Chapter 1

"Unsub down," Coy said through his comms after firing a shot and taking down his immediate target.

"Oh, you're back to talking to us again," Killion replied from a remote command center as he oversaw the lone wolf mission Coy Stone was embarking upon. "How many have you neutralized?"

Coy huffed in anger. "Clearly not enough. These bastards are everywhere."

"I told you to wait for backup," Killion warned.

"And I told you, I don't have time. This is a quick in and quick out," Coy defended. "I have places to be."

"Quick? It's a heavily guarded compound the size of a small town and saturated with unfriendlies who are willing to die for their cause, Coy."

"Their cause?" he rebuked as he navigated the dark and cold cave-like hallways that reeked of diabolical deeds and repulsive desires. "Saving puppies, or in this case, young women and children, is a cause."

"Copy that." Killion agreed. "Just don't go rogue on me again. I can't help navigate you if you go cold. The package?"

"Not secured," Coy chided. "This place is full of Vic's, I just found a few dozen more and sent them your way. Have someone meet them. These women are…"

Coy couldn't bring himself to say the words as there weren't any adequate to describe what he'd witnessed. Rooms full of beds, separated by thin linens that wore a story of horror. Women, some too young to refer to as such, tied down, drugged even, covered in filth, and the disgust their deplorable offenders left behind. Scars both visible and the kind that roiled in your gut and seared your soul like shackles that forever imprisoned you.

"God help them…" Coy finally said.

"I think He did. They survived the devil's lair and they're escaping his playground. Thanks to you," Wit said, entering the conversation with his twangy drawl.

"I guess I'm a fucking angel then," Coy added. "Too bad this place needs more of a saint."

"We can't control what happened there or what led to it, but we can help control the outcomes for the ones making it out," Wit continued. "The good ones and the bad."

"There's a special place in hell for the latter," Coy chimed in. "It's getting quiet down here."

"I have two heat registers in your path," Wit said. "Headed your way."

Coy quickly answered, "Locked and loaded."

"I didn't say they were hostiles, Stone. Keep that twitchy trigger finger in check, man," Wit warned. Coy Stone had a tendency to go rogue and break all the rules in the name of justice. His kind of justice.

"I got it. You don't need to worry about me," Coy defended. Coy was also a liar. Everyone worried about him. Especially in cases like this which hit so close to home for him, it was like reliving his own version of hell each and every time.

He didn't make mistakes, though, at least in his opinion. He was trigger-happy and put down the worst the world had to offer and with no hesitation… or remorse. For him it was vengeance, whether it was his to claim or not, for a past he lived a lifetime ago. No matter how many times he pulled that trigger seeking revenge and solace it did little to soothe his heart and comfort his soul, and he moved on hoping the next one would right the wrongs that haunted him. And that's why they worried about him. All of them. His entire team of operatives from BK Security, an elite and very sophisticated, high-end firm that contracted with the wealthiest and most powerful—from celebrities and tech tycoons to political dignitaries from around the world.

Their largest contracts were with the United States government, but you wouldn't find a record of that anywhere. They were highly sought after, but only by those who knew they existed as they were very much off the grid when it came to publicity. They were tough, smart, and fucking intimidating. Especially Coy Stone, because he had an axe to grind and history to rewrite. A history that nightmares were made of.

Two shots rang out and could be heard over the comms, but Coy's team sat in silence not knowing if he was the one delivering a reckoning, or the one meeting his maker for judgment day.

After a long spell, Wit caved. "Shit. Stone? Status?"

"I'm great," he said in a low monotone voice full of menace.

"Then how about the two you just shot?" Wit asked.

"Don't know. Don't care." Coy was a good guy, but when it came to the malicious soulless monsters he was hunting, he was ruthless, heartless, cold, and cunning.

"You should," Killion corrected. "The calvary coming in behind you is too far out to take chances. You better make sure they're dead, because if they get back up…"

"Then I shoot them again," Coy finished, then fired two more shots before moving on within the compound.

"What the hell was that?" Killion questioned with skepticism.

"To make you feel better. They're definitely dead now," Coy shamelessly teased, though his tone gave away little to no humor.

"Coy, you're walking a thin line with this vigilante shit," Wit delivered with an uncomfortable chuckle. "There ain't going to be anyone to try or convict by the time you're done."

"Good," Coy deadpanned as he checked and cleared a room.

"C'mon Coy, do this by the book," Killion went on. "Or it'll be your ass on the line."

"I didn't shoot until their weapons were trained on me. Self-defense. Not to mention I'm doing the world a favor by eliminating these bastards. I'm a fucking hero."

"You're leaving a massive trail of bodies," Wit warned.

"A massive trail, huh? A couple dozen of them versus… me. Even more justified. I was outnumbered. Besides, that's what your clean-up crew is for."

"Coy, this isn't the mission you think it is," Killion said, trying to reel him back in before he got himself killed.

"Oh yeah? Pretty sure it is. Young women, some minors, drugged, kidnapped, trafficked… Low-life assholes with guns… Pretty sure I'm at the right place," Coy snarked.

"Coy, it's not the same," Wit added.

"Sure, it is. You've been to one of these places," Coy sneered. "They're all the same. And as soon as we take one down, another crops up."

"It's not the same as…" Killion took pause, knowing his words would sting and re-open wounds that could never completely heal. "Emery."

Coy stalled at the mention of his wife's name. His dead wife. He closed his eyes as his mind and senses filled with memories of her. The sound of her laughter as she ran from him on a beach, her chocolate wavy locks brushing across his skin, the olive of her skin, and the scent of her as he made love to her. His chest pinched when the roundness of her belly and the gentle kicks he felt crossed his mind. That was always the most painful part of remembering her. Remembering their unborn child that was going to be the best part of them but never even took its first breath. The warmth that filled him suddenly chilled and the pinch in his chest eased when his blood began to boil.

Emery Stone and the baby that she carried was the reason he took every risk, every shot. She was his muse, his reason, and her death was his purpose –– suddenly he remembered why he was there. To right some more wrongs that the world had bred. And he'd do it in her honor, as he always did, until that pain he wore like a badge faded and he was no longer blinded by evil and could see there was good in the world again.

"This passageway ends up ahead. I can only go left or right," Coy shared, not acknowledging what Killion had said.

"Uh-h-huh…" Wit stammered, clearly taken aback by Killion's message. "Go right. No left."

"Which is it, Wit?"

"Your left," Wit answered.

Coy turned left down another long dark hall, much like the last. "I know it's not Emery. She's dead, Killion. Dead because of trash just like the assholes we're taking out today."

"Stone…" Killion started, but Wit interrupted.

"You're coming up on the target," Wit shared. "It has to be her. One heat register in a room behind a door and what appears to be four guards."

"Four? They know I'm here for her."

"How could they not? You wiped out the rest of their team," Killion said.

"I was quiet. Used a suppressor" Coy defended.

"A little too quiet. And their comrades are a little too quiet too according to the radio chatter I'm picking up," Killion shared. "They aren't checking in or responding –– they know there's trouble."

"They sure do," Wit said. "Heat signatures are heating up. You got them hotter than a hive full of bees."

"Good. They're sweating in anticipation. I like it when they get anxious, afraid like the girls they steal and hurt." There was pleasure in Coy's voice. He meant every word.

"Stand down, Stone," Killion ordered. "Wait for backup. Sending in a secondary team to support you. They're cornered and bullets will be blazing."

"Negative. I don't need it," Coy reasoned.

"Did you miss the part about there being four of them, close quarters, and an asset behind the door they're guarding?" Killion questioned.

"I got this," Coy said.

"Damn it, Stone," Killion shouted. "Stand down."

Coy paused. "Are the others out yet? The women? Did they make it?"

When Killion wouldn't respond, Wit chimed in, "They're all out and being transported to a safe location for triage and aftercare."

"Good." Coy started to move on. "I'm going dark."

"Stone?" Killion hollered. "Damn it, answer me, you rogue son of a bitch."

Coy didn't respond, but he left his comms open so as not to alarm his team more than he already had. If something did indeed happen to him, he wanted them to know so they could quickly send that secondary team and rescue the asset should he meet his demise. He hunkered back into a deep doorway and made a game of this last encounter. One by one he drew them out, away from the bunch.

The first was easy. A simple toss of a bullet down the long hall to create a racket they'd surely hear, and the enemy sent their weakest link to investigate. An easy shot. Coy moved forward and perched inside the next doorway and used the same tactic to draw out another. It worked. The second new weakest link was neutralized.

They're making this too fucking easy, he thought. Two down, two to go. Surely this had to get harder at some point. Until now, until Coy, this was a highly sophisticated and untouchable crime ring. But it wasn't hard. The last two fell as fast as the first, and Coy was met with little to no resistance. Either he was that good, or they were that bad. More likely it was that they knew their time was limited and they chose death over a life in lockup where death would eventually come for them anyway. They avoided a long torturous punishment. Cowards.

Coy searched the last guard and found the keys to the room they'd been posted in front of. Sure, he could kick it in or shoot the lock, but that wasn't necessary at this point, and all it would do was further frighten the victim on the other side who'd probably witnessed enough terror in the previous weeks to make grown men cry.

He unlocked the door and hesitated briefly, taking a deep breath before opening it. He entered the room and found a young pregnant woman curled up and shaking on the floor in a corner of the room. She was wearing a dingy, once-white, sheer nightgown that left little to the imagination. She was covered in dirt and the marks of her abusers, and it made Coy's stomach sink as he imagined what she'd endured. Her hair was tangled and her dirty face streaked with tears as big brown eyes looked up at him.

Coy knelt in front of her and slowly reached out a hand to brush the hair from her face. His expression softened when he saw just how young she was.

"It's okay," he said softly. "I'm here to help you. I won't hurt you. You're safe now."

The young woman stared blankly, and a sob escaped her as if she were in disbelief.

"Come on darlin'," he said turning his hand, inviting her to grab it. "I promise. Nobody will hurt you. Not ever again."

When she placed her dainty hand in his, he could see burn marks covering her arm as if someone had taken a cigarette, or similar, to her soft and delicate skin. It took everything he had to contain the anger induced by the marks her offenders left. It was as if they'd been marking her as theirs or leaving a reminder they'd been there. Sick bastards.

Coy gently pulled the girl to her feet and tried to steady her but her legs gave way and she began to fall, but he caught her as she began to weep. Both relief and fatigue seemed to overcome her with a guttural cry that brought back the pinch in his chest that left him feeling desperate to save her. He imagined his own wife at that moment, and the sheer terror she must've lived, just like this woman, and it pained him to relive.

"You're okay. I got you," he lied. Physically he had her, but mentally and emotionally he was spent.

No matter how many of these cases he ran, it never got easier. In fact, it was torture reliving it over and over again. Imagining Emery enduring the heinous things these women did. The pain. The suffering. The fear. Her final days, hours, and minutes were unbearable to think of.

Coy scooped the young woman up in his arms and cradled her small frail body against his as he carried her to freedom. When he reached the doorway, ready to trek back through the compound, he paused.

"Face me," he said. "Turn your head and only look at me. Okay?"

She'd already endured enough horror to last a thousand lifetimes –– she didn't need to witness the horror that led to her freedom. There was enough trauma to work through without that added layer of murder and mayhem. The woman nodded, turned her head so her face was to his chest, and her body quaked as tears and emotion overcame her.

Coy began to move, slowly at first, but then it happened, as it often did… A vision of Emery in his arms. The rescue he never got to make. Flashes of moments they shared together ran through his mind, and his pace quickened as if he could outrun the beautiful, yet painful memories of her. It was odd to him how something that warmed his soul could equally shatter his heart. Thoughts of her and the life he shared with her filled him like a dream that tricked you into believing all was good until it became your nightmare.

He was hanging on by a thread, and saving that woman's life was the only thing he had to hang on to in that moment. He charged through a maze of bodies, remembering each one taking a shot and falling to the ground as if it were playing backward on replay. Coy couldn't get her out of there fast enough. He couldn't get himself out. His lungs burned as they began to seize, but the panic never came… Just a numb sensation that left him operating on instinct –– like he'd flipped on his own autopilot because he needed to survive this, just like he had to survive all the other rescues before.

The pain never stopped. The mourning never ended. Coy was in a constant cycle of loss and grief, and it would one day be his demise, that he was sure of. But not today. Today there was too much to live for. Too many women, just like Emery, that he could save. And he would. Light in the distance warned him he was nearing the end and finally to safety. The image of his wife that danced in his mind began to fade while his chest loosened and his lungs filled with air. The young woman in his arms reached up to swipe away a lone tear from his cheek.

He looked down at her own tear-stained face and there was a moment shared. One of equal thanks. As if each knew what the other was thinking without shedding a word. In that moment he realized that he was rescuing her, but she, too, was rescuing him from the anger and the torture he'd reincarnated as he did every single mission. Clarity returned, and Emery went back to that space in his heart where he held her close and out of his mind because there was still work to be done. Coy had become good at this. Surviving. Even if barely so…

As he breached the exit and daylight nearly blinded him, they were met by a gurney pulled by medics and armed men who rushed to their side. Coy laid her on the gurney but she was reluctant to let go, her wide-eyed stare filled with fear.

"It's okay, darlin'," he said, gently pulling her clutched fists from his shirt and holding them in his hands. "They're with me, here to help you. You're safe with them."

She shook her head vigorously and launched herself from the gurney, practically climbing Coy to get away from everyone else around her. This wasn't unusual behavior. These women had been abused and tortured by strange men and were now surrounded by them once more. Trust was hard-earned after what these women went through, and rightfully so.

"Hey now," he said gently, grasping her hands in his again. "They're here to take care of you. This guy right here is Finn O'Reilly."

Coy was able to get her back on the gurney and patted Finn on the chest. "His only job in the world right now is to protect you with his life. He will not leave your side, and the only people he will let even remotely close to you are those who are there to help you. Okay?"

The woman looked between Coy and Finn warily but began to relax on the gurney and allowed Finn to put warm blankets over her, restoring her dignity while granting her comfort.

"You're Rexly, right?" Finn asked and she nodded. "We were sent here just for you and because of that, saved a lot of other people who were here with you. You helped get them to safety too, and we aren't going to let a damn thing happen to any of you. You have my word, honey."

Finn knew better than to touch her, even with a friendly shoulder pat, so he extended his hand and gave her a choice to shake it or not. Choice was something that had been taken from her, and this was the first of many opportunities to give her back her freedom to choose. Rexly looked to Coy, who smiled softly at her and nodded in agreement as if offering her assurances. Smiling was a rarity for him.

Rexly returned the nod and whispered. "Thank you."

She promptly took Finn's hand but didn't let it go, and he marched alongside her as the medics wheeled her away to a waiting ambulance. Finn tossed a wave to Coy with his free hand and that was Coy's cue to leave.

He marched toward his parked car, unbuckling his extra holsters as he went. When he reached the beefy sports-like car, he popped the trunk and began to unpack the gear he wore on his body and tuck it away in his trunk. He pulled out a couple of hard plastic, or maybe it was metal, cases and started dismantling his weapons and cleaned each piece before putting them in their designated spots.

"What the hell man?" Killion asked as he approached with Wit at his side. "Going dark?"

Coy grinned and shrugged it off, as if Killion's disappointment was amusing when really he knew it was reckless.

"Technically, I was on comms the whole time. You heard everything, I heard everything, just chose to run my op how I saw fit," Coy said.

"Great teamwork, Stone," Wit scolded. "I'd say that's how you get people killed but you're the only one who could've been killed on that one. What was this, a suicide mission?"

"Not even a little bit," Coy said with offense. "I've run this kind of case a thousand times too many and know what I'm doing. Remember, I've been with Safe Haven a lot longer than either of you. Closed more of these trafficking cases than I care to count –– all successful, I might add. I didn't need a secondary team. I would have called for it myself if I did."

Safe Haven, an amalgamation of diverse individuals, united forces with BK Security to combat some of the most heinous criminals on Earth: perpetrators of human trafficking, domestic abuse, and similar offenses. Serving as a sanctuary for victims of these atrocities, Safe Haven enlisted a wide array of volunteers from various walks of life. Motel owners provided shelter, truck drivers facilitated swift and discreet relocations, while enforcers and assassins confronted the most malevolent abusers.

This volunteer-driven network, primarily comprised of individuals directly affected by domestic abuse or trafficking, aimed to rescue, and assist victims. Embracing anyone touched by these egregious crimes, Safe Haven welcomed the contributions from these truck drivers, motel owners, farmers, city dwellers, and individuals from all walks of life. This collaborative effort operated entirely off the record, extending its services freely to those desperately seeking an escape from dire situations.

The synergy between Safe Haven and the Keepers became apparent when BK Security identified an overlapping case, recognizing an opportunity to enhance the reach and effectiveness of Safe Haven. This realization prompted Wit and Coy to join the ranks of the Keepers, further strengthening the alliance between the two organizations.

Wit dropped his head and let out a deep sigh. "Nobody is saying you haven't been with Safe Haven long, or that you don't have the best interest of its clients and those we rescue at heart, brother. I'm just saying this rogue shit has to stop. The last body I ever want to pull out of one of these places is yours, man."

"I know," Coy said. "And I'll never put you in a position where you have to. I'd never compromise the team or the people we're here to save."

"You sure you're good?" Killion asked. "You went to that dark place, man. You need someone to talk to?"

"Sorry, Killion. I don't have time to sit and chat about feelings over tea today, I have somewhere to be."

"I didn't mean me, asshole. I meant a professional."

"Then definitely not. I'm good. I mean it. Sure, it stirs shit up for me, but there isn't enough talking in the world that will ever make that go away," Coy said. "I'm fine though, really."

"You know we have resources if…"

"Not necessary, Killion, but thanks for the reminder." Coy closed his gun cases and stowed them away, locking them in a safe bolted in the trunk of his car and trading them for a smaller case. He opened it and pulled out a smaller weapon that was already in a holster and slung it around his shoulders. "Y'all have my route. I sent it to your phones. If anything comes up between here and my destination, you let me know. I'm on it."

"Send you more work? I thought you had somewhere to be?" Wit asked.

"I do."

Killion clicked away at his phone screen, then said, "Got it right here. Says you're heading south. What's in… Texas?"

"Home."