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After another wipe of the perspiration, this time on the back of his neck, he checked his phone.
A message was waiting from Chloe.
7 work for you?
Fuck yeah, seven worked. Fuck, he’d head there now if he could. Chloe was making and bringing him dinner to their motel room. That meant time together without him shackled. And that meant her trust in him was growing. They’d be alone in the motel room for a meal. Rocket wouldn’t be shackled for the entire meal or for a few other things if he had his way. A huge step in whatever this odd friendship/sex buddy thing they had going on was.
“That from the sexy redhead I saw you with last night?”
Fuck! Shit! Rocket’s blood went from ninety-eight to two hundred and twelve degrees in under three seconds. Just the thought of Esposito breathing the same air as Chloe had him homicidal.
He whirled around, doing his best to school his expression. Of all the ways to be approached by Esposito, being caught off guard was the worst. “Fuck you doing in my town, old man?” he asked in a bored voice that disguised his angst.
Esposito smirked. The man had been around the block too many times to fall for Rocket’s shit. “Didn’t mean to startle you.” Older than Rocket by at least twenty-five years, his once black hair had dulled to a dingy gray and the flat abs he’d sported for years had pooched out since Rocket last saw him. The guy was getting too used to living the high life. Forgetting what hard work consisted of.
“Need this?” Esposito tossed an icy bottle of water Rocket’s way.
He hated to take a thing from the guy, but he was thirsty as fuck and needed to pick his battles. Pitching a fit over the offer of water wasn’t a good way to start this conversation.
“Why you here, old man?” Rocket asked as he caught the bottle one handed. He twisted the sealed cap off and took a long drink. When half the bottle had been drained, he leveled his gaze on Esposito.
His former boss chuckled with a shake of his head. “You always did have a way of looking at people that made them feel like you were melting their insides with your stare. You’re a hard fucker, Rocket. And you know why I’m here. Told you, you owe me.” He held out a manila folder.
Rocket didn’t budge.
“Take it.” When Rocket still didn’t move, Esposito rolled his eyes and closed the fifteen-foot gap between them. “Just take a fucking look.”
Rocket stared at the file as though it were covered in anthrax. One thing was for sure, he’d regret opening it. Another thing was for sure, he’d regret not fucking opening it. Esposito was good that way. The master of creating a damned if you do, damned if you don’t situation.
Suppressing the growl of frustration clawing at his throat—he wasn’t showing fucking weakness for a second—he snatched the file. “Doesn’t matter what the fuck’s in here. I’m not doing it.”
“Just fucking look.”
Sure enough, regret. The instant he flipped to the first paper in the file. An image of a beautiful young woman stared up at him. She was side by side with a smiling young man who had his arm slung across her shoulders. The rage, disgust, and hatred were instant. Copper had been fucking right. Rocket lived for protecting others. Eliminating the scum of the earth. Esposito knew it too and wanted to make a mockery of it.
“The fuck is this, old man? Ward and June here don’t exactly look like terrorists or blood thirsty leaders of a cartel.”
A smirk curled Esposito’s lips. “No, but you’re not far off. They don’t run the cartel, they fight them.”
What?
His old boss stepped closer. “This lovely lady and her husband here are your classic save-the-world do-gooders. They’ve been funneling illegals out of Mexico for the past three years. Specifically, people on the cartel’s hit list.” His smirk turned positively evil. “You have any idea how much the cartel is willing to pay to rid themselves of this annoyance?”
“No,” Rocket said, impressed with how disinterested he sounded while his mind was whirling with a million what-the-fuck thoughts. “I have no idea what the going rate for one’s soul is these days. I’m sure you’re about to tell me, though.”
“Five million,” Esposito said, his greedy eyes gleaming with money lust.
Jesus.
“Per body.”
No wonder the old man was so intent on having this done and done well.
In the last few months of Rocket’s employment, he’d gained firsthand knowledge of Esposito’s less than moral business dealings. When he let Rocket go all those years ago with a promise of being owed a favor, Rocket should have known this day would come.
Ignoring the primal part of him yearning to jump to the couple’s rescue, he flipped the file closed, and held it back out.
