Chapter 11

eleven

. . .

Cross

A ll the color drained from River's face as she stared down at her phone. I'd almost take the heat in her eyes when Bishop texted her over this. This was something bad, and apprehension hummed in my blood.

"Sparrow?"

She made a series of noises, like she was searching for words but couldn't come up with any. Eventually she just slid her phone over to me.

"Fuck, Walker," I breathed, taking in the sight of my little brother's unconscious form. I was already on my feet, fury pumping through my veins. "Who sent you this?"

"I-I don't know."

A name didn't really matter. I already knew who was behind this. It had Dom's signature all over it. The bastard loved his messages to be bloody, bordering on lethal. But why send it to her instead of me? Or was this just another way of proving he could get me through both of them?

"Stay here," I ordered, keeping her phone in hand as I stormed out of the dining room and made a beeline for the front door.

"The hell I will!" she shouted, chasing after me. "Give me my damn phone, Cross."

Bishop was just coming into the house, a pizza box in one hand and a six-pack of beer in the other. "What the hell is going on?"

"You didn't fucking see Walker out there? You're clearly just getting back from town. Jesus, did you just leave him at the gate like that?" I knew Bishop didn't like people much, but I never thought he'd leave someone for dead. Especially after he made a point to stitch Walker up the last time.

"What do you mean? There wasn't anyone at the gate when I pulled in."

"They must've just left him. That's good, right? He hasn't been there long, then." River grabbed my hand, a surprising gesture I didn't have time to examine.

"Who knows how long they had him before they dumped him. He could have been bleeding out for hours already."

"Christ," Bishop muttered, dumping his dinner on the floor and racing toward his truck. "I'll drive."

I didn't fight him on it. The three of us piled in, River sandwiched between us though she was careful to leave a sliver of space between her and him. We were all tense as Bishop started the engine, and we headed down the long driveway. God, why was it such a long distance from the house to the gate? In theory, the privacy was great, but damn, right now I wished we were already there.

Dust flew up all around us as Bishop sped down the drive. I didn't even want to know how fast he was going; I just appreciated the hustle. As the gate came into view, he didn't slow so much as fishtail, tires squealing as they fought for purchase on the pavement. The truck was still on as we jumped out, lights pointed at the gate and illuminating the heap that was my brother.

"Walker!" I shouted, hoping he'd give us some sign he was still breathing.

The gate opened as we approached, the heavy metal panels rolling to the sides far too slowly for my liking. River was on Walker as soon as she could get through, her hands hovering over his battered face like she didn't know where to touch him.

"Jesus," she whispered.

Part of me expected her to dissolve into tears, but seeing how badly he was injured seemed to have the opposite effect. She was clearly upset, but she shoved her feelings aside so she could deal with the situation. It made me wonder just what her life had been like in Alaska. Her cool efficiency was not a normal reaction to seeing torture victims for the first time.

"I can't tell where he's hurt the worst." She glanced up at me, her eyes wide but voice steady.

"Is he breathing?" Bishop asked.

The big ranch hand stood apart from us, brows pulled together, hands clenched into fists. He seemed to be struggling.

"Yes," River said, putting two fingers on his neck as she checked his pulse. "His pulse is steady too."

One of his legs was at an odd angle, telling me it was broken. There wasn't a whole lot of him that wasn't covered in blood or bruises, but his legs seemed to be the worst of it. At least in terms of the injuries we could see.

"Are those burns?" I asked, crouching down to get a better look at the charred patches of skin on the bottom of his feet.

"Blowtorch," Bishop supplied, his voice rough.

"How can you tell?" River asked.

"Trust me."

"You've seen this before?" I asked.

Bishop nodded, which only raised more questions, but he wasn't my problem right now. Getting my brother inside and tended to was.

"We need to get him into the truck and take him home."

"No. We need to take him to a hospital. Look at him. He's been tortured, Cross. He needs antibiotics, probably an MRI, or at least an x-ray. You can't do that at home."

"The doc can be here in ten minutes. If he says Walker needs more care, we'll take him in."

River got in my face, her expression furious. "If he dies because of your stupid need for secrecy, I swear to you I will make your life hell for the rest of your days."

I huffed. "Aren't you already doing that?"

I regretted the words as soon as I said them. I was supposed to be winning her over, not pissing her off, but worry for my brother was getting in the way of all my good intentions.

"Bishop, call Carter."

He didn't respond; his eyes were still glued to Walker's feet.

"Bishop?"

River stood and crossed the drive to reach him, cautious, careful, and gentle. "Sterling, it's okay."

She reached out, but didn't lay a hand on him. The man sucked in a tight breath and caught her by the wrist. The move was fast, but I caught the tremble in his fingers before they wrapped around her skin.

"Don't," he warned. "I just need a minute."

Understanding dawned. His aversion to touch. His skill set. I'd known he was ex-military; I just hadn't realized he suffered PTSD from his time overseas. It made sense, though. A lot of our guys had baggage they dealt with in silence. Ranching and working for Twisted Cross was, for the most part, a way to avoid the real world and keep to yourself unless we called you in. We'd been doing a hell of a lot more calling than usual lately.

"Sparrow, take my phone. Call Carter, tell him what happened and to meet us at the lodge." I handed her my cell and then glanced at Bishop. "You good to drive?"

He gave a tight nod and moved to Walker. "I'll get his shoulders."

Together we picked up my brother and carried him to the truck bed.

River made the call, but I wasn't paying attention to what she said as we worked together to keep him steady as we lifted him into the back. He was still out cold, which was probably a mercy, all things considered. He was going to be in a hell of a lot of pain once he regained consciousness.

"Fucking Russian assholes," I muttered under my breath as I settled in next to him. River tried to climb in on his other side, but I stopped her with a glare and a harsh, "No. You ride up front."

"But—"

"He's right. Come on, siren."

She wanted to fight us on it, and had I been the only one denying her, she might have. But Bishop must have been a River-whisperer because she gave a grumpy nod and went back around to the passenger side.

Walker let out a soft groan as the truck began moving, his eyes fluttering but never fully opening.

"It's okay, Walker. We got you. You're gonna be fine." I wasn't sure if that was the truth, but I didn't know what else to say. "We'll get you patched up as soon as Carter gets here. Then I'll make those bastards wish they'd never been born."

I didn't care who Dominik Volkov was or what promises my father made. No one fucked with my family and got away with it. As of this moment, all ties between Volkov International and Cross Industries were severed. No matter what that meant for my future.

Volkov wanted a war? He just got himself one.

And it was going to be fucking bloody.

Just like the last time.

Ten years earlier

River was all I could think about as I drove out to meet my father and Casey Adams in the goddamn middle of the night. I should be asleep with her in my arms, letting myself be happy for once in my fucking life. Instead, we had an emergency on our damn hands, and it was messy. Of fucking course it was.

The type of mess remained to be seen. All I'd been told was something was wrong with one of the shipments and we had to get our asses down to the warehouse immediately. Given the types of goods we ran, that could really mean anything. We could be off weight. We could be missing product. We could have too much product. If it was one of our legit shipments, product could have spoiled.

My gut told me it was none of those things. We didn't even have anything scheduled to go out this late, and if there was a mechanical issue, that sure as shit wouldn't require my help.

I adjusted the gun strapped to my side, knowing full well I may need to use it tonight.

I knew as soon as we pulled up to the industrial building that something was very fucking wrong. We weren't greeted by security at the gate. All the floodlights were off. Not a single night guard or worker was in sight.

But there was blood. Splatters of it on the pavement, streaks smeared on the side of the building.

My dad pulled his gun and clicked off the safety as soon as he saw it, prompting Casey and me to do the same. Senior lifted a finger to his lips, as if I needed to be fucking told to stay silent. Heart in my throat, I followed around the building to the loading dock, hoping I wouldn't find what I expected.

One of our trucks was there, the ramp lowered as if someone had taken a break in the middle of loading or unloading.

"What the fuck is that smell?" Casey asked, disgust coating the question.

"Urine." Dad's answer might have been one word, but it hung there, heavy and ominous.

But that wasn't the worst of it. I'd caught the scent of copper on the wind. Thick, like you'd expect to find at the slaughterhouse. Not out here where everything should be neat and carefully packaged.

"Why would there be piss out here? We don't ship live animals." An overwhelming sense of dread hit me hard.

"It's not cows, son."

Senior pulled out his flashlight and turned it on, the bright beam washing over the loading dock.

"Jesus fucking Christ," Casey breathed.

A tidy line of bodies went from the truck all the way into the warehouse. Innocent people who I recognized as employees mixed in with a few of our ranch hands and guards.

"Is that Vic?" Casey asked, moving closer.

"Shit," my father cursed.

"Who the fuck would do this over cargo?" I asked, closing in on the open truck and covering my nose with the inside of my elbow as the stench grew stronger. "What were they after?"

"It looks to me like this wasn't our usual shipment." Casey pointed his flashlight inside the shipping container.

A horror show was the only way to describe it once I realized what I was looking at. I took a few running steps away and lost the contents of my stomach, gun clattering to the ground as I rested my hands on my knees.

People. People had been in that truck.

Some hadn't made it out alive. By the state of their bodies, they'd been dead long before they arrived at the warehouse, their wrists bound in front of them, tattered clothes stained and soiled.

Pulling myself together, I turned on my dad. "You're letting them ship humans? I knew you weren't the squeaky clean cowboy you pretend to be, but this is... I can't be part of this. Fuck, Dad, what would Mama think of you if she could see this?"

He shook his head, his face pale, eyes pleading. "I didn't know."

"The hell you didn't. Nothing goes on in this company without your okay. I can turn a blind eye to the drugs, and I can get behind the weapons, but this? This is the great Cross legacy? You are a sick bastard."

"On your mother's life, I didn't know." Senior stared me in the eyes, sincerity written on every word he said. "They told me it was a different type of cargo, but never this. I wouldn't have okayed it. Nothing is worth being part of something so wrong. Even a corrupt man has morals. This is a line I would never cross."

"It ends here," Casey said. "Look at what your negligence has already cost us. These were good people. Mothers, daughters, husbands, sons. What happens when they come even closer and take out everyone who matters to us? You think Luca's just going to let us walk away from this now that he got what he wanted? The Russians don't work like that."

Senior hung his head. "What do you want me to say? I fucked up, okay? I thought it would be the normal deal. I grease a couple of palms and let them use our trucks, no questions asked. How was I supposed to know this is what they wanted to use it for?"

"Luca has a reputation for trafficking. Girls. Pretty young girls who fetch him a lot of money. Did you really not even consider that was his ‘special' cargo?"

Casey was angrier than I'd ever seen him. I couldn't remember a time he and my dad had ever fought like this in front of me.

"What does he have on you, Daniel? That's the only reason you'd do this."

Senior shook his head, unable to look his friend in the eye. "I can't tell you that."

"Goddammit, you played right into his hand. He's not gonna stop with this massacre. Do you know what he told me when I saw him at the club last week, D? He said, ‘That little one of yours has certainly ripened nicely.' Then he offered to take her off my hands."

The last bit Casey said to me. I'm almost positive he intended for his words to be some sort of appeal, as if I needed a reason to take his side in this argument. What he couldn't have known was how deeply they'd affect me. That they'd be the verbal equivalent of a red flag waved in front of a bull. But that's exactly what they were.

I didn't know Luca Volkov personally, but his reputation preceded him. He made a killing selling heroin here in the States, but his real power came from the flesh trade. Porn. Prostitution. Blackmail. Many were politicians that got caught with their pants down with one of his underage girls. Luca was one of the most powerful men in the country, and he wasn't even American. There were whispers his nephew was being groomed to inherit his empire and that Dominik was just as ruthless as his godfather.

I was struck by the image of River at the mercy of that monster. The thought of what he might do to her had my stomach threatening to crawl up my throat.

Fury and revulsion collided within me, along with a healthy dose of desperation. We had to spare River from that fate. Or any that might place her in his crosshairs. "You have to send her away, Case. She can't be here, not if he's got his eye on her."

I don't know how I did it, but I managed to keep my voice from shaking. Luca couldn't be allowed to put his hands on her. Ever. I hated that he'd even noticed her.

Casey's gaze returned to my father, the two of them sharing a look I couldn't decipher. "She just turned eighteen. She's got her whole life ahead of her. I can't ruin it by making her leave."

The last thing I wanted was to lose my sparrow now, but this right here was proof she wasn't safe. "Get her out of here. She needs to be protected, and we clearly can't do that."

My father and Casey exchanged another look and this time Senior shrugged, as if to say the choice was up to him. Why the hell was Casey looking to him for guidance—or was it permission?—about what to do with his own daughter?

"We'll bring her back once it's safe, Case. Don't worry," Senior promised.

Finally, Casey let out a heavy sigh and nodded. "You're right. I'll send her?—"

I shook my head. "Don't tell us. It's better if we don't know."

And there'd be less temptation for me to follow her and ruin her life.

"Things will work out just as we planned. We just need to deal with this first," Senior said, clapping his friend on the shoulder.

Casey flinched away, rage in his eyes. "It might never be over. Not with these assholes."

Not one to be dissuaded, my dad slung his arm around Casey's shoulder, voice dripping with steely determination, "Then I just have to make sure I come up with a permanent solution. I'll handle the Russians. You take care of your daughter."

It was the only plan that would keep her out of harm's way. Unfortunately, for it to be successful, I'd have to break her heart—and mine.