Whatever It Takes (Code Of Honor Book 5) Page 14

  When his phone buzzed, he tugged it out with his good hand. It was from an unknown number.

  “Isaac?” he said on a harsh but hopeful breath, tucking the phone between his chin and shoulder while he maneuvered on his t-shirt.

  “Yeah, bro.”

  It was fucking amazing how his brother always seemed to reach out when he needed him the most.

  “I heard Zane was looking for me.”

  “Yeah,” he choked out. “You okay?”

  “I’ve been better.”

  “What’s wrong? Is it your injury?” He sat up a little straighter.

  “No, just personal shit. You know how I get,” Isaac whispered.

  “I know.” A lump grew in his throat.

  Two years separated them. Not a big age difference, but when they were little, it could have been a decade. His little brother had been six when their father, in a drunken rage, had knocked him out of the chair. Over spilt fucking milk. Goofing around, Isaac’s elbow had sent the glass toppling. He hadn’t been in time to save Isaac from a bloodied lip.

  Dillon, eight at the time, had shoved Isaac into the closet before drawing his father’s attention anyway he could. Even at eight years old, he’d slung cuss words that would blister ears at the bastard. Their mother had cowered in the corner through his beating.

  And so it went on until he’d turned twelve. He remembered the sobs of relief from his mother when she’d gotten the phone call that his father was dead.

  Numb, Dillon’s whole world had changed in an instant. He went from living in fear to having a load of responsibility for his ten-year-old brother while their mother went to work outside the home for the first time in years.

  “How are you?” Isaac broke into his dark thoughts.

  “I’m okay.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah,” he dodged. “You should call mom.”

  “You’re my hero, Dillon. I don’t need any other family.”

  Hero. Isaac had called him that from the time they were little. He was nobody’s hero.

  “I love you, bro,” he choked out, his eyes burning.

  They talked for another minute and then ended the call.

  Tipping his head back, he gazed up at the darkening sky. Reaching into his jeans pocket, he tugged out the cigar Beckett had given him. One for the road, his friend had said with a smile.

  Dillon tore off the end with his teeth and spit it out, the cloves teasing his tongue. He lit the tip with the disposable lighter Beckett had thought to supply him with. Puffing on the smoke until it caught fire, he studied the glowing tip. His nerves already felt calmer.

  He sure as hell wouldn’t ever light up in Luke’s presence. Just being around secondhand smoke wasn’t good for Luke’s health and he was damned positive it wasn’t good for his heart condition.

  Not that any of what he thought about Luke fucking mattered anyway, because they were through. He’d be out of there as soon as possible. He took another puff and tucked the lighter away before he noticed a folded piece of paper had slipped out of his pocket.

  Smoothing it open, he stared down in awe at the picture of his own face reflected back. Even in the darkness, he knew how detailed the drawing was.

  Fuck, Luke had some real honest to god talent. It was a pencil drawing of him and Cricket. He’d found it on the floor by the nightstand at Beckett’s and had slipped it into his pocket. Not telling Luke had been deliberate, because the man kept that part of himself secret.

  The first time he’d seen it, Dillon had felt like he was looking in a mirror, it was that detailed and that fucking good. Luke could have made money off of his talent. Looking at the drawing, he was glad he’d taken it. It would be the only thing he had of Luke’s when he left this place.

  He told Luke this would happen. He’d warned the man. But no, Luke hadn’t listened and now he’d fucked up big time.

  Anger sliced through him and he jerked to his feet, glaring at the paper. Luke had to be out of his mind. No way in hell did he look that good in real life. He let his arm fall, but held the picture tightly and took another slow puff from his cigar.

  The throbbing of his hand remained a punishing reminder of what a fuck up he was.

  Luke

  “I played my hand way too early,” he told Liam.

  “You don’t know that.”

  “You didn’t see the horror on his face.”

  “He’s probably in shock. Dillon doesn’t think that anyone can love him.”

  He grunted and sat behind his desk, staring at the study door. He’d closed it, needing some alone time to lick his wounds in private. Humiliation and regret had him pouring a shot of whiskey. He grimaced at the taste and then pushed the glass aside.

  “Luke?” Liam’s voice came over the phone.

  “Yeah, I’m still here.”

  “What do you want to do?”

  He knew what Liam was asking. Did he want Dillon reassigned? Hell no, he didn’t, but if Dillon truly wanted to go, then there was nothing he could do about it.

  “Let him leave. Put him somewhere he’s happiest.” He rubbed at the ache in his chest.

  “Did he injure Eric?”

  “No, absolutely not. He scared the piss out of him, but he didn’t hurt one hair on the boy’s head.”

  “I didn’t think he would.”

  “Why? He just punched a wife beater in the nose in a bar a few months ago.”

  “That wasn’t in my report. How’d you hear about that?”

  “Dave.”

  Liam snorted. “Yeah, well, the guy gave Dillon stitches in the back of his head. So, I figured Dillon was within his rights.”

  That solved the mystery of the scar.

  “Wait…You think Dillon was right to hit someone?”

  “Luke…Dillon didn’t throw the first punch. Dillon asked the wife if she was okay when the guy gave her a bloody lip. The guy cold cocked Dillon from behind. The problem with Dillon is that he thinks he’s violent, but he’s not. He steps between someone to take the hit. There’s only ever been one time since I’ve known him that he’s struck another person first.”

  “When someone attacked Isaac?”

  “Yes.”

  “He’s a peacekeeper,” Luke breathed.

  “Exactly. I’ve tried for years to get him to open his eyes, but I’ll be honest, it’s been an uphill struggle.”

  “I want him to tell me his story.” He didn’t tell Liam he’d had Dillon’s past investigated. When the time was right, he’d tell Dillon himself.

  “I don’t even know it all. I’ve found out bits and pieces from Isaac, but with Dillon, it’s like pulling teeth.”

  He snorted on a laugh, eyeing the unfinished glass of alcohol. He’d be wasting that because now wasn’t a good time to get drunk. Before Dillon left, he was going to try one more time to make things right.

  “Have you got those background checks yet?” Was it one of his employees that wanted him dead?

  “The names checked out, Luke, but you didn’t include the temporary help Paul hired. So, this really doesn’t do me any good.”

  “Shit. Sorry. I’ll have Paul fax over those names ASAP.”

  “All right, and batten down the hatches, will ya? Stay put. No more trips.”

  He raked a hand through his hair. “You sound like a broken record.”

  “Just do it. I’m sending Oliver and Pia to you.” Liam snorted and hung up the phone.

  Luke didn’t argue and tucked the phone away in his pocket. He’d need Oliver and Pia if Dillon left. He swiveled his chair around to look out over the sky. The Arizona sun had nearly set, but a small sliver of the sun sent shadows along the hills and valleys. It was beautiful, but he wasn’t paying any real attention.

  “Sir?” Paul knocked on his door.

  “Come in.”

  His head of security opened the door and peeked his head in.

  “It looks like Eric will be staying the night, or at least until his detail catches up.”r />
  He grimaced. “Thanks Paul.”

  “Good night, sir.” Paul tipped his head and left.

  He should be worried about Eric, but until his stepson told him the truth, there wasn’t much he could do.

  His thoughts drifted to Dillon. The man thought he had a temper problem, but he didn’t. What he had was a soft heart for victims, be it people or animals.

  Dillon was a man who stood up for justice, and like Liam said, Dillon leaped between victims and perpetrators with no regard for his own safety. If he could just get Dillon to stop long enough to talk to him, maybe he could get Dillon to see that he was a savior.

  Luke grabbed up two glasses and the bottle of expensive scotch and left his office. He’d either be drowning his sorrows or they’d be toasting together. He took the stairs upward to his room, hoping Dillon would be in his bedroom next door. And if he wasn’t, he’d wait for him.

  He had to make Dillon realize that he wasn’t giving up. Even if Dillon left, Luke wouldn’t give up, because Dillon was worth it.

  I’ll do whatever it takes to make him see he belongs here.

  Dillon

  Tucking the drawing back into his pocket, he put the cigar in a bucket of water near the barn door and pulled out his iPhone.

  A missed text from Liam said that Oliver and Pia were taking over for him. He punched in Oliver’s number and waited impatiently for his friend to answer.

  “Where are you?” he barked into the phone when Oliver answered.

  “We’re on our way to you per orders,” Oliver responded.

  “How soon?”

  “A few hours. Why? How’d Texas go?”

  “I’m leaving,” he snapped. He swept his gaze over the paddock and surrounding area.

  “What? Why?”

  “None of your business.”

  “Well, I can’t make the helicopter fly any faster.” Sarcasm dripped from the words.

  “Just get here as quickly as possible,” he ordered and hung up.

  Damn it. He couldn’t go until they got here. He couldn’t leave Luke alone with only his security team of four for protection. While Paul was good, he wasn’t nor had he ever been Special Forces, and they still didn’t know if they had a traitor on Luke’s ranch.

  It should take him thirty minutes to pack his shit, which would give him plenty of time to be ready to get the hell away from here by the time Oliver and Pia landed. The threat to Luke is still out there. He tossed the thought aside. He had to go, that was all there was to it.

  “Go before you do any more damage,” he muttered.

  Stalking around the outside of the barn, he took the short cut through the small gardens.

  The sound of strangled sobbing came through the waist high bushes that surrounded a trickling water fountain. The sobs were so heart wrenching that he stopped, unable to move on.

  Stepping through the shallow opening, he froze. Through the light of the fountain, he saw the figure of Eric.

  The boy had thrown himself down on one of the marble benches. His chest was heaving, his cheeks were red, and snot and tears drenched his face.

  Fuck. The kid was what? Twenty something, from what Dillon remembered reading. The boy was all over the fucking place. Dillon grimaced.

  Eric had a temper on him and it was obvious nobody had taken the time to tell the guy there was a better way.

  He stalked closer and sat on the vacant bench across from Eric.

  Eric gasped and quickly sat up, fear widening his eyes.

  “You have a temper,” Dillon rasped.

  Rather than argue, Eric nodded and wiped at his face.

  “So do I,” he admitted.

  “How,” Eric sniffled. “How do you control yours?”

  “Control? I almost took your head off.”

  “You punched the wall,” Eric reminded him, his voice wobbly.

  He smirked. “Yeah, I guess I did.”

  “I didn’t mean to hit my dad. It was an accident. I just got so angry, I lost it.”

  “Tell me now. Tell me what you need that money for.” He kept his tone hard, knowing the boy didn’t need sympathy yet.

  “I borrowed some money from a guy.”

  “A guy?”

  “A loan shark.” Eric’s voice grew scared. “He owns a casino.”

  Dillon studied the young man. “You’re what, twenty-five?”

  “Four.”

  “Eric, this is the time in your life where you should be in college, hanging out with your friends, and asking your dad for money to go to dorm parties. Not to be running up some damned gambling debt and borrowing money from a fucking loan shark.” Those bastards could be hardcore.

  “I know,” Eric whispered. The boy’s voice sounded so forlorn, Dillon changed seats and sat beside the younger man.

  “You have a problem. A gambling addiction.”

  “Yes,” Eric said shakily.

  “How much do you need?”

  “Fifty thousand. It won’t cover it all, but it will buy me some time.”

  Most loan sharks would rather put a bullet in someone’s head than negotiate payments. A fifty-thousand-dollar payment was chump change to a loan shark.

  Dillon’s stomach suddenly soured. “How much do you owe?”

  “Five hundred thousand.” The words came out barely audible.

  “A half a million?” he growled.

  “Yes!” Eric’s whole body shook. “Please don’t kill me.”

  “I’m not going to kill you,” he scoffed.

  The young man sniffled. “It doesn’t matter anyway. He’s a mob boss! He’s going to kill me when I don’t come up with that money. He made me bug dad’s phone!”

  “You leave them to me.” He had a feeling that Infinity and Fury might take exception to a young man being taken advantage of, and help Dillon put an end to this shit. Luke had the money. They’d pay the loan shark and make damn sure the man never loaned another dollar to any kid again.

  “Eric?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Why did they want you to bug your dad’s phone?”

  The boy’s head was down and Dillon had to lean closer to hear Eric’s whispered reply.

  “I told the guy that dad keeps money in the safe.”

  Son of a bitch. He’d bet his left nut this guy was behind the threats to Luke’s life.

  “What’s his name?” He kept his voice even.

  Eric looked scared, but he told him the name and Dillon sent a short text to Liam. He and the unit would be taking care of more than Eric’s gambling debt when Dillon located this wannabe mob boss.

  “Dillon?”

  “Yeah?” He glanced up from his phone.

  “Thank you,” Eric said, and suddenly tossed his arms around his waist to give him a hug.

  Dillon paused for a split second and hugged the young man back.

  “You’re welcome. First thing is you need to come clean to your dad and make peace.”

  “I can do that!” Eric pulled back. “What’s the second thing?”

  “We’ll find you a recovery clinic that specializes in gambling addiction and get you help for your anger.”

  Eric looked scared, but bravely nodded. “Did you ever go for anger?”

  Dillon rubbed his fingers over the stubble on his chin. “Twice. Once when I was nineteen and once when I was a year older than you.” He’d gone to anger management classes instead of a twelve-step program, but he figured his anger problem had been the same as an addiction until he’d worked through it.

  And that was the fucking key right there.

  He had worked through his anger issues. He’d forgiven his mother a long time ago and even though he’d lost his temper upstairs, he hadn’t hit Eric.

  It took a young man struggling to help him see that he wasn’t someone who went off half-cocked without a damned good reason, like coming to the defense of an innocent victim. And he knew in his soul that he’d never strike another person unless it was in self-defense.

 
; “Who saved you?”

  Saved? It was an odd word, but seemed to fit.

  “A man that saw something in me that I didn’t see in myself.”

  “Like what you see in me?” Eric’s voice was hopeful.

  “Yeah, exactly like that.” He smiled, but it didn’t last.

  He needed to fix his own fuck up with Luke before it was too late.

  “Now, I need to find your dad.”

  “When I left the house, I ran to the barn. I heard you guys arguing out back,” Eric admitted, rubbing a hand over his face.

  “I’m sorry you heard that.” He cringed at the thought of exposing Eric to how harshly he’d treated Luke.

  “What you said wasn’t true, right? It’s not too late. You do love him, don’t you?”

  “I do,” he admitted softly.

  “He’ll forgive you. Dad’s got a big heart.”

  “One of the biggest,” he agreed. “And that’s why I need to find him.”

  “I think he’s in the barn,” Eric said, wiping his nose on his sleeve.

  If Luke was in the barn, Dillon hadn’t heard him, but maybe Luke was trying to find him.

  “Okay, why don’t you get cleaned up?”

  Pop, pop, pop.

  Gunfire echoed on the property, and Dillon cupped the back of Eric’s head, pulling him from the bench and onto the ground.

  It took him only a split second to make a decision and he stood, pulling Eric up. Gripping Eric’s hand, Dillon ran between the hedges toward the back of the property. Reaching the helicopter pad, the on-duty pilot came rushing up to them. Thankfully, it was Charles Ferguson picking up some extra shifts.

  “I heard gunfire.”

  “Call it in, but do it from the air. Get Eric the hell out of here.”

  “You got it.” Charles jumped into the bird and started it up.

  Dillon hurried Eric into the seat and stepped back.

  “What about my dad?” Eric shouted, buckling his seatbelt.

  “Don’t worry about him. I’ll take care of him.”

  Shots rang out and Dillon ran for the nearby shrubs. He pulled his weapon, his knuckles burning from the pressure, but he fired off several rounds, providing cover.