Chapter Twenty-Three

It had taken almost three hours to answer all the questions at the scene of the accident. They’d been forced to call their boss, who arrived on the scene.

Logan called the mayor to have the cops not arrest them. After all, their team had pulled up on a scene with guns drawn and injured one of the suspects, so the cops were really nervous.

They were fucking lucky Jaxon hadn’t killed them all for what they’d done to Wrath’s vehicle. Jaxon could still feel the fear and sheer terror when the SUV Wrath had been driving with Hayden sitting in the passenger seat was suddenly slammed into by a truck. It was a miracle that neither men had been seriously injured.

The team entered his and Hayden’s home and stood in the large living room.

“I need you back on the Baker job,” Logan said with a heavy sigh at Brick when they entered Jaxon’s home.

“What?” Brick looked like a thundercloud had taken over his face.

“Yeah. Mr. Baker needs a bodyguard on his son and since you’ve done it the last several times…”

“Why me?”

They all kind of froze when Brick pushed back at Logan. From what Jaxon knew, Baker’s son was in college and a self-centered, spoiled rotten brat, but honestly… he’d never seen Brick irritated. It was kind of funny to watch, but Jaxon was careful to keep his expression blank. Hayden avoided his gaze and instead looked between Logan and Brick.

“Because he asked for you. Apparently, you’re the only one who can keep the kid in line,” Logan said slowly.

“Fuck,” Brick muttered and raked a hand through his hair. That kid needed his dad to give him a good ass whipping. “Yeah, all right.”

“Take the SUV,” Logan told Brick and tossed the bodyguard his keys. Catching the keys, Brick gave them a nod and quickly went out the door.

Nobody said a word and Jaxon finally settled on the living room couch.

Hayden sat in one of the chairs and the rest of the team joined Jaxon on the couch, and Logan stood, arms crossed, leaning against the wall. They all waited for Hayden to insert the flash drive that would hopefully give them answers.

Wrath had not come with them and even before the cops could get there and take their statements, Jaxon had seen the assassin slip away as if he’d never been there. And that was the story they told. Hayden had been driving with Jaxon in the passenger seat and nobody, not even Denver PD, questioned them once Logan Cobalt and Mayor Jennings arrived.

The snick of the flash drive being inserted into Jaxon’s laptop brought his eyes back to Hayden. The man had showered upon arriving and was now dressed in dark slacks and a cream-colored, long-sleeved t-shirt that hugged his slender frame. His long blond hair hung loose and half of it covered his face. He knew what Hayden was doing by letting his hair fall forward, he was hiding from him.

He couldn’t blame him. If he’d been lied to, he wouldn’t have wanted to talk either. So, he sat there and took Hayden’s silence, because he could do nothing else. Even though he hadn’t known the full story, he was guilty as hell and would gladly pay any price if Hayden would look at him with any other expression except the pain of betrayal.

It’s a folder, but it’s locked.” Hayden’s eyes lifted to him and that fast, Jaxon remembered a conversation he’d had with Wyatt just before he’d gone into WITSEC.

“I need you to take care of Hayden,” the man had pleaded.

“Don’t worry about him. I’ve got his back, always,” he’d said through gritted teeth, annoyed at the criminal asking such a thing.

“I know you do. Do you remember his birthdate?”

Jaxon sneered, squeezed his hands into fists, and then let out a snort. Was the guy for real?

Wyatt sighed, grimaced, and then nodded as the US Marshals started to lead him away. “Don’t forget his birthdate and give him the key!” Wyatt had shouted.

“Jaxon?”

He jolted when Hayden called his name and nodded to the screen. “It’s some combination of your birthdate.”

Hayden’s eyes grew suspicious and Jaxon looked away. Fucking Wyatt. If the man was still alive, he was going to fucking kill him himself.

With fingers tapping on the keyboard, Hayden tried different combinations with day, month, year, and then typing it all out on the third try with the two digits for each, and the file unlocked and a plethora of folders opened across the screen.

“Shit,” Felix said from where he’d taken up a lean on Hayden’s chair and had been watching. “That’s a lot of info.”

“There’s a video file,” Hayden said softly and clicked the small icon.

His brother’s face filled the screen and Hayden’s heart leapt. He clicked the play button.

“Hey, baby brother,” Wyatt said, and then released a deep, tired-sounding breath. “So, if you’re listening to this, I’m probably dead.”

When the sheen of tears hit Hayden’s eyes and the man placed both hands over his mouth, Jaxon wanted badly to move and take him in his arms, but he made himself stay still. He no longer had any rights to that and a lump grew in his throat as he watched the younger man struggle for composure.

“If that’s the case, you’re completely safe. If not, that’s what the passport is for,” Wyatt said, and then his brother went on to relay what had happened. If Jaxon hadn’t heard it from Whip first, he would have been just as surprised as Hayden when Wyatt informed his brother that he hadn’t been nor ever was a criminal and that the only reason he had painted himself as such was to keep Hayden safe while he worked for the Moss crime family.

“And that worked for a while, but then Andrew Moss found out that I was an undercover agent. I knew that to keep you safe, he had to believe that I was dead and so did you.”

Wyatt went on to name people in Moss’s organization, and the proof of murders, extortion, and even child pornography were all in the files on the flash drive.

“You’ll need to contact the marshals and hand that over. Have Jaxon keep you safe, and tell him that I’m really a good guy. I’m sorry, bro, I never meant to have Jaxon lie to you, but it was decided by the marshals and myself that it would be easier for everyone if I were dead.”

Wyatt rubbed his hands together. “I stayed undercover as the bad guy and I let you believe that of me because I knew Andrew Moss wouldn’t think twice about you—he knew you hated me.”

Hayden ran a hand over his face as he stared at his brother on the screen.

“I love you.”

The screen went dark and the room was so quiet, a pin dropping could have been heard.

Without a word, Hayden got up and walked out of the room. Gunner, who was sitting on the couch, let out a long sigh and rubbed at the back of his neck.

“That’s some fucked up shit,” the man muttered.

All Jaxon wanted was to go after Hayden, but he kept his ass in the chair. He would not crowd the man even though it took every ounce of willpower he had not to.

“Wyatt cleared you,” Felix said, gazing over at him.

Jaxon shook his head and finally stood to stride into the kitchen. He pulled a glass from the cabinet and the bottle of Jack Daniel’s from the cupboard, but before he could pour any into the glass, Ryder’s hand covered the top.

“Move,” he said, gritting his teeth.

“No. That shit isn’t going to help.” Ryder took the glass and held it. “You’ll need a clear head.”

“Trust me, I don’t,” he snapped and lifted the bottle to his mouth, but Ryder’s next words stopped him cold.

“Moss is still out there.”

Fuck.

Ryder was right. Jaxon lowered the bottle, recapped it, and shoved it away.

Andrew Moss was going to stop at nothing to kill Hayden. Or if Wyatt was alive, take Hayden so Wyatt would do a trade.

Jaxon knew that there was a slim possibility Wyatt was still alive and he needed to tell Hayden.

“Thanks,” he said and gripped Ryder’s shoulder on the way past the man and back out into the living room. From there, he headed down the hall and stopped at Hayden’s closed door. He leaned his forehead against it and it was only when he realized he’d thunked his head on the wood that he stepped back.

The door was wrenched open and a disheveled Hayden stood there. They stayed like that, holding each other’s gazes until Hayden drew in a shaky breath and stepped back and turned to walk back and sit on the side of the bed. That the man hadn’t kicked him out or told him to fuck off gave him hope and he stepped inside and gently closed the door.

Placing his back to the wood, he stayed there waiting, wanting to say something, anything, but not even knowing where to start.