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“We’re fine,” Caleb shouts from behind the truck. But when I round the tailgate, I find Tor crouched beside my brother, tying a piece of material around his bloodied bicep. He half rolls his eyes when he sees me, then jerks his chin toward her. “Tell her I’m not dying, would you? It’s just in my shoulder.”
Tor’s panicked gaze meets mine. I tuck my gun into the back of my jeans and grab onto her when she pushes to her feet. She buries her face in my chest, fisting the material of my shirt. An overwhelming relief washes over me as I thread my fingers through her hair. There’s no denying I’m completely lost in this girl. “You okay?” I whisper before pressing a kiss to her forehead. She nods, but she’s fisting my shirt a little harder.
“It’s the damn cartel,” Marney mumbles, firing a bullet at one of the dead men. “See what you’ve gotten into, boy?”
Tor’s hold on my shirt loosens, and she pulls away from my chest enough to look at me. “Did he just say cartel? Like, the cartel?”
I’m not going to answer that.
“Y’all gonna stand there and make out or help me clean up this mess?” Marney grabs one of the men by the ankles then drags the body through the thick weeds.
Caleb pushes to his feet, hissing through obvious pain. Like he’s in any condition to help. “Get in the car, Caleb.” I shoot a stern glare in his direction. He climbs into the cab of Marney’s truck, and then I glance at Tor. “How bad is his wound?” There didn’t seem to be shitloads of blood, and while I’ve been shot in the shoulder a handful of times, I’m not a doctor, and I don’t want to be reckless with my little brother’s life.
“Nothing major damaged. Just needs stitching.”
“Can you do that when we get back home?”
“Yeah.”
On a nod, I start across the field.
Marney and I get the first two men into the back of the pickup. When he crosses through the weeds again to get the third guy, Marney stops and crosses his arms. “Now that’s a three-man job right there.” He hitches his pants up and bends over, grabbing one of the man’s large arms. It takes us a good five minutes to drag the son of a bitch to the back of the truck, and when we hoist him up, the suspension creaks and the back of the truck sinks onto the wheel wells. Marney straightens and wipes sweat from his brow. “That damn tarp better cover this mess up, I tell you.” He walks around the dead bodies and opens the toolbox at the back of the truck, pulling out the blue plastic sheet. I help him cover up the bodies and tie them down before we both light a cigarette.
This is a shit show.
Tor takes Caleb inside when we get home, and I hang back for a few minutes, waiting for Marney to finish up a call. He rattles off an address then chucks his phone to the console with a chuckle. “An old friend of mine’s gonna cremate the son of a bitches at his funeral home.” Then his gaze swings to the porch of my house. “You realize we’re in a pile of shit?”
“Yeah.”
Now his stern gaze is on me. “Your pops had the same problem, though. Found him a woman he was crazy about, then all hell broke loose.” His expression softens a little, just like it does anytime he mentions my dad. “Ain’t no place for love in this business, but when a rose blooms in a pile of shit, I guess it’s kinda hard to ignore, ain’t it, boy?”
That’s Marney’s way of telling me he’s accepting this. I climb out of his truck, telling him not to get pulled over before I close the door and head up the stairs.
Caleb’s on the couch, shirt off, and a fresh gauze taped to his shoulder. “Feel any better?” I ask.
“Why the hell is the cartel after us, Jude? I thought you and Gabe were friends.”
“It’s not Gabe’s, guys. It’s Domingo’s.”
Caleb’s head drops back on a groan. “This shit never ends.”
That’s the damn truth. “You need anything?”
“No.” He grabs the remote and starts channel surfing. Caleb’s used to this crap, but Tor’s not. I grab a bottle of Tylenol and chuck it at him, telling him to take two before he goes to bed. Then I go to my room to check on Tor.
The shower in the en suite is running, and as I round the foot of my bed, I realize she’s left the door open. That’s all it takes to shift my train of thought from cartel and shoot-outs to the memory of how sweet her pussy tastes. My dick swells at the thought of that open door being an invitation. I step toward the door, hoping I’ll find her naked and waiting for me, but when I look inside the bathroom, that’s not at all what I find. Tor sits on the edge of the tub, head hung and hands fiddling with the hem of her bloodied shirt. I know that look. I saw it the first time Caleb pulled a trigger on someone. It’s guilt. She’s not meant for this world she’s been sucked up in. No good person is. And the shitty part of it is that there’s nothing I can do to fix it. I slip into the bathroom, but she doesn’t look up—not even when I sink to a crouch in front of her and take her small hands in mine. “It’s okay, Tor.”
