Jason (Kings of Guardian #4) Page 3

  “The American government doesn’t pay. We aren’t government.”

  Jason was pushed to his knees. His arms bound behind his back with wire. Once he was secure, his captors started arguing loudly in their native tongue.

  Theo caught Jason’s eye and nodded toward the young guard on the right. The kid wasn’t more than thirteen. Jason made sure the guards were still engaged in a bitter argument and shook his head. They were all bound, without weapons, and there were too many to overpower.

  Theo nodded again. Jason twisted so his team could see his hands and signed: No, we wait for better odds.

  The other members nodded their understanding. Theo hesitated, but acknowledged the command. Jason knew trying to get the upper hand at that point would be a death sentence for everyone. They’d find an opportunity that gave them a chance at making it out alive.

  Finally, the man who spoke English returned and stood between Jason and Theo. “They pay, but not for him.” The shot rang out before Jason had any idea of what the man was doing. Theo’s body flopped to the dirt. The image of Theo’s brains scattered over the hardened tan and gray soil seared itself into his mind.

  Jason’s enraged growl reverberated as he launched from his knees at the man who’d killed his teammate. Rage blocked out all rational thought and Jason fought like a wounded, feral animal. Leveling the man with his enormous height and weight, Jason grabbed ahold of the fucker’s neck with his teeth and bit down. The cartilage, skin and muscle compressed under his desperate bite. With every ounce of strength he had, Jason levered to his knees and ripped the man’s throat out. The keening wail of the asshole under him echoed eerily in his mind. He felt the tissue rip and give just as a blinding pain pierced his skull and darkness overwhelmed him.

  ***

  A hand on his shoulder brought his head up with a jerk. Jason cast a furtive look around the now vacant room.

  “I waited as long as I could, son. The next group needs to use the room. Why don’t you and I go have a seat on the benches out front?” Jason remembered the refined gentlemen who spoke to him from previous meetings. Matt. No last names were asked for or given in Narcotics Anonymous.

  Jason nodded and stood. He glanced at the women waiting in the hall and nodded solemnly as he passed. Once outside he sat down on the wrought iron bench and drew a deep breath.

  “Tough day?” Matt asked as he sat back.

  “Tough life.” Jason meant it.

  “I can understand and relate. Do you want to talk about whatever is driving you so deep within yourself?”

  “Can’t go into specifics.”

  “Then don’t. Stay at concept level. Big picture.”

  “I’m being forced to confront a piece of my past that I thought I had buried.”

  “Ah. I see.” The man’s sigh preceded his next comment. “A portion of your past that you haven’t made peace with?”

  Jason nodded.

  “How long have you been clean?”

  Jason shrugged. “Depends on your definition. Five years before being treated medically. Since then, one thousand thirty days.” Jason prayed he would make it to one thousand thirty-one.

  “So, this past, if you had a magic wand and could make everything change, what would you do?”

  Jason exhaled hard and sat back. “I don’t know. We were in a foreign country. It was a damned-if-you-do and damned-if-you-don’t situation. But I wasn’t the one who was damned. Two people are dead because of decisions I made.” He’d found out later his weapons specialist had died from the jump. The jump he ordered. Broke his neck on landing.

  They sat quietly for a long span of time. The distant sound of vehicles punctuated the silence with a rhythm unique to this portion of the city.

  “Well, since you are sitting next to me now, I will assume that you made a couple of correct decisions. I’m also going to assume you were U.S. military or worked for an agency that would sanction those types of events. Am I correct?”

  Jason cast the man an assessing eye. “I can neither confirm, nor deny, that assumption.”

  Matt chuckled without any real humor. “Got it. Alright. Ever hear of Murphy’s Law?”

  “Whatever can go wrong, will go wrong,” Jason said.

  “Well, I have my own code. It’s called Matt’s Law. Original, aren’t I?” The old blue eyes danced with mirth.

  “Very.” Jason tried for a slight smile. He wasn’t sure he’d been successful.

  “First rule: Be true to yourself. Don’t exaggerate, make excuses or manipulate the past. Dealing with the truth is hard enough. Don’t take on any additional baggage. The second rule is also my last. Live the life that you were given to the fullest. As much as we may try, we will never be motion picture superheroes who always get the happy ending. But we can try.”

  Jason rolled his head and narrowed his eyes at the man. “Did he send you?”

  “He who?”

  “You know who.” He wouldn’t put it past Gabriel to have a support system in place for him.

  “Nobody sent me, son. I’m an addict. I’ve been clean for fifteen years, five months and four days. I am responsible for the financial ruin of hundreds of people. Two of them committed suicide because of my manipulation. I developed my rules in order to live with myself and my past. If you think someone sent me here, you’re wrong.”

  Jason held the man’s stare. The honesty and the emotion in his eyes conveyed more than his words.

  “Does it ever get easier?”

  “Yes, son, it does. But there will be days like this, too.”

  “Carpe diem.”

  “Exactly. Deal with the issues of the here and now and worry not about the future.”

  “That ever work for you?”

  Matt chuckled and stood. “Working on it, son. Working on it.”

  ***

  “So there seems to be a massive, fist-sized dent in my elevator.” Gabriel’s voice carried over the hiss of steam heating the sauna.

  After two hours of weightlifting and a half hour doing serious damage to the heavy bag, Jason’s body was demanding a little R&R. The security cameras in the office’s common area must have caught his little temper tantrum last night.

  “You don’t say.”

  “What pissed you off?”

  “You did.”

  “Really? I don’t recall speaking to you yesterday.” Gabriel sat down across from him and leaned back on the tiled bench.

  “Why? Why do you think I need to go talk to them?”

  “Why do you think you don’t?” There was no delay in Gabriel’s response. His mentor knew exactly what Jason was talking about.

  “I’m good with my past.”

  “Bullshit.” Gabriel snorted.

  “Excuse me?”

  “No, I’m not going to excuse you… not any longer. You need to have closure. Face these people. Tell them what happened.”

  “Tell them I am the reason their loved ones died? Yeah, no thanks.”

  “No, damn it! Tell them you were there when they died. Tell them that their loved ones didn’t die alone, that you feel their loss. Mourn with them and then let go of these fucking ghosts that haunt you. I’m tired of pussy-footing around this situation. Open your fucking eyes. You saved the people you could. You were tortured and damn near died.”

  Jason dropped his head back on the white tile and closed his eyes. He was so fucking tired of carrying the guilt and the anger of that mission.

  He glanced across the room. “I did what I had to do.” Hell, even after years of second guessing and pulling it apart at the seams, he really couldn’t say he’d do anything different. It just fucking sucked that he had to do it at all. And maybe that fact was what pissed him off the most.

  “And you saved lives. If you hadn’t made them jump, they’d all be dead and so would you. If you hadn’t convinced those fuckers we’d pay for you and given Jacob time to get to you, you’d all be dead. Yes, two of your men died. Yes, you need to talk to the families, but not fo
r them… for you.” Gabriel semi-disappeared as steam rolled out into the sauna, giving the words an almost dissociative feeling.

  “When?”

  “Now, this week or next week. I’ll keep feeding you information and we can work any meetings virtually unless we need a secure connection. Those I’ll back-brief you on. You need to close the door on the past before you can move forward, and yeah… I’m pushing you to do it, but if I didn’t think you needed it, I wouldn’t. Get this done. You’ve got carte blanche to do what you need to do. Just get it done.”

  Jason nodded and shook the hand that was offered him. Gabriel stood and headed toward the door. “And repairing that elevator frame is coming out of your salary.”

  Jason shrugged off the reminder of his temper of last night. “Deal.”

  Chapter Five

  “Momma, I wanna spray.”

  Faith Collins smiled at her son’s demand. It was silenced by sudden shrieks of laughter as Tippy barked and then shook vigorously, sending soap and water everywhere.

  Laughing so hard her sides hurt, Faith tried to hold onto a wet dog and the garden hose and keep her son, Reece, from falling face first into the slippery plastic wading pool they were using as a makeshift bathtub.

  “Once we get him all soapy, I promise you can spray him, baby, but we need to hurry. I don’t think he wants to play in the bathtub anymore.” The dog shook again and attempted to climb out of the blue plastic pool. He sent the little boy onto his butt in a huge puddle of muddy dog water.

  “Tiiipppyyy! You got my new ‘piderman swimsuit dirty!” The little boy held up his hands, his eyes huge as dinner platters.

  Faith tried, but she couldn’t stop her laughter. Both she and her son were soaking wet, smelled like dog, and were probably dirtier than the darn animal. “Honey, we can… we can… run through the sprinkler to clean it off, okay? Here, stand up next to me. Hold onto Tippy’s collar and help Momma get him soapy.”

  Wrestling to hang on to the energetic dog with one hand, she squatted down behind Reece. She surrounded him with her legs and arms and formed a backstop to keep him from falling into the mud again. They managed to soap up the small black-and-white dog as he licked at their faces with happy abandon.

  “Alright, we’re going to spray him off now. Hold the handle with me and then I will give the hose to you and you can make sure Momma did it right, okay?”

  “’Kay, Momma.” The dog’s thick fur made it nearly impossible to get the soap out and, in short order, Reece lost interest, as she knew he would. He turned in her arms and looked over her shoulder.

  “Momma, does Superman live by us?” Reece’s questions were a constant. Without missing a beat, she answered, “I don’t think he lives in Savannah. Why? Do you want to grow up to be big and strong like Superman?”

  Reece patted her chest with his small hand. Tippy lunged toward the side of the pool, his usually patient personality gone in a split second. Faith braced, catching her lurching dog, and pulled him back into the pool. She was almost done, and darned if Tippy jumping out before she wrapped a beach towel around him was happening.

  Reece put his little hands on her face and cupped her cheeks, forcing her to look at him. “Do you know Superman, Momma?” Faith held onto the dog, which suddenly started acting like it was possessed, lunging toward the edge of the plastic pool barking.

  Damn tree squirrels. They were always tormenting poor Tippy.

  Faith flipped her wet hair out of her eyes. Taking a firmer grip on the spray nozzle, she hit the hindquarters of the dog with the stream and struggled to remember her son’s question.

  “Uhhh… Superman? I don’t think so, baby. I know a lot of people, but I don’t think Superman is one of them. Why?”

  Reece pointed behind her. His arm lifted up as he whispered almost in awe, “Superman is behind you, Momma.”

  “Superman’s behind me? Is he wearing a red cape? Do you think he flew here from Metropolis, or maybe he is with the Justice League and Wonder Woman flew him down in her invisible jet?”

  “Actually, I drove here in a rented Escalade and I own my own jet,” a deep bass voice directly behind her replied.

  Faith jerked into a standing position and whipped around. The garden hose in her hand followed, drenching the man, now standing directly in front of her.

  “Oh shit! Sorry! Oh God, I’m so sorry!” Faith pulled the hose away and fumbled with the nozzle, finally getting the thing to turn off. Slowly she looked toward the man she had drowned in a torrent of water. His light gray silk suit was utterly ruined. The thin, wet material clung deliciously to his massive, sculpted body. At five-foot-eleven-inches tall, Faith was by no means a small woman, but this man towered over her. A lock of his black hair curled over his forehead, just like Superman’s. His eyes were clenched shut, but when he opened them, his vivid green gaze seemed to sear right through her. He carefully took off his glasses and held them away from his wet body. Water dripped from his hair and off his nose. His free hand swept the remaining water off his face. He didn’t sweep away the look of utter disbelief.

  “You are Faith Collins?”

  “Yeah, I am. Who are you?”

  The man whipped his hand back, sending droplets of water through the air.

  “My name is Jason King. You really do know how to make a first impression. I’m not saying it was favorable, but I’m sure this is a meeting I’ll never forget.”

  “Momma, you said a bad word!” Reece patted her leg to get her attention.

  “Yes, pumpkin, I sure did.” What impressed her, though, was the man in front of her hadn’t.

  Reece wrapped around Faith’s legs and pointed toward the massive man. “See Momma. Told’ja. Superman!”

  Morbid embarrassment slammed her, tightening her gut to the point of pain. “I’m so sorry, sir, but why are you here? I mean in my back yard?”

  The gorgeous man slid the silk jacket off and draped it over his arm in front him. Oh. My. God. The sleeves of his shirt molded to the man’s huge biceps. The clothes he wore probably cost more than the mortgage on her trailer for the year, but Faith would have to admit they put a very sexy frame on the man.

  He looked at the water on his glasses. With economy of motion, he folded them and put them in his jacket pocket as it lay draped over his forearm. “I knocked on the front door. I heard you back here laughing. I work at Guardian. Your late brother, Theo, and I were deployed together…” The man glanced at Reece, who was still hugging her leg. “I have some documentation I need you to look over. I’d like to ask you some questions.”

  Faith let a slow smile spread across her face. His dark, gravel-roughened voice would make James Earl Jones jealous. Of course, the man had to be from Guardian. It seemed they had one type. The men Faith had met, friends of Theo’s, were cut from the same cloth. Just like the one in front of her. Although Jason King was a much bigger version than the men Theo trained with.

  “I usually let Scott Barnes handle all of the paperwork that Guardian sends down. Should I call him?”

  “You can if you’d like. I’m assuming he is your lawyer?”

  “No, he was from Guardian.”

  “Then he was assigned to you as a Casualty Officer.”

  “I guess. He showed up right after the chaplain and his associate left.”

  “Momma?”

  “Yeah, baby?”

  “Do you think Superman likes us?” His stage whisper was almost a shout.

  She glanced at Mr. King. He’d frozen in the act of loosening the knot in his tie. From the shocked expression on his face, he looked at a loss for words. Almost as if it mattered to him what her baby thought of him. The guy honestly seemed decent. Massive, but decent.

  “Baby, I’m sure he likes us. He probably just didn’t enjoy Momma getting him all wet. Why don’t you and Tippy go to Auntie Helena’s? Stay in the grass and keep out of the dirt and mud, please. I’ll stand right here and watch you.”

  She kept an eye on her son as he went throu
gh the small gate in the fence and over to her best friend’s trailer. Tippy danced by his side the entire way. Helena answered Reece’s knock and expertly kept his wet BFF out of her home. Helena made eye contact with Faith. Faith gave her a thumbs-up and turned back to the very wet man in her back yard.

  She ran her hands over her face, pulling her cheeks down as she blew out a puff of air. “I have to pay for your dry cleaning. Oh heck, who am I kidding, that suit is ruined. It has to be handmade, too, there is no way you could fit anything off the rack.”

  His size, both height and, good God in heaven, those muscles, would prevent that. Faith pulled her bottom lip into her mouth and worried it as she tried to come up with a way to make amends to Superman.

  Superman, no, it was… Mr. King, that’s right, she chuckled. She walked with him back toward her trailer. Faith looked down the front of her shirt and reached up to brush at dirt stains from the dog’s bath. “Oh, shit.”

  Her exclamation brought the man’s eyes to her. His quick up-and-down told her he’d either already noticed the wet, clinging t-shirt and no bra, or he wasn’t interested. Was it bad of her for wanting it to be the former and not the latter?

  She crossed her arms over her chest and shook her head. “Listen, Mr. King, how about we meet when we are both dry? I’m not sure why you’re here or for how long, but could we do this later? I’ll get a sitter for Reece so we can discuss whatever it is that you want to talk about.”

  He raked a hand through his hair. The action released more dark curls. The effect? Breathtaking. Realizing where her mind was taking her, she glanced toward Helena’s trailer again. The woman had taken up residence on her small wooden porch and she and Reece were rubbing Tippy with a towel. Their peals of laughter put a soft smile on her lips.

  “I’d like that. No matter how hot it is in Savannah, standing in wet clothes isn’t the most ideal when discussing business.” He lifted the jacket and fished around the inside breast pocket. He pulled out a pen and business card. He jotted a number across the back in dark bold strokes.

  “My cell number. When you are ready to speak with me, please call. I’ll be in town until then.”