The way he makes me feel wanted in every place I was afraid I’d become too much.
And when Stefano finally sees his brother again, Maverick is ten minutes late.
Judging by the knowing smirk on Stefano’s face, he knows exactly why.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Maverick
(Three days ago)
Chris Olsen sits at Patch’s kitchen table, his elbows braced on the scarred wood and his hands covering his face.
The man looks like he’s aged ten years since walking through the door.
“I can’t believe everything was a lie,” he says, voice muffled behind his palms. “I’ve been working for them almost a year, and they’ve been using me?”
Patch’s cabin is quiet around us.
Only men, weapons, and the kind of truth that ruins whatever peace a man thought he had.
“I need you to focus, boy,” I tell him.
Chris drops his hands and looks at me with red-rimmed eyes.
Truck driver. Father. Widower. A man who thought he was earning a living hauling freight for a company that paid decently and on time.
Now he’s sitting across from me with the knowledge that the cargo he refused to deliver this morning contained people.
Not boxes.
Not furniture.
People.
“Has your boss reached out about your truck not showing up to port this morning?” I ask.
“Not yet,” Chris says, blowing out a shaky breath. “But it’s only a matter of time.” His eyes lift to mine. “Are those people safe?”
“They’ve been transported to a hospital,” Stefano tells him gently. “You did the right thing reaching out to us.”
Chris nods, but it does nothing to ease the horror in his expression.
“I knew something was off,” he says. “I heard something in the back once.”
“What did you hear?” Spike asks.
Chris swallows. “A sound. Like something hit the wall. Maybe a cry. I don’t know. I told myself it was cargo shifting because that’s what they told me it would be.”
“They told you not to open the doors,” I guess.
He nods. “My boss said every time the trailer doors open, it logs into the system. He said if I opened them without authorization, I’d be fired and blacklisted from every decent trucking company in the country.”
“So you kept driving.”
His face twists with guilt. “I have a daughter. A mortgage. I told myself it wasn’t my business.”
“It became your business this morning,” Patch says.
