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GAMBLE
BROTHERHOOD PROTECTORS WORLD
REGAN BLACK
CONTENTS
Brotherhood Protectors
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are
products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual
events, locales or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.
B illie stared at the blank screen on the burner phone. “Just like old
times,” she murmured to the drab room. Patrick loved to bark out
orders. It made him even happier when those orders were followed
to the letter. He’d always enjoyed watching people fall in line without
so much as a single question or complaint.
Not that she was in any position to protest his methods.
After the security breach inside her own office during her
prosecution of two kidnappers working on orders of the mob
leadership, she couldn’t bring herself to fully trust anyone on her
staff. Didn’t matter that they’d found the mole and prosecuted her as
well. Nothing changed a person’s loyalty faster than a ruthless
criminal with the right leverage.
There was no doubt in her mind that if she had any close family
—a husband, children, or parents still alive—they would all be in
danger.
Of course, running to Patrick was bringing her trouble to his
doorstep. At least he had a trusted team of protectors and
investigators to serve as a buffer. It was that kind of backup she was
in need of. Still, she struggled with a fresh wave of guilt. Bringing
Patrick into her crisis didn’t remove the target from her back, it only
painted a big bullseye on his.
There was no doubt in her mind that the Native Mob would track
her down. Just a matter of time. She fell to the bed, springs
squeaking as she buried her face—and a wail of frustration—into the
flat pillow.
The ache in her belly was sharp when she rolled to her back.
She’d never thought she’d run scared. Not from anyone or anything.
The law, the system, had been her source of comfort. The work
had been all she’d needed. Or so she’d told herself when her
marriage crumbled and it was the only outlet she had left.
The sense of helplessness was pure agony as she stared up at a
dingy ceiling, waiting for a rescue from the man who probably hated
her more than he’d ever loved her.
That was something she couldn’t blame on anyone but herself.
“No.” She sat up and scrubbed her face. This was far from ideal,
but she was still alive. She had someone to trust, someone she could
count on. The mob was probably celebrating that they’d run her out
of town, forced her into hiding, but she wasn’t done yet.
And she refused to be a fragile, stuttering mess when Patrick
arrived. Bad enough she’d been so shaky on the call that Patrick was
coming to fetch her personally.
She didn’t think he ever went out into the field. He was suits and
ties and polished shoes. Not anything like the rugged and savvy
bodyguards the Guardian Agency had sent out to rescue her
endangered witnesses. She went to her backpack, the only item
she’d brought with her, and pulled out a hairbrush and a pack of
disposable facial cloths. It would be hours before he arrived, but she
needed to freshen up. Feeling clean would make it easier to reset
and reframe her edgy, fearful attitude.
It helped perk her up enough that she could think about the
situation again without trembling. She’d documented everything and
backed up that information to a secure account on the cloud, but
she could write it out for Patrick. He liked to have things in hard
copy.
Or at least that had been his preference. She really didn’t know
how he’d changed in the years since they’d divorced. Hell, it had
been ten years since she’d seen him in person.
Ten years of nothing more than noticing a photo on social media
or seeing his official headshot with a news article. He always looked
fit and content, if not exactly beaming with happiness. Time seemed
to be treating him well.
And she’d better use the time she had right now to get the facts
lined up for him. She wrote out the incidents in chronological order
from her first suspicion that she was being followed to the mean
messages all the way to what forced the present crisis.
Each moment was seared into her mind and she was glad no one
else was here to see how her hand trembled. It was an ugly litany of
trouble, none of which could be tied to a single definitive suspect.
“Not yet,” she amended. While she’d worked her way up through
the prosecutorial ranks, she’d assured victims time and again that
she wouldn’t quit on them or their cases. She couldn’t give up on
herself.
She checked the time and went to brew a cup of coffee. She’d
been awake for more than twenty-four hours, afraid to let her guard
down for even a moment. Patrick would probably advise her to rest
while she had the chance, but she was too keyed up. And yes, too
afraid that someone would sneak up on her. This roadside motel
didn’t exude top-of-the-line security.
As if to prove her point, there was a soft knock on the door and
she gave a start, spilling hot coffee over her wrist. She clamped her
mouth shut against the natural cry of pain and hurried to the sink.
Running cold water over the burn, she told herself it was only the
food Patrick promised to send.
Every second that the door remained closed her heart rate eased
closer to normal. The wrist still stung like the devil, but it was a relief
to focus on something so normal.
She checked the peephole at the door and saw the bag of food
with a business card attached. It was impossible to be sure it was
Patrick’s card, but also a significant stretch to think the mob had
gained access to listen in on Patrick’s private cell phone. Besides, her
enemies wouldn’t come this far only to watch her. The way things
were escalating, she was sure a direct attack was imminent.
She pulled up the hood of her sweatshirt, hiding her hair and
most of her face. Taking a deep breath, she eased open the door
and then reached out to grab the bag.
Once she had the door closed again and the deadbolt and chain
engaged, she verified it was Patrick’s card stapled to the white take
out bag.
The aroma of a burger and fries filled the room, immediately
lifting her mood. Her ex was a saint with a memory she appreciated
more than ever as she read the order slip under his card. He’d asked
for a burger with tomato, pickle, mayo and mustard, just the way
she liked it.
Setting the food on the dresser, she dragged the single chair
away from the scuffed-up table in front of the window around to the
far side of the bed. That way she could eat without worrying that
anyone could see her silhouette through the closed curtain.
She was more thankful than ever for the security tips and advice
that she’d picked up through the years from her various connections
among law enforcement and witness protection services.
Her new phone buzzed with an alert. It was too soon for Patrick
and no one outside of his office had this number.
Pulse skipping, she grabbed the phone. She’d set her preferences
to receive notifications on her own name as well as breaking news in
Helena. This alert covered both topics—a news crew had set up at
the end of her block, reporting on a fire at her house in Helena.
“So, I’ll stay somewhere else tomorrow night? Tonight,” she
corrected, wincing at the time on the bedside clock. The sooner he
assigned one of his bodyguards and went back to his normal life, the
better she’d feel about everything.
“I don’t know yet. We both need sleep. Others will be up,
gathering intel for us to sift through and analyze when we can think
clearly.” He rubbed at his eyes. “You called me for help, Billie. Let me
help.”
“Stop.” She waved a hand, interrupting him. “You’re right. I’m
alive thanks to you.” Setting her backpack on the bench at the foot
of the bed, she unzipped a pocket and pulled out the notes she’d
written earlier. “This is for your team to review. If you have someone
working overnight, it might give them a framework.”
Walking over, she handed him the pages and then shooed him
through the door. “You’ve made me feel safe, thank you. I’ll rest
easy for the first time in weeks.”
He was frowning again. “Good.” His eyes skimmed over her
notes. “Sleep as late as you can. I’ll get them started on this.”
“All right.” With another attempt at a smile, she gently closed the
door between them.
It was that or throw herself into his arms. She’d opened that
door at the motel and fallen in love again in the span of a single
heartbeat. His eyes, so serious and worried had instantly erased all
the years between them.
Blaming her wild craving for the man she’d left behind—foolishly
—on extreme stress and anxiety, she toed off her shoes and peeled
away the rest of her clothing.
It was tempting to take a shower, but she was too tired to dry
her hair. Once she’d washed her face and brushed her teeth, she
changed into her last clean t-shirt and crawled under the covers.
But the room was too dark and the faint sounds drifting up from
the city outside kept her on edge. Patrick had assured her that
nothing short of a Delta Team could breach the building. Did he
remember that the Native Mob wasn’t known for tactical finesse, just
outright brutal assault?
They’d set her house on fire.
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— Oh, olen niin väsynyt. Sitä on jo niin vanha.
— On, kyllä on. Joka vuosi minä niitä sieltä joukon poistan, mutta
joka vuosi niitä taas siellä on. Minä luulen, että kiviä sataa taivaasta.
— Niin niin, sinä olet aina niin hyväntahtoinen. Mutta minä, joka
olen mies, suutun, niin vanha kuin olenkin. Ja minä en kehtaa jatkaa
enään kuokkimista. Eihän jaksa enemmän kuin jaksaa.
Ukko näytti niin vihaiselta, että eukko antoi hänen olla. Mutta
mielessään ajatteli hän hiljaisuudessa tähän suuntaan:
Kun eukko kuuli, että mies oli nukkunut ja makasi nyt kuorsaten
ukonuntaan, nousi hän sängystä. Kun hän makasi seinävieressä,
täytyi hänen päästäkseen lattialle kiivetä ukon yli.
Sitten pukeutui hän hiljaa ja meni ulos viileään, puolivaloisaan
kesäyöhön. Kuokka seisoi tuvan seinää vasten niinkuin ukko sen oli
jättänyt. Eukko otti sen ja meni ulos pellolle ja alkoi työskennellä.
Hän kuokki varovaisesti, ettei rauta kilahtaisi kiviin ja ettei ukko
kuulisi mitään erityisempää ääntä ja heräisi. Kivet heitti hän ojan
reunalle, sitä mukaa kuin työssään eteni.
— No, Sven.
— Ah, herran tähden, sinäkö se olit! Mitä varten olet sinä ylhäällä
yösydännä?
Pohjakalaa,
Ei, mutta miten se söi! Hän veti »tintin» toisensa perästä, ja kohta
eivät tä'yt riittäneet, niin että hänen täytyi silpaista salakan hienoa
lihaa syötiksi.
Mutta kuinka nyt olikaan, kun hänen piti vetää ylös onkea, tarttui
se kiinni johonkin raskaasen. Joko se oli suuri kuha tai myös turska.
Hiopp, hän veti. Mutta onki ei liikahtanut. Oliko se tarttunut pohjaan?
Jokin suuri esine virui pohjassa — osa siitä oli valkeaa — kasvot.
Ja partaa sillä oli…
Hän sousi kotiin ja sanoi äidille, ettei salakka tänä päivänä syönyt.
Äiti sanoi, että hän varmaankin oli juossut jonkin tytön jälissä sen
sijaan että olisi kalastanut. Mutta poika ei uskaltanut puhua totuutta.
Eikä hän lähinnä seuraavina päivinä kalastanut. —
— Toiset pojat tahtoivat myös kalakeittoa. He sotisivat toinen
toisensa perästä kalapaikalle, mutta kaikki tulivat tyhjin käsin kotiin.
Ei siellä ollut kaloja, sanoivat he. Mutta kaikki olivat he tartuttaneet
koukkunsa Puna-Pietariin, kaikki katkaisseet siimansa ja viskanneet
salakat veteen. He eivät halunneet niitä.
— En edes kissallekaan.
— Se on huono paikka.
— Kerrassaan kehno.
— Totisesti täytyy.
Sillä välin kävi myrsky. Mutta sitten tuli taas seesteinen päivä.
Silloin arveli ensimäinen poika, että hän antaa paholaiselle koko
Puna-Pietarin — nyt menee hän koettamaan.
Niin sousi hän uudelle paikalle. Ja hän oli niin iloinen ja rallatteli,
että vuonon vuoret hänen jälestään huhuilivat. Nyt kertoisi hän pojille
saaneensa oikein paljo kaloja, mutta paikkaa hän ei neuvoisi — e-
oho!
Mutta yhtäkkiä kävi hän kalpeaksi, ja rallatus loppui — sillä onki oli
taas kiinni.
Hän säikähti niin, että oikein tahtoi itkettää. Taaskin oli siinä Puna-
Pietari — jonka virran vesi oli tuonut entiseltä vanhalta paikaltaan…
Eikö hän siitä koskaan pääsisi? Hän veti riipan ylös. Kotiin sousi
hän. Kaloja hän ei uskaltanut kaataa veteen, äiti olisi vihastunut. Ja
häpeähän olisi tulla kaksi kertaa peräkkäin kaloitta kotiin.
Kaksi kruunua.
— Miksikä niin?
— E-ei, minä olen heiltä kysynyt. He eivät tiedä, missä se on. Joku
muu sen varmaan on ottanut.
— Niin, en tiedä.
Hans oli jonkun aikaa ääneti, mutta sitten alkoi hän kuleksia
ympäri huonetta ja nuuskia Ernstin työkaluja.
— Oh, en mitään.
— Nyt sanoit sen itse. Ha, ha, kuinka pelästyneeltä sinä näytät.
Totta puhuakseni tulin tänne katsomaan, etkö sattumalta olisi
pistänyt sitä takkisi alle. Takkisi on ollut mukana näpistelyissä
ennenkin. Muistatko papin kanoja, hä?
— Vaikene!
*****
Hän sai.
Mutta sentähden ei hän ollut sinne tullut. Vaan häntä halutti niin
kovasti saada puhua tuosta puukkosahajutusta, että, hänen täytyi
tavata joku ihminen. Hän vain ei tiennyt, kuinka saisi sen niin esille,
ettei se näyttäisi liian tärkeältä. Mutta silloin näki hän vasaroita ja
viiloja ja sahoja riippuvan puodin katossa. Ja silloin sanoi hän:
— Niin. Ernst ei ole luotettava, ei. Jos osaat oikein vaieta, Hans —
Eriksson tirkisteli ympärilleen, puodissa ei ollut ketään muita — niin
saat sinä kuulla jotakin, jonka Ernst teki talvella, vaan josta minä en
ole tahtonut puhua. Sillä minä en tahdo juoruta, näes.
— Niin, näetkös —
— Sinä näytät niin ilkeältä. Sinä tahdot pahaa Ernstille. Ei, minä
pidän rahan. Se ei koskaan lähde minulta.
— Minne matka?
*****
— Niinkö? Hm.
— Kas niin, älkää nyt olko piilosilla enään. Jos te saatte hyvän
maksun, luovutte te kyllä siitä.
— Olkoon menneeksi!
— Missä on kruunu?
— Ja te ostatte ihmisiä.