Page 31 of Fighting for Valor
Gesturing to the unopened computer box on the table, he arches a brow. “You ever going to crack the seal on that damn thing?”
“No.” The word escapes with more force than I expect or intend, and Ryker’s expression softens—as much as it can. I head off any attempts to convince me otherwise by holding up my hand. The scars around my wrists won’t ever fade, and I kick myself for picking a short-sleeved shirt. “I can’t, Ry. All those years…everything I did… Shit. I’ve…blocked it all out. If I pick up anything more complicated than a phone, I’ll disappear into that dark well that holds all my crimes, and I won’t ever come back.”
“You could do something good with that tech.”
“Like what? Find all the people killed by the weapons Faruk sold to the Taliban? Search for the graves of the women he had kidnapped and sent to the auctions? There’s so much of what he made me do I don’t remember. And…it’s better that way. I can barely live with the guilt over what I do remember.”
“Rip—”
“End of discussion. You want me to go to breakfast? You’ll shut the fuck up until we get there.” I grab my jacket, the air in the apartment suddenly too thick, too choking, too cold, and head for the door. “Lock up for me, will you?”
I don’t stop until I’m out on the street, and I brace my hands on the bed of Ryker’s truck, sucking in fresh air to remind me I’m free.
He doesn’t show for so long, I push off his truck three times with the intention of heading back inside. But each time, I stop. I don’t want to know if he’s going through my shit, looking for contraband. Drugs, weapons, signs I’m sinking into a deep depression…
Faruk never cared about that last one, but he rifled through my tiny room all the time. Or had Zaman do it.
By the time Ry shows up, five minutes later, I’m ready to take his head off. Except he’s got over a hundred pounds on me. Fucking giant. “Find what you were looking for?”
“Give me a little credit, Rip. If I wanted to go through your shit, I’d do it when you were sleeping at the church. And no. I haven’t. Not once. Get in the goddamn truck.”
I do as I’m told, hating how easily I give in. We don’t speak again until Ry pulls up to a small breakfast spot in Greenwood. I stalk in ahead of him, then stop. It’s not just Dax sitting at the table within ten feet of the exit. Ford’s there too.
“Ripper,” Ford says as he rises and holds out his hand. I stare at it for a full minute before I can force my arm to move.
“How’s Joey?”
He smiles through our brief handshake. “Good. She went back to work last week. It helped.”
I take the empty seat with the best view of the restaurant. There’s nothing between me and the door, and it doesn’t escape my attention that Dax and Ry purposely arranged things this way. Shit. As I scan the room, I understand exactly what they’ve done.
Around our table, there’s a buffer zone where every four-top has a Reserved sign on it. There aren’t any words to explain my gratitude and frustration. I don’t want to be this person. So damaged his friends have to protect him from himself—and the rest of the world.
“Ford,” I say, “you get a pass. But the other two of you… What the fuck is going on here? This wasn’t the plan.”
Dax flinches, but Ryker’s face is set in stone. Doesn’t much matter. The guy conveys more emotion by remaining perfectly still than he’d like to admit—to those who know how to read him.
“We have news,” Dax says as he slides his hands towards one another on the table until he finds his coffee mug. “And we wanted you to be the first to know.”
I clench my own mug hard enough it shakes a little, but manage to take a sip of coffee without spilling it. I don’t like surprises. Not after the past six years. Surprises are…bad.
Ryker clears his throat. “I moved to Seattle after my discharge because being in Boston…it was too hard. Dax and I…weren’t talking. My fault. Only reconnected three months ago.”
Coffee sloshes over the rim of my mug, burning my hand, and I hiss out a breath, swear, and grab for my napkin. “Shit, Ry. You wasted all that time?”
He bristles and shoves his chair back from the table, drawing up to his full height. “You’re my goddamned brother, Rip, but you’re also getting on my last fucking nerve.”
“Enough!” Dax says as he slams his coffee mug down on the polished wood. “We’re past it now. Got it? Everyone.” Despite being unable to see much more than hazy shadows, he looks right at each of us, and we all mutter our agreement.
“So what’s this news?” I shouldn’t be allowed to be around people at all. Not even those closest to me.
Ryker rubs a hand over his shaved head and then takes his seat again, meeting my gaze. “Hidden Agenda and Second Sight are partnering up. Offices and training facilities in both Seattle and Boston.”
I turn my attention to Dax. “So, you’ll be out here on the regular?”
“Yes. Evianna can work from anywhere, and Beacon Hill Technologies is growing too. She and Cam are talking about a merger.” His face softens whenever he mentions Evianna’s name. I’ve only met her a couple of times—wasn’t fit for human contact when we got back to Boston—but she’s obviously good for him.
“Rip?” Ryker leans forward, his elbows on the table. “I know what you said earlier. But we need you, man. Wren’s so busy with her work for Second Sight, and Hidden Agenda needs its own expert. Plus…I don’t want her to have to face that darkness every day. She gets enough of it living with me.”
