Steel Vengeance (Blackthorn Security #6)

Chapter 32

CHAPTER 32

“ H e’s dead?” Sloane stared at them in disbelief. “But how? I thought you were going to get him arrested.” They were in a rented SUV, heading out of the city on the Lahore-Islamabad freeway. Sloane sat next to Stitch, who was driving, while Blade lounged in the back.

“That was the plan,” Stitch said, eyes fixed on the road.

“What happened?” she asked.

“He went for my gun.” Stitch replied. “Stupid move. Gave us no choice.”

“So you shot him?” Neither of them looked particularly torn up about it.

“We both did,” Blade said from the back.

She glanced over her shoulder. “You both shot him?”

“Yeah.” Stitch pursed his lips.

“Couldn't let him grab the weapon,” Blade added.

A long silence followed.

“I can’t believe Jeremy is dead.” She stared out of the window at the rolling hills dotted with sparse vegetation. Not that she’d liked the man. He’d hired the shooter to kill her, and he’d done all those other terrible things. It’s just killing him seemed so drastic. So… final.

“If he’d grabbed my gun, we wouldn’t be here,” Stitch said, misreading her reaction. “He would’ve killed us without a moment’s hesitation.”

“It’s not that,” she murmured, head spinning. “It’s just a lot to get my head around.”

“At least he can’t hurt you now,” Blade said.

“But Matthew still can.”

“Sullivan doesn’t know Jeremy’s dead,” Stitch reassured her. “Won’t know for a few days, at least, until the cops ID the body.”

“And that’s not going to be easy,” Blade added. “He probably has several aliases.”

She exhaled, relieved. “What happens when they do?”

“By then this will all be over,” Stitch said, an edge to his voice.

Sloane hoped he was right.

“I’m gonna get some shuteye,” Blade said, stretching out across the backseat. “Wake me when it’s my turn.”

Stitch nodded.

Sloane turned to the window, watching the landscape change to wide, open plains that stretched for miles in all directions. It was obvious Stitch and Blade were used to working together. They had an unspoken bond forged from years operating in the same team, and an ease of communication that only came with knowing someone well. They were tight, like brothers, and would always have each other’s back.

Had they really both shot Jeremy? She’d never know, but she believed them when they said he’d gone for Stitch’s gun. It had been self-defense.

Turning away from the window, she stole a glance at Stitch. His blue eyes were locked on the road, cool and steady, like nothing fazed him. His hands gripped the wheel with this effortless confidence, the kind that made you feel safe and a little on edge at the same time. His tanned forearms flexed with every slight turn, showing off those cut muscles and that tattoo—dark and winding, tied to a career that he was proud of but never talked about.

With that chiseled jaw and slightly tousled hair he was both lethal and breathtakingly gorgeous—a dangerous mix she found impossible to ignore.

Too bad they’d never get to finish what they started. At least she had some memories. That night would be forever burned into her mind.

A soft snoring came from the back. She looked over her shoulder and saw that Blade was already out cold.

“That didn’t take long,” she remarked.

“He’s always like that,” Stitch said without looking away from the road. “Motion knocks him out. Cars, buses, helicopters—you name it, he’s out.”

She smiled. “You two are close, huh?”

“Yep, like brothers. It was the same with the whole team—me, Blade, Cole.” His jaw tightened. “Joe, Chris, and Rick didn’t make it back from our last op.”

“I’m sorry.”

He’d lost a lot of people in his life, she realized. She supposed it was common in his line of work. Still, it couldn’t be easy.

And then losing his wife. How tragic.

“Was that when you got ambushed?” she asked, remembering the story.

He nodded, the SUV continuing to eat up the miles.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

“It’s fine.” He glanced at the clock on the dashboard. “We’ve got fourteen hours to go. Might as well talk about something.”

She smiled.

He took a deep breath. “We were on a routine mission in Afghanistan, hiking through a mountain pass, when rebel militia ambushed us. One minute, we were marching along the path, the next, we were in a full-on firefight.” His grip on the steering wheel tightened.

She wanted to reach out, put a hand on his thigh to comfort him, but it felt too intimate, so she didn’t move.

"There was no cover," he said, his voice hollow, like he was still in that moment. "Rick went down first, mowed down by machine gun fire. Then Joe… he got hit too."

“He was Pat’s son?”

“Yeah, took a bullet to the leg. Blade and I tried to help him, but they got him in the gut and chest. He died in Blade’s arms.”

She could picture it now—a serene mountain pass ripped apart by gunfire, her heart aching as she imagined Stitch in the middle of it. “What did you do?” she whispered.

He exhaled slowly. “We had to leave them behind. There was nothing we could do. Blade, Chris, and I split up, hoping we’d be less of a target if we scattered.” His expression darkened. “Chris didn’t make it either. Only Blade and I got out.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“Blade took it hard,” Stitch said, glancing briefly in the rearview mirror at his sleeping friend. “He was leading the op.”

She followed his gaze. “It wasn’t his fault though, was it?”

“No.” His jaw clenched. “Our translator betrayed us. The Taliban got to him. Threatened his family. He gave up our location, and Blade felt like he should’ve seen it coming. Like he could’ve prevented it.”

“How could he? There’s no way he could’ve known,” she said, shaking her head.

Stitch shrugged, a haunted look crossing his face. “Doesn’t change the fact that good men died. After that, I just... couldn’t go back. It was like something died inside me too.”

She swallowed hard. Seeing your brothers gunned down, barely making it out alive—it wasn’t something you could just move past.

“Didn’t they look for you?” she asked softly. She knew how serious it was to vanish from a unit, especially in a war zone.

He hesitated, then nodded. “I made it to the RV point. The chopper was waiting. I saw it, but I couldn’t get on. I hid and watched while Blade boarded. They waited as long as they could, then flew back without me. They thought I was dead.”

““You were in shock,” she said gently. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“I was messed up, yeah,” he admitted, eyes still on the road. “Wandered the mountains for days until I found a village. We’d done a goodwill mission there the year before. Soraya’s family took me in.”

“She blinked. “Blade found you though, right?”

He nodded. “Yeah, eventually. But he kept quiet. He knew if anyone found out I was alive, I’d be in deep shit. So, he let everyone believe I was gone. I didn’t exactly argue.”

“Why not? You could’ve gone back.”

His lips pressed into a thin line. “At the time, I couldn’t face it. I wasn’t ready. By the time I came to my senses, it was too late. Easier to stay ‘dead.’”

Sloane’s heart ached for the man beside her.

“My biggest regret is leaving Blade to face the fallout alone,” he said after a pause, his voice thick with guilt. “There was an investigation, and he took the heat. Ended up retiring early.”

Her chest tightened. “That’s awful.”

“Yeah,” he said, his voice rough. “It is.”

The silence between them hung heavy for a moment. She could see it now—Stitch hadn’t run because he was a coward. He’d been shattered, lost, and too broken to face the aftermath. And now, all these years later, the pain of it still clung to him.

She blinked back the sting of tears. “I’m so sorry for what you went through,” she said, her voice soft. “I didn’t know.”

He cleared his throat, brushing it off, but she could see it still weighed on him. “It was a long time ago,” he said. “Everyone’s moved on.”

Except you, she thought.

“What will you do when this is over?” she asked, tentatively.

He sighed. “I don’t know. If I go back to the States, I’ll probably get arrested.”

Her head snapped around to face him. “What? Why? You didn’t do anything wrong.”

His lips curved into a grim smile. “Walking away without an official discharge... the Navy doesn’t care why. It’s still desertion.”

“But there has to be a way to fix it, right?”

He shrugged, his eyes wary. “Maybe. We’ll see.”

“What happens tomorrow at the docks?” she asked, a short while later. The landscape hadn’t changed much in the last few hours, and she was growing bored with the view.

“When the Arabian Princess sails, we’ll pass the information on to Pat, who’ll loop in his CIA contact. They’ll coordinate with the DEA and the Coast Guard to intercept the ship when it enters U.S. waters. At least, that’s the plan.”

She didn’t know much about how these things worked, but it sounded familiar enough. She’d seen enough news footage back home of Coast Guard raids and DEA drug busts at sea. It always looked so slick, almost effortless.

“You think the crew has any idea they’re transporting heroin?”

He shook his head. “Doubt it. The cargo will be buried in containers, probably hidden in legal goods—textiles, electronics, food shipments, whatever won’t raise suspicion. It’s the dock workers you need to worry about. They’re the ones who get paid off to make sure certain containers slip through customs unnoticed.”

“You make it sound so easy,” she mused.

He shrugged. “If you know the right palms to grease, anything’s possible. The cartels have it down to a science.”

She let out a low whistle, shaking her head. “Until I came here, I was living in this safe, little bubble. Now that it’s burst, the world is suddenly a very scary place.”

“It can be,” he agreed. “But don’t worry. I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

Those words.

That’s what he’d said that night, right before they’d kissed, even though he’d been talking about Soraya. Now he was saying them about her.

A warm flush mixed with something deeper flowed through her. It was heady, intoxicating. A glimpse of what it would be like to be loved by someone like him.

She gulped. Like that would ever happen.

As soon as this was over, she’d be going back to her old life, and Stitch would soon be a distant, but very fond, memory.

“What about you?” he asked, breaking the silence that had stretched out for nearly twenty miles. “You got anyone to go back to? Parents? Siblings?”

She glanced at him, surprised by the question but shrugged. “Not really. My mom died when I was young, and my dad... well, he wasn’t exactly father of the year.”

Stitch raised an eyebrow, glancing over briefly. “What happened?”

She hadn’t planned on talking about it, but once she started, the words just spilled out. She told him about her mom’s death and her dad’s downward spiral—how the drinking had taken over and eventually, how it all ended.

“I got there too late,” she said quietly. “He’d already jumped.”

“Shit,” he muttered. “That’s rough. How old were you?”

“Almost seventeen. Two days before my birthday.”

“Damn,” he murmured, nodding slightly. “I get that. Birthdays are... hard.”

She knew he was thinking about Soraya. There was a silence, heavy but not uncomfortable, just the two of them processing their own grief.

“So, what happened after?” he asked.

“I went to live with my grandmother. She’s the one who taught me Urdu.”

“Is she from the Middle East?” he asked, glancing at her again, curious.

“No, but her mom was. She married an American engineer and moved to the States. Grandma was born in Seattle. I’m the only one who’s ever been back to her birthplace.”

He gave a low whistle. “That’s why Matthew was so keen on you, huh? Not just the language, but the whole package.”

She sighed, the mention of Matthew still a sore spot. “Yeah. Makes sense now. I thought he cared about me, but I was just... useful. Pretty naive, right?”

“Hey, don’t beat yourself up,” he said, a slight edge to his voice. “Love makes fools of us all.”

“Oh, I don’t know if it was love,” she admitted quickly. “Maybe just... infatuation. Definitely not love.”

Stitch shot her a look, a small grin tugging at his lips. “Never been in love before?”

The engine’s steady hum filled the pause before she answered. “No. Not really. My dad kind of ruined the whole idea of marriage for me. He was awful to my mom. I don’t ever want that.”

“Not all men are like that, you know,” he said, his voice low.

She knew he wasn’t like that. Not after everything. Not after the way he’d held her the other night, how gentle he’d been despite the rough edges.

Stitch wasn’t some out-of-control drunk who hit his wife—no, he was something else. A fighter, sure, but not in the way her dad had been. He fought for real. He killed people when he had to.

Like Jeremy. That had been hours ago, and she had almost forgotten. But how many others had there been? How many lives had he taken?

But then she thought about Fatima, how tender he’d been patching her up, making sure she was safe.

“I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

He was such a contradiction. Tough, deadly, a force to be reckoned with—yet he could be so gentle.

A delicious, mind-bending, pulse-racing contradiction.

And somewhere along the line, she’d fallen for him. Hard.

But of course, he wasn’t hers to have. He belonged to someone else, someone he’d lost but would never forget.

Soraya.

How could she ever compete with a memory?

Her heart ached, and she leaned back, closing her eyes, letting the silence of the car wrap around her.