
And then suddenly Logan Goddamn Dempsey is standing in front of me, and it all makes sense.