“It’s Corey, Bobby. He’s the one who tried to kill you in Alexandria. It’s my fault.”
I stop short of punching a cop in the face. With one hand up, I put the call on speaker with the other. The cops glare. I tip my chin at the phone. “Zach, you’re on speaker. There are a bunch of badges ready to take me the fuck down. Spill. I need to get to my girl.”
There’s a deep sigh from the other end of the line. Resigned. Remorseful. “I started with Iris’s cell first when I should’ve started with Jules. Corey’s been calling Jules nonstop since he started his leave two weeks ago. He called me yesterday. You know, us on the same unit and all, except we got out first, and he stayed to finish off his years. Not thinking of it, still working on getting numbers and names from the call logs, I told him you finally asked for that favor, you know, for you saving my life? I told him what I was doing for you. He hung up. Fucking hung up. I thought it was weird. Then I ran the call logs for Jules, and his name popped up. It all makes fucking sense, Bobby.”
I ground my teeth. “Buddy, I’d love to hear this shit, but time is against us. Get to the point.”
“They were seeing one another. She dropped him. He got pissed. Said you were to blame. She hadn’t gotten over you, and that’s why she couldn’t marry him. He went on and on about how he’ll never be better than you in Jules’s eyes and your father’s. That’s the gist of the back-and-forth text messages.”
“My father?”
The cop motions for me to put my hands down. I lower my arms. They gather around me and the cell phone.
“Fuck’s sake, Bobby. I saw your sister. Have looked up your half-brothers. Corey has the same color eyes and hair as your half-siblings.”
I flinch like I’ve been slapped. That twinge of familiarity when I met Corey for the first time. His look of wonderment and curiosity when we shook hands and made introductions. He was assigned to my unit in my second year of service.
We fought battles together. Saved each other’s lives more times than we could count. Then something shifted in him the year before Carlos was murdered. He’d come back from leave with a shit-eating grin that slowly morphed into stony silence and an undercurrent of anger.
He took out his anger on me. Went antisocial. Didn’t say a fuck to me afterward. After six months of dealing with his shit, I asked for a reassignment. Zach wanted to do the same. I asked him to stick around and keep an eye on Corey. Thank fuck he owed me two favors and agreed.
“He’s my fucking brother?!”
“Yes.”
“Fuck.” I point at Slate. “Call my father.” If anything happens to me, he’s to call Branson.
“Bobby?”
“Yeah, man?”
“There’s another number on here. A burner. I traced it to a hotel twenty miles from your location.”
He gives me the address. Me, Slate, and Gage hurry to Slate’s truck. The cops get in their cruisers with lights and sirens.
“Gear still under the seats?” I ask Slate.
“Hell yeah.”
“Good. Let’s lock and load.”
We grab guns, NVGs, and bulletproof vests from under the seats and pile into the truck. Slate’s driving. We’ve strategically put Gage in the middle. He doesn’t have military training. When we get to the hotel, me and Slate will evac the truck first.
I keep Zach on the line while we wait for Branson to answer Slate’s call. Slate has his cell on a phone clip, and it’s on speaker. The call goes to voicemail. Slate tells his phone to call Branson again. Branson picks up on the third ring.
“This better be an emergency, Slate.”
“It is,” I growl, leaning over a stewing Gage.
What will Ever’s father, Cormac Moretti, do to his son, Gage, and their crew for not keeping an eye on his little girl and letting her get kidnapped? Fuck, what’s he going to do to me? I clench my jaw. Like Ever said, bring it. I deserve whatever he doles out for not protecting his daughter.
“Who the fuck is Corey Manchester, Dad?”
There’s a deafening silence on the other line. I don’t wait for Branson to speak. Time is against us. “He rammed my truck. Kidnapped my woman. He fucking took Gwen’s best friend, Ever. Is he your fucking son?”
“Yes.” One word said on a strangled breath.
“How many more kids?”
