Northern Deception (Northern Rescue Book 2), page 14
Nate’s mind was still on Freya, and he didn’t understand what the hell Ellis was talking about. He squinted over at his brother but could only make out the outline of his face in the white glow of the moon.
“It’s eating at me I didn’t and— sorry,” Ellis said roughly, his fingers tightening on the wheel until the leather creaked in protest. “I’m so damn sorry about so many things.”
“Oh.” Nate glanced away, embarrassment burning up the back of his neck. “That.”
“I knew the other kids bullied you in school. I didn’t realize it was because—”
“No, they bullied me because I was a scrawny redhead with a stutter. Then I wasn’t scrawny anymore, and the bullying stopped. Nobody ever knew about my sexuality.”
“I should have known.”
“How could you have? I was eleven when you left. I barely knew.”
“Stop,” Ellis snapped. “You always do that—make excuses for me and for Damian. Stop it. I should’ve been here to support you while you were figuring all that shit out. I’m so fucking proud of you, you know that? I know it couldn’t have been an easy secret to keep all these years.”
Nate shouldn’t need or want his older brother’s approval, but Ellis’s reaction lifted an immense weight off his shoulders—one he hadn’t known he carried. He’d spent so much of his life bottled up, fearing his brother’s rejection because, despite everything, Ellis had always been his hero. His world. The only father-figure he’d ever really cared about. Knowing he didn’t have to hide anymore was freeing.
After a long moment of emotionally charged silence, Nate sniffled and casually swiped his sleeve over his face. “So, where is this poker club?”
“Yeah.” Ellis cleared his throat and started the truck. “Let’s go take a look.”
He drove to a warehouse near the Port of Anchorage. It didn’t look like much from the outside, just a sturdy concrete structure, windows boarded up with plywood. No sign of life inside or on the grounds.
Nate glanced over as Ellis shut off the truck and opened the door. “This is the place?”
“Yep. Peeled Dad off the floor here more than once. It was one of his go-to spots for a while.”
Nate followed him across the cracked pavement, past dirty piles of snow heaped along the edge of the parking lot. For a place that appeared abandoned, the small lot was well-plowed and de-iced. Ellis went around the side of the building and tapped twice on a metal door. While he waited for a response, he dug a hundred-dollar bill from his wallet.
“Is there some kind of password?” Nate wondered out loud.
“Nope. If you have money to spend, they’ll let you in.” When the small window in the door slid open a crack, Ellis held up the hundred. There was a pause, then the door creaked open. He stepped inside and nodded at the stone-faced bouncer sitting on a stool beside the chair. The guy was built like a concrete block and had a square head to match. He carried a gun in a shoulder holster within easy reach and looked like he’d love an excuse to use it.
Shit. This was a stupid idea.
Nate hobbled after him on the crutches, lengthening his stride to catch up. “How do they know we’re not cops without a password?”
Ellis gave a grim smile. “I don’t think they care. They’ve been operating here for twenty years or more. And, technically, poker games are legal as long as they’re private and not commercial. This is just a bunch of friends getting together on the weekends to play cards.”
Nate studied the place as he and Ellis made their way toward a horseshoe-shaped bar at the back. He’d expected a cold, cavernous space, but while the ceiling was high, it wasn’t a typical warehouse. Lots of dark wood and deep reds, with only touches of the warehouse’s industrial past in the metal light fixtures and exposed ductwork. Less back-alley slum than he’d expected and more like a high-end gentleman’s club, minus the strippers—though the waitresses moving among the scattering of poker tables wore black dresses that left little to the imagination.
At the bar, Ellis took a seat and ordered a beer.
They didn’t have Nate’s usual root beer, so he went with a Pepsi. He settled onto a stool beside his brother and propped the pain-in-the-ass crutches next to him. “Do you know who owns this place?”
“Nope. Whoever’s in charge has deep pockets and the political clout to make sure all the right people look in the other direction.”
“And you’re thinking that person made Dad disappear?”
“Or Dad disappeared to avoid them. That’s his M.O. isn’t it? Disappearing to avoid responsibility.”
“Yours, too.”
Ellis lifted his beer in a salute. “Touché, little brother.”
Fuck. He shouldn’t have said that, especially after Ellis’s heartfelt apology in the car earlier. He could be a real prick sometimes. He stared down into his glass of Pepsi and stabbed at the ice with the cocktail straw as shame burned up the back of his neck. “Sorry.”
“Hey, you’re right. I ran, just like Dad, but I’m here now and I’m sticking this time. We’re going to figure this shit out, all right?”
Nearly thirty years old and, still, it was a balm to hear those words of comfort from his older brother. He wished he could hate Ellis. He really did. It would be easier than this mix of resentment, love, and the goddamn hero worship he couldn’t shake.
He turned away from his drink and scanned the club. It was doing a brisk business with all the poker tables filled. He noticed the players occasionally picked a waitress when they got bored with the cards and disappeared into a back room. He was all for back-room sex between willing participants, but these girls all looked so young. Too young. There was a lot more going on here than just illegal poker.
“So now what?” He glanced over at Ellis. “Dad’s not going to show up here.”
Ellis said nothing for a beat, then pointed at the back door with his chin. “We’re not looking for Dad.”
Nate followed his gaze. Damian. He’d slipped in and skirted around the poker tables to a door behind the bar. Absorbed in his phone, he didn’t see them sitting there less than ten feet away.
“I’m gonna follow—”
Ellis grabbed his arm. “Nate, you’re a huge redhead on crutches. Not exactly inconspicuous.”
“Fuck the crutches. I’m getting some answers tonight.” He shook off Ellis’s hand and headed for the door in pursuit.
Ellis didn’t stop him but muttered something about “fucking younger brothers.”
He didn’t care if Ellis was pissed. He’d nearly died up on that mountain because of Damian. Freya had nearly died. He deserved some answers.
The dim hallway was more industrial than the outer part of the club. Doors lined the walls and judging by the muffled noises, he could guess exactly what was going on behind them.
He spotted his younger brother at the end of the hall. “Day—”
Damian glanced back with wide eyes and took off at a run.
Fucking younger brothers.
Nate hobbled after him as fast as he could, but by the time he got to the T intersection, Damian was long gone. While he stood there trying to figure out which way to go, someone touched his shoulder and he nearly jumped out of his skin.
“Easy,” Ellis said.
Nate swore. “He ran from me.”
“You’re surprised?”
“Yeah, I am. We’ve always—” He stopped to swallow back a lump of emotion. “I always tried to take care of him when we were kids. I-I-I thought he’d talk to me.” And it hurt that he ran instead. After Ellis left, it had been him and Damian against the world. They’d been close at one time.
“I know,” Ellis said. “And I’m sorry he’s such a selfish little shit, but he’s up to no good. We gotta get out of here before he before he brings the cops down on us. On you.”
“Yeah.” Nate turned to follow him out but stopped at a noise that didn’t fit with the muffled sounds of sex.
A sad whine.
He pulled Ellis to a stop. “That’s a dog.”
“What the hell would a dog be doing in here?”
“Maybe it’s Happy.” He followed the sound through a set of double doors at the shorter side of the T that led deeper into the heart of the warehouse. The doors opened to a large room with stadium seating around a cage. Pronged dog collars hung from the links and brownish-red stains dotted the concrete in the center of the cage.
No.
Ellis swore softly.
Nate glanced back at his brother, his heart breaking in half. “Damian wouldn’t—”
“I… don’t know.”
“No. You do. Damian wouldn’t take part in dog fighting. Neither would Dad.” The whine came again, louder, drawing him through another door into a kennel area. The concrete runs were mostly empty, except for one gorgeous white pit bull cowering in the corner.
“Hi, beautiful.” Nate crouched down in front of her kennel to study her. Big, sad hazel eyes stared back. She was all muscle with a large, square head, but she wasn’t a fighter, judging by her engorged teats. A breeder. And she’d recently had puppies, but they were nowhere to be seen.
“It’s okay. We won’t hurt you.”
She studied him warily, then inched forward, dragging the heavy chain clamped around her neck until she’d reached the end. Then she just stood there and trembled, begging for freedom with her eyes.
Nate tried to open the kennel. Padlocked. She was a prized breeding stock, and they didn’t want to risk losing her. “Help me find something to open this.”
The dog cowered back again when Ellis came into view. “Oh,” he said soothingly. “You poor baby.” Then his temper flared. “If Damian’s involved in this shit, I’m gonna kill him.”
“You’ll have to get in line behind me. Help me open this, El. We’re not leaving her here.”
“Fuck,” Ellis said, but jogged off to search.
Nate did a sweep of the immediate area for keys but came up empty. When he wandered too far away from the dog, she started crying again, so he went back to comfort her. He didn’t want anyone hearing her. “Anything?”
“Nada,” Ellis called back from over by the door. “You’d think—” He broke off abruptly.
“Ellis?”
No answer.
“Ellis, what—” He glanced over and saw what had made Ellis go mute. Damian stood in the doorway with a gun in his hand. He didn’t point it at them, just carried it loosely at his side, but the fact he had one at all was a shock.
He looked at each of them, then at the dog. His expression softened, but only for a heartbeat, before his attention shifted back to his brothers. “You need to leave. Now.”
Nate put himself between Damian and the dog. “Why do you have that gun?”
Damian glanced down like he was surprised he had it. “Protection.”
“From what?” Ellis demanded. When he didn’t get a response, he crossed his arms over his chest and glared at their youngest brother. “I think it’s time you tell us what the hell is going on.”
Damian glanced over his shoulder at the hallway. “Not here.”
“Who are you afraid of?”
Again, Damian didn’t answer.
“Are you involved with this?” Nate motioned to the dog, and Damian flinched.
“Fuck, no. I would never— I swear, Nate. I didn’t know this was happening.”
“He’s not leaving without her,” Ellis said, tilting his head toward the dog. “So if you want us gone, help us unlock that cage.”
Damian hesitated, then swore and put the gun away under his parka. The same blue-gray parka Nate had seen on the mountainside.
Dammit, it had been him up there. He’d blown up Dad’s plane.
Nate’s heart sank at the confirmation. He’d known it, but he’d hoped it wasn’t true. Still hoped Damian had a reasonable explanation, but the asshole had nearly buried Freya in an avalanche. There weren’t many reasonable explanations for that as far as Nate was concerned.
“Go to Northern Rescue and wait for me,” Damian said finally. “I’ll bring her to you.”
“How?”
“I’ll tell them she’s sick and that I’m taking her there to treat her.” He held up a hand before Nate could protest. “This is the only way to get her out.” He glanced behind him again. “Go. Please.”
Damian wasn’t a nervous guy. He’d always been braver than Nate, and, in a lot of ways, tougher. He’d had to be. He’d had nobody to rely on after Nate went away to school. So the fact he looked one unexpected sound from jumping out of his skin was a massive red flag.
Nate put a hand on Ellis’s arm to keep him from arguing. “Let’s go.”
Ellis scowled over at him. “You trust him? After all the shit he’s pulled?”
Nate studied Damian. He glared back at Ellis, hiding his nerves behind a facade of annoyance, but he was still fidgeting, shifting impatiently side-to-side on his feet. A tiny movement. Something that would go unnoticed if you didn’t know how rock-steady the guy usually was. Ellis obviously didn’t notice, but he didn’t know their youngest brother. Not really. Not like Nate.
He thought back to that year after Ellis left. Dad had been useless; still working regularly, but any time he wasn’t at Northern Rescue, he spent out gambling and drinking. Nate and Damian wouldn’t see him for weeks at a time. It had been a rough year trying to figure out how to survive without their oldest brother, who had taken care of them their whole lives. It was also the year the bullies at school started singling Nate out as a freak. He’d come home one day with a black eye and split lip and ten-year-old Damian had been enraged.
“They can’t do this to you!”
“It’s no big d-d-deal,” he’d said, wiping blood from his face, trying to be the cool older brother in Ellis’s absence. Problem was, he just wasn’t cool. He was awkward and nerdy and couldn’t talk right. “F-f-fights happen in middle school.”
But Damian wasn’t hearing it. Even then, he’d been all temper and bravado. “Who did it? I’ll make them stop.”
“I’m not t-t-telling you. They’ll hurt you worse than me. You’re too small to f-f-fight them.”
Damian had smiled in response. A cold, calculating smile that no ten-year-old should be capable of. Dad often said Damian was properly named after the creepy child from The Omen because the kid “had the devil in him.” Nate had believed it after that smile. His little brother was dangerous.
And, the next day, the ringleader of his bullies crashed his bike and badly broke his arm. It wasn’t a coincidence. That kid never bothered Nate again after the crash. Of course, there were other bullies throughout middle and high school, but that guy had stayed far away from him.
“Day,” Nate said now and waited until Damian met his gaze. “You remember Bryant Leonardsen?”
“Who?” Ellis asked.
Damian didn’t even blink. “What’s that have to do with any of this?”
“You screwed with his bike, didn’t you? To protect me.”
Damian didn’t respond, just like all the other times Nate had asked. But this time, he knew the answer. Damian had no obvious tell—no flinch or tick or blink—but he didn’t need one. Nate simply knew. “And now you’re trying to protect me—” He glanced at Ellis and corrected himself, “Us. Aren’t you?”
Damian finally glanced away. “Yes.”
“Okay.” He nodded at Ellis, answering the original question: “I trust him. Let’s go.”
23
“Where the hell have you been?”
Freya winced and let the front door bang shut behind her. Ingrid stood in the foyer with her youngest son crying on her hip. Jack was seven months old, colicky and teething, and a master of keeping the whole house up at night. He dropped his teething ring, and his cries became a wail. At her side, Xena looked up at the baby with worry in her soft eyes, her innate need to comfort stressing her out.
“Go lay down, Xena. It’s okay.” Freya bent to retrieve the teething ring, then took the baby from her sister. “You look exhausted.”
“I am. Jack isn’t sleeping, and Mason has a cold. I’m supposed to work this evening, but I had to call off because I had no idea where you were and Sofie’s gone visiting Johanna all weekend.”
Freya sighed inwardly. “I’m sorry. I forgot Sofie wouldn’t be here.” Their youngest sister was a senior in high school, months away from graduation, and spent most of her weekends up at the University of Alaska in Fairbanks with their second youngest sister, Johanna.
“Obviously, I couldn’t leave the boys with Mamma,” Ingrid continued. “I’m lucky my boss is such a forgiving person. Annika doesn’t have to put up with shit from me. If this keeps happening, she could easily replace me and I need this job, Frey.”
Jack threw his teething ring again. Freya closed her eyes as his first screeching cry sent spikes through her pounding skull. She saw all her plans for a hot bath and good night’s sleep slip away and felt like crying, too. “Can’t your ex take the boys?”
“I hate to ask that asshole for help.” Ingrid crossed her arms over her chest and eyed Freya up and down. She was two years younger, but just as tall, and while Freya was all long lean lines, Ingrid rocked the curves she’d inherited from their mother.
“But I will,” Ingrid said, her annoyance fading to concern as she took back her screaming child. She bounced him expertly, and he calmed a little. “Holy shit, Frey. You look like you’ve been dragged through hell and back. Are you okay?”
She had no idea how to answer that. “I need tonight. I’m so sorry. I’ll stay with Mamma this weekend so you can work, but I—I need tonight.”
Ingrid’s lips twisted like she wanted to protest, but in the end, she must have seen that Freya’s exhaustion went deeper than the typical stresses of everyday life. “We have to consider a memory care home for—”
“No.”
“It wouldn’t make any difference to her. She wouldn’t notice. She has no idea who we are anymore, and we can’t keep going like—”
