Chapter 9

nine

. . .

Bishop

I shut the shower off with a heavy sigh, hating this limbo we were living in. I should be used to it, and in a way, I was. Undercover work was a frustrating combination of hurry up and wait. But the missions I'd used to lead as a SEAL were much more action-oriented. We were the guys you called in once you'd gathered all the intelligence. We were the ones who got shit done.

I much preferred those days to this. Especially right now, where my woman was the central piece of my new mission. Everything else had been abandoned. She was the only thing that mattered now. And I couldn't do anything until we had more intel.

As I toweled off, using far more force than necessary, I fought the urge to take action, make some kind of move forward. But what could I do? Ride my horse down Main Street and call her name like a lovesick fool?

I'd put out feelers, reached out to contacts I hadn't talked to in years, and in a desperate bid for progress, even called in a favor from a hacker I knew. So far, it'd been radio silence on all fronts since my last break.

"Asher, come on. I know you're better than this," I muttered, opening the email app on my phone and refreshing my inbox over and over.

I was about to throw my phone against the wall in a rage when a new message appeared from Black Hat Industries.

"Thank fuck."

My heart was a wild thing in my chest as I opened the email and read.

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Subject: What kinda shit are you into?

Facial recognition pinged on your mark. Take a look. All the info I could get is below via an encrypted link. DO NOT open this on a regular fucking browser.

Good luck. Now leave me the fuck alone. I've had enough crises on my plate for the rest of my life. I don't need to borrow yours.

A

PS: Please tell me you're gonna take care of the motherfucker who's responsible for this.

At the very bottom of his email, there was a subscript so small it was nearly illegible.

In lieu of payment, if you'd like to adopt a puffin and make a donation to Savepuffins.org, I'll consider us square. If you're an asshole with no heart, you can click this link and pay your invoice.

"Puffins? Who the fuck likes puffins that much?" I muttered, but all questions dried up on my tongue as soon as I clicked the encrypted link in the body of his email.

She was there. Standing directly in front of the camera, eyes haunted, face gaunt, looking painfully beautiful, even scared as she was.

Ice filled my veins when I realized what this picture was for. My hands shook as I dragged on a pair of sweats and stormed out of my room, shouting for Cross as I descended the stairs.

I found him in the office, seated behind the desk while Walker and Tex sat opposite each other near the fireplace. They all looked my way when I stormed in.

"We've got a problem," I said without preamble, casting a dark look at Tex. "Leave."

His brows lifted. "Are you the boss? Anything you have to say, you can say in front of me."

"You heard him," Cross growled.

"How'd the new guy get so far up your ass?" Tex demanded.

"He saved my life. Twice," Walker said, matching his brother's stormy countenance.

"Well fuck me running. I guess my years of loyalty don't mean shit in the face of that."

I stared him down, frustrated as hell that he was ignoring our orders for him to leave. "Get out or I'll make you."

The cowboy stood, his jaw clenched. "Just because you're fucking Miss Adams, that doesn't mean you can skip your way up the chain of command."

"That's enough, Tex. You keep River's name out of your mouth," Cross snapped, shoving his chair back and bracing his palms on the desk.

"He's her bodyguard," Walker offered. Not technically the truth, but it gave Tex a solid reason to shut the fuck up.

The ranch hand adjusted his hat and sniffed, giving the Cross brothers a jerk of his head. "I suppose we'll continue planning our next run when Bishop here finishes sharing whatever was so important he had to barge in here uninvited. Excuse me, y'all."

As soon as he was gone, Cross approached, his disapproving glare trained on my chest. "You own a shirt?"

"It was too important to waste time. You're lucky I put on pants."

"What's going on?" Walker asked.

Pulling my phone out and bringing up the email from Asher, I opened the link again. "I found her."

Cross snatched my phone before the page had fully populated, eyes wild, breaths dragging in and out as he took in River. I knew what he'd see, and I hated it.

The way the heavy makeup she'd never apply herself did nothing to hide the swelling of her cheek. How the sorry excuse of a dress that clung to her sweet curves was all wrong. As were the shadows in her dull green eyes and the gauntness in her face. Nothing about the woman in the picture conveyed River's fierce spirit. They'd broken her, and it was our fault for taking so damn long to find her.

"What the fuck is this?" Cross snarled.

"An auction listing. Volkov's selling her, just like we thought."

Walker got to shaky feet and hobbled over, staring at the photo with rapidly growing ire in his expression. "That motherfucker. When I get my hands on him, I'll geld him myself and bronze his balls. Then maybe beat him over the head with them for good measure."

"You'll get your chance," I grunted. "After me."

"How do we stop this?" Walker asked.

I opened my mouth, but Cross beat me to answering.

"We buy her back."

"What? How's that gonna work? Dom's not exactly going to let the three of us waltz on in his little party."

"It's anonymous," I told him, sharing some of the intel Wilson had learned about the infamous auctions. "The attendees are all masked to protect themselves. Cash payments only. No names. No bank accounts. Nothing traceable."

"So we go in there, pay top dollar for our girl, and then just leave with her?" Walker asked. "Sounds too easy."

"No. I go in there. You don't do a damn thing." Cross raked a hand through his hair, frustration leaching out of him.

"This is fucking bullshit. I've been forced on the sidelines for all of this. She's my girl as much as she is yours. I need to do something to save her."

"You're gonna drive the car."

He glared at his brother and gestured to his body and the cane leaning against the table. "What about me screams getaway driver to you? I'm barely walking. You want me stomping on gas pedals now?"

"If River isn't enough motivation?—"

"I didn't fucking say that. Don't put words in my mouth. I just think out of the two of us, you might be the better choice."

"I could do it," I offered.

"Drive?" Walker asked.

"Go to the auction. Be the bidder."

Cross's fingers tightened on my phone, his posture even more rigid than normal. "I'm going in. End of story. It's gotta be me."

"It's always you. Every fucking time. You think you'll ride in on your white horse and rescue her so she'll fall in love with you again. God, you're pathetic."

Dragging in a ragged breath, Cross said, "No. It has to be me because your limp will give you away and make you a liability. Captain America here will stand out like a sore thumb. But me? I belong with these assholes. I'm the slimiest snake in this house." He paused as though gathering his words, then with a break in his voice, offered his darkest confession. "Besides... I was the one who lost her. No one else is responsible for that." He sighed, handing me back the phone. "Don't you fucking get it? I have to be the one to bring her home because it's the only way I can live with myself."

Walker rubbed a hand down the back of his neck. "And then what? He's going to realize we're the ones who got her when she just shows back up here. What's gonna stop him from coming after her again?"

He had a point. A damn good one. If I couldn't put Volkov and his minions behind bars, we'd be in a world of hurt. But Cross shook his head, striding over to the bar cart in the corner and pouring a healthy glass of scotch.

"Me," Cross growled, looking every inch the ruthless bastard I knew him to be before he knocked back his drink.

Sensing what he was about to say, I opened my mouth to stop him. Anything he said in front of me could be used against him. He shouldn't incriminate himself; I was duty-bound to testify against him.

But he looked me dead in the eye, all but daring me to stop him as he vowed, "The next time I see that motherfucker, I'm gonna kill him."