Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 71880 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 359(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71880 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 359(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
Crew was waiting for me in the corridor, and he must’ve seen the look on my face. “What’s wrong, papi?”
I shook my head and pocketed my notepad. “I think I need a new hobby. Like alcoholism.”
He winced and snuck in for a hug.
I squeezed him to me.
It felt entirely wrong to carry a celebratory cigar in my pocket right now, though I knew we still had sixteen reasons to celebrate. Just not yet.
“I just survived signing four hundred thousand nondisclosure agreements,” Crew whispered.
That punk—he dragged a laugh out of me, and my eyes burned with emotions. What would I do without him? Even in the darkest moments, he could light up my existence with a crappy joke or one of his smirks.
He eased back and touched my cheek. “How many do you have left?”
“Only Elliott,” I sighed. “He has three children with him.”
Crew nodded with a dip of his chin. “The doc’s been in there the past hour.”
Roughly an hour was what they’d all received. They’d called in six doctors and eleven nurses for our arrival.
Down the hall, Shay stepped out from a room and wiped at his cheeks.
“You okay, man?” Crew asked.
Shay looked up, having not expected anyone, and nodded stiffly. “I just hate people.”
I knew the feeling.
“Don’t,” Crew replied. “That’s how you get sucked into a lifeless void and turn into these jaded old bastards we hitch our wagons to.”
“Gee. Thank you, sweetheart,” I drawled.
He smiled up at me. “You’re welcome, baby.”
That disarming fucking smile.
“I think I’m gonna accept Coach’s offer and join Hillcroft,” Shay said.
Fuck.
Crew sobered too, and he cleared his throat and scratched his nose. “I can’t relate to what you’ve been through, buddy, but I urge you to talk to your men—and don’t make any decisions based on what you’re feeling right now. That’s gonna change.”
He was right. So very right.
“Crew’s right, Shay,” I said patiently. “Let yourself recover before deciding a new career path.”
Shay furrowed his brow. “It’s not like I’m gonna head out into the field and be a contractor. I wanna become a martial arts instructor and help them train PMCs to not get their asses kicked.”
Oh.
“Ohhhhh.” Crew started nodding, and he snapped his fingers. “Yeah—I like that. That’s awesome. And wasn’t your old man a martial arts instructor back in the day?”
Shay actually smiled a little. “Yeah. He taught me how to fight.”
Well, then. River and Reese probably had nothing to worry about.
Another door opened, this one closer, and a doctor walked out, speaking Spanish. I glimpsed Elliott nearby, though he stayed in the room and had a little boy clutching him for all he was worth.
Once the doctor left, I kissed Crew’s temple and told him I’d be back soon, before I aimed for Elliott.
“I understand the timing is awful.”
He shook his head. “You’re just doin’ your job. Come on in.” He peered out the door. “Crew?”
“Yeah, boss.”
“Mind bringing us some water and snacks?”
“No, of course—I’ll be there in a bit,” Crew replied.
I entered the room and thought I’d prepared myself enough. After all, I’d seen the boys in the helicopter earlier. How wrong I was. In the bright lights of an exam room, their cuts and bruises made me murderous all over again.
I cleared my throat and took a deep breath.
“It took a while, but I think I have everything you need,” Elliott said quietly.
I nodded and brought out my notepad again. “Let’s get this over with, then.” Nobody liked the agent who came into hospital rooms to “ask a few questions.” Nobody. “Names?”
“Nicolas Davis, Mateo Davis, and Julian Lopez.”
I jotted them down.
“The former two are brothers, and Julian is their cousin,” he continued. “Nicolas and Mateo’s mom is deceased, and from what I understand, their dad has custody of Julian as well. Nicolas said he lives with them.”
I lifted my gaze and raised a brow. Elliott had been around long enough to know what that usually meant.
“I know what you’re thinking,” he confirmed.
Fair enough. I made a note to make sure the boys didn’t return to their father before he’d been investigated properly. It was a tragic reality that the parents were many times responsible for their children ending up as human trafficking statistics.
Next, we covered ages and birthdates. Nicolas had recently turned fourteen, Mateo was eleven, and little Julian—as per Nicolas—was, “like, three.” Elliott gave me the parents’ names, and Texas—probably Houston—as the last location they’d lived, so I had no doubts we’d be able to confirm their details. It was enough to go on.
“As for injuries…” I hated this part the most.
“On the container ship, they were forced to fight two other boys,” Elliott said, jaw clenched. “Nicolas and Mateo against them. No casualties, thank fuck, but if they didn’t fight, Gajero punished them. Mateo can’t hear well—there’s swelling in his ears. Eyes too—they can’t open their eyes fully.”