I’m counting on that.
Just as I’m counting on Jaxon’s deluded sense of familial loyalty to buy me entrance onto the trawler.
“What do you do if they don’t let you onboard?” Pomroy asks, narrowing his eyes at me.
“Abort the mission. Walk away.”
“And what do you do if they start to suspect you?”
I sigh. This is about the hundredth time he’s asked me this question. “Make an excuse. Get out.”
“And if you can’t get out?” Stanhope chimes in.
“I use the extraction code.”
“And then?”
“Find cover until you arrive, guns blazing, to haul my ass out.”
Pomroy’s slate-gray eyes narrow. “Don’t be a wiseass. This isn’t a joking matter.”
“I know that.”
“Maybe he’s not right for this op,” he says, glancing at his partner. “Maybe we should wait for a different chance to get the intel—”
Stanhope shakes her head. “You know as well as I do that if the Reina crew heads back out on another run down the coast tomorrow, it could be weeks before they come back to port. Assuming they come back to this port at all. If they don’t… all our groundwork here will be for nothing.”
Pomroy glowers. “I still don’t like it.”
“Well, I don’t like your cologne. We all make sacrifices for this job.”
“It’s a risk.”
“A calculated one,” she rebuts stubbornly. “And you know what they say. No risk, no reward.”
“You’re not the one taking the risk, Stanhope.” Pomroy turns his gaze toward me. His eyes hold a severity that makes my stomach turn. “You sure you’re ready for this, kid? You sure you realize what’s at stake, here?”
Only my life.
I meet his steely stare head on. “My brother already took one future away from me. I won’t let him take this new one I’m trying to build. You say it’s a risk, and I hear you. But I don’t think you understand… I’m risking far more by not doing anything. By letting Jaxon control my destiny. By letting the threat he poses to the people I care about keep me isolated.”
Pomroy nods slowly. “Okay, then.”
“We’re ready,” Stanhope tells the man sitting at the back of the van, manning the comm-station. I hear him relaying commands to the net of units spread around the harbor, prepared to move in at a moment’s notice. The thought is comforting. I keep it close to my chest, like a shield, as I step out of the van, into the night, and begin the long, lonesome walk to the docks.
The rusty old trawler bobs innocuously at her slip, giving no indication of the danger lurking inside. Nerves churn in my stomach, clawing their way up my throat, as I approach with measured footfalls that sound like gunfire on the wooden planks.
The harbor is quiet, the frenzied daytime rush sedated by the blanket of night that’s fallen in the past few hours. Even the clanking of rigging and lapping of tidal waves seems muted. Perhaps everything is muffled by the roar of blood rushing between my ears.
Someone is up on deck. I feel a set of eyes tracking my movements even before I spot the small red flare of a cigarette against the dim backdrop of sleeping vessels. I don’t recognize the voice that whips my way, but I do recognize the threat in it.
“Wouldn’t come much closer, if I were you.”
I stop walking. In the dark, I can’t make out the stranger’s features, so I fix my eyes in the general direction of his silhouette. I clear my throat. “I’m here to see my brother.”
There’s a tense silence as he absorbs my words. “You’re the kid?”
So, he’s heard of me. “Archer.”
He grunts, walking along the railing from the bow to the mid-section of the ship, where a narrow gangplank extends onto the dock. His boots clang against the metal as he descends halfway down. I wonder if they’re steel-toed. I wonder if he’s planning to curb-stomp me before I’ve even made it on the fucking boat.
“Jaxon didn’t mention you were coming by,” the stranger says, eyeing me suspiciously. His hair is close-shaved, his eyes are cold.
“He doesn’t know.” I shrug casually. “Is he here or not?”
He crosses his arms over his chest and stares me down. I notice his left hand bears a crown tattoo I recognize — the Latin King’s signature ink. I make a point not to glance at it, keeping my eyes locked on his. I can’t help flinching as he whistles without warning, a piercing sound that shatters the still night.
“Yo! Boss!” he yells over his shoulder. “Someone’s here to see you.” He looks back at me for a long moment. “Wait there.”
I stand stock-still as the man turns and walks back to his spot at the bow, disappearing back into the darkness like he’s part of the night itself. Only the occasional flare as he takes a drag from the cigarette butt reveals he’s still there, watching me from the shadows.
Jaxon emerges a few seconds later. He says nothing as he makes his way down the gangplank, coming to a stop a few feet from me. His pinprick eyes flicker back and forth over my face, restlessly reading my expression. There’s a tightness in his shoulders, a coiled sort of tension in his clenched fists.
“What are you doing here, Archer?”
“Can’t a little brother come say hello without a reason?” I strive for a light tone.
“Not after the way we left things last time.” His voice is hard with anger. “You’ve got a lot of nerve, showing your face in front of me.”
“That’s why I came. All right? I wanted to apologize for being such an ass the other night. You were trying to look out for me and I didn’t even give you a chance. I was in a shitty mood and I bit your head off for no reason.” I grit my teeth. “I’m sorry, Jax.”
“Why the sudden change of heart?”
“I thought about what you said — about us being family. Being connected by blood. With Ma and Pa gone, it’s just you and me left around here. If we’re fighting… I’ve got no one. I’m alone. And I’m sick of being alone. I’m even more sick of scraping by like some pathetic loser, hauling lobster traps. I can’t do it for another fifty years, Jax. I won’t make it.”
He nods, but his eyes are still wary. “Thought you said you’d rather be by yourself than be my brother. That you’d prefer being a poor lobsterman for the rest of your life than taking my help.”
“Maybe… I need your help after all. Maybe… I was wrong.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time.”
“Nope.” I try out a laugh, though inside I’m burning with resentment. “Probably not the last, either. I am a Reyes, after all.”
“That you are.” Some of the ice melts out of his expression. “Glad you’ve pulled your head out of your ass in time to see the light.”
Pushing down the urge to punch him right in his smug, self-satisfied face, I force myself to step closer and stick out my hand for him to shake. “What do you say? Can we be brothers again?”
Closing the distance between us, he slides his hand into mine. Instead of shaking it, he hauls me forward, into a tight embrace.