Summary:
One burned and broken man finds his way back to Crooked Tree Ranch. Can he find peace in the arms of a man easy to love?
Justin, scarred by his service battling domestic terrorism, never truly embraced the man he was meant to be. Haunted by the death of his best friend—a tragedy he feels responsible for—Justin's life is a constant struggle. After getting shot, he decides that if he's going to die, it should be on the soil of Crooked Tree Ranch. Home.
Ranch chef Sam, deeply rooted in Crooked Tree’s legacy, sees the offer to buy into the ranch as a dream come true. But when he finds the secretive, injured Justin, his priorities shift.
As they navigate their feelings amidst the breathtaking backdrop of Montana, Justin must confront his past to face his future and learn to live as part of a family. In a place where bonds run deep and love heals all wounds, can a broken cowboy find solace and a home in the arms of the man who loves him?
Rob and Aaron’s love has an expiry date, and it's tearing them apart.
Rob, a former assassin and Justin’s nemesis, arrives at Crooked Tree Ranch, searching for a safe place for the nephews he was never meant to raise. Despite failing health, he’s refusing a risky operation that might save him, and finding a family for the boys is his last goal. Falling for a local paramedic was never part of his careful plans at the end of his life.
Aaron, the middle brother of five and a dedicated first responder, dreams of finding someone to love and is certain that his soulmate is out there. He just never expected it to be a man in so much pain or that children would come with the package.
As their relationship deepens, Rob and Aaron struggle with the looming expiration date of their love. Can they find a way to save what they have, or will the pressures of Rob's past and Aaron's hopes for the future tear them apart?
Set against the stunning backdrop of Montana, this is a story of love, family, and the fight to hold on to what matters most.
Martin's heart was broken by his father's sins. Is love possible for someone so damaged?
Martin's name was the very last on Justin's kill list. As the son of a murderer, his childhood was engulfed in a horrific cycle of death, hardening his heart. Now, thanks to the man who called him brave and spared his life, he no longer has to look over his shoulder. But one question haunts him: why did Justin let him live?
Geologist Tyler has uncovered a critical flaw in the seismic mapping system monitoring earthquake activity. Sent to Crooked Tree by the Montana Bureau of Mines and Geology, his mission is to install a new remote station. However, his growing attraction to Martin, a heartbroken man who thinks he isn't worthy of love, distracts him from his task.
As Tyler and Martin navigate Montana's rugged mountains, their chemistry is off the charts, but is passion enough to prove that even the most dark-hearted of men deserve love?
A Cowboy's Home #3
Original Review July 2016:
I eagerly awaited for Justin's story as soon as I finished Adam's story in The Rancher's Son, I was not disappointed. Sam may not have had a big part in the first two books but it was pretty obvious that Crooked Tree Ranch had become his home and that the people on it his family. So when his and Justin's paths cross, the connection was explosive if not exactly cordial. I won't lie, I don't think that I found myself getting as invested in Justin & Sam's story as I did with Adam & Ethan(The Rancher's Son) or Nate & Jay(Crooked Tree Ranch) but that doesn't mean I wasn't completely absorbed once I opened the book. Who am I kidding? "Absorbed" doesn't even begin to cover it, I was completely and utterly hungry and I devoured A Cowboy's Home like a starving man who suddenly found an endless buffet at his feet. Then when I reached the last page expecting it to be the finale of the Montana Trilogy only to discover it's not a trilogy at all and that there will be a book 4(Snow in Montana) tentatively December 2016. RJ Scott just keeps getting better and better and I can't wait to see what she brings us next.
I eagerly awaited for Justin's story as soon as I finished Adam's story in The Rancher's Son, I was not disappointed. Sam may not have had a big part in the first two books but it was pretty obvious that Crooked Tree Ranch had become his home and that the people on it his family. So when his and Justin's paths cross, the connection was explosive if not exactly cordial. I won't lie, I don't think that I found myself getting as invested in Justin & Sam's story as I did with Adam & Ethan(The Rancher's Son) or Nate & Jay(Crooked Tree Ranch) but that doesn't mean I wasn't completely absorbed once I opened the book. Who am I kidding? "Absorbed" doesn't even begin to cover it, I was completely and utterly hungry and I devoured A Cowboy's Home like a starving man who suddenly found an endless buffet at his feet. Then when I reached the last page expecting it to be the finale of the Montana Trilogy only to discover it's not a trilogy at all and that there will be a book 4(Snow in Montana) tentatively December 2016. RJ Scott just keeps getting better and better and I can't wait to see what she brings us next.
Second Chance Ranch #5
Original Review September 2018:
When Rob needs to find a safe place for his nephews he decides the best home would be Crooked Tree Ranch but he knows he may not get the most welcoming reception but its the last on his list to tick off. On a routine stop for snacks and a little leg room, an accident occurs and Rob's natural instinct kicks in. When Aaron is called to an accident scene he never expected to find a civilian who stopped to help to make a lasting impression. Will Rob find the home for his nephews and will he still be able to leave after meeting Aaron once that home is secured?
Another RJ Scott series now marked complete, say it isn't so. Oh but what a finish! After meeting Rob in A Cowboy's Home I really never thought we'd see him again but everyone has a story to tell and Rob's is brilliant! I won't touch on why he feels the need to find his nephews a home at Crooked Tree but I think anyone who has read the series so far knows that the ranch is the perfect place for family. Will Jason let his old comrade stay long enough so Rob can even explain? You know the answer to that without me saying it😉😉. As for Aaron, well he's absolutely adorable and there is no mistake that he is one of the Carter brothers. We met him as well in A Cowboy's Home and like Rob, I can't say I expected to see him beyond a supportive character but I am so glad Miss Scott decided he needed his story to be told too.
As with the other entries in the Montana series, one half of the intended couple is focused on more and I'd say Second Chance Ranch is about a 65/35 split in Rob's favor. We see Aaron interact with his brothers and on the ranch but this is more Rob's story, his need to find a home for the boys and why he chose Jason's home turf to do so. This may be Rob and Aaron's romance but it is also features Rob and Jason's friendship too("friendship" might be a bit over-simplified but for this review I'm going with it). It's been my experience that only about 40% of the books I've marked "read" probably have a definitive friendship outside the focused couple that impacts the story. Now that's okay too because who doesn't love a good "friends-to-lovers" story but it also means that when, in the case of Rob and Jason in Second, outside friendships are there they really make the book standout. Some might see it as getting two separate tales, the Rob/Aaron romance and the Rob/Jason friendship, but for me I see Second as one great story showing how romance effects friendship and friendship effects romance because Rob is the common factor. Aaron and Jason both show Rob what he's missing even if at times the message is reluctantly sent and received.
I guess what I'm trying to say is neither the romance or friendship overshadow the other. Second Chance Ranch is exactly what the title says: Rob's second chance at life. I can't think of a better place than Crooked Tree for him to finally discover his place in life, whatever that might be😉😉. Add in the fact that we get to see how and where everyone we already know and love are in their perspective journeys is a lovely bonus.
Montana may not make my annual summer re-read list but I'll definitely be re-visiting it every couple of years. And who knows, maybe if we're really nice the author might let us see what's been happening on Crooked Tree in a holiday novella in a couple of years😉😉 But whether this really is the end or we see them again down the road, Second Chance Ranch is a must for Montana fans and now that the author has marked it complete those who have yet to discover this jewel, there is no better time to dive in.
When Rob needs to find a safe place for his nephews he decides the best home would be Crooked Tree Ranch but he knows he may not get the most welcoming reception but its the last on his list to tick off. On a routine stop for snacks and a little leg room, an accident occurs and Rob's natural instinct kicks in. When Aaron is called to an accident scene he never expected to find a civilian who stopped to help to make a lasting impression. Will Rob find the home for his nephews and will he still be able to leave after meeting Aaron once that home is secured?
Another RJ Scott series now marked complete, say it isn't so. Oh but what a finish! After meeting Rob in A Cowboy's Home I really never thought we'd see him again but everyone has a story to tell and Rob's is brilliant! I won't touch on why he feels the need to find his nephews a home at Crooked Tree but I think anyone who has read the series so far knows that the ranch is the perfect place for family. Will Jason let his old comrade stay long enough so Rob can even explain? You know the answer to that without me saying it😉😉. As for Aaron, well he's absolutely adorable and there is no mistake that he is one of the Carter brothers. We met him as well in A Cowboy's Home and like Rob, I can't say I expected to see him beyond a supportive character but I am so glad Miss Scott decided he needed his story to be told too.
As with the other entries in the Montana series, one half of the intended couple is focused on more and I'd say Second Chance Ranch is about a 65/35 split in Rob's favor. We see Aaron interact with his brothers and on the ranch but this is more Rob's story, his need to find a home for the boys and why he chose Jason's home turf to do so. This may be Rob and Aaron's romance but it is also features Rob and Jason's friendship too("friendship" might be a bit over-simplified but for this review I'm going with it). It's been my experience that only about 40% of the books I've marked "read" probably have a definitive friendship outside the focused couple that impacts the story. Now that's okay too because who doesn't love a good "friends-to-lovers" story but it also means that when, in the case of Rob and Jason in Second, outside friendships are there they really make the book standout. Some might see it as getting two separate tales, the Rob/Aaron romance and the Rob/Jason friendship, but for me I see Second as one great story showing how romance effects friendship and friendship effects romance because Rob is the common factor. Aaron and Jason both show Rob what he's missing even if at times the message is reluctantly sent and received.
I guess what I'm trying to say is neither the romance or friendship overshadow the other. Second Chance Ranch is exactly what the title says: Rob's second chance at life. I can't think of a better place than Crooked Tree for him to finally discover his place in life, whatever that might be😉😉. Add in the fact that we get to see how and where everyone we already know and love are in their perspective journeys is a lovely bonus.
Montana may not make my annual summer re-read list but I'll definitely be re-visiting it every couple of years. And who knows, maybe if we're really nice the author might let us see what's been happening on Crooked Tree in a holiday novella in a couple of years😉😉 But whether this really is the end or we see them again down the road, Second Chance Ranch is a must for Montana fans and now that the author has marked it complete those who have yet to discover this jewel, there is no better time to dive in.
Montana Sky #6
Original Review May 2019:
When I heard that RJ Scott was returning us to Crooked Tree Ranch and that Montana Sky would be the final book in the Montana series, I was both overjoyed and saddened. One never wants to see something you enjoy end but it also can't go on forever, though one can hope maybe the ranch will have another story to tell down the road😉😉.
Martin is a man who is lost but needs an answer and he can only find it at Crooked Tree Ranch. Tyler is a man trying to help detecting seismic activity and employed to set up a new station on Crooked Tree Ranch property. When their paths cross it seems not only is there attraction but they also are able to help the other. Now, Tyler does not hold the answer Martin is seeking but he does offer him a chance to stick around till the answer is given. I wanted to wrap Martin in a massive bear hug and tell him no matter what the answer is, he is a good man and was just as much a victim as Justin and Adam were. However, some times we can't be told, we have to experience the answers to full understand and even appreciate what our path holds. As for Tyler, perhaps he isn't seeking answers as Martin is but something is missing from his life and the ranch, more specifically Martin, might be just what he needs to find that missing link.
I won't say more about the plot of the story because as Martin and Tyler need to experience the ranch to understand what's missing, the reader needs to experience their journey to appreciate the joy of Montana Sky. I will say that if this really truly is the end of the series than it is the perfect way to bring it together. I'd say things are all "wrapped up" but with a series like Montana you can never really write "the end" so who knows, maybe the ranch will have another story to tell down the road. Either way, this won't be the last time I visit Crooked Tree Ranch.
I never lived or visited a ranch but I did grow up on a farm and the land really does have a way of not only healing but also giving one perspective on what truly is important in life and the author really has a grasp on helping the reader understand that. RJ Scott has a way that doesn't just tell us a story, she shows us so that you feel like you are riding, or in this case sitting in the tent next to the characters. You may not run into people like this every day but you want to, you want to know them. True storytelling at its finest. If you have yet to experience the difference between writer and storyteller then give Montana and RJ Scott a read because you will surely see the line between the two afterwards.
If you are already a fan and reader of Montana then what are you doing reading my review, you should be checking out Martin and Tyler's journey already. If this is an unfamiliar series for you, then now is the perfect time to start. For those who are just starting, this is a series that needs to read in order even though each entry has a different pairing for the central story, there is an ongoing connection that won't make sense if you start in the middle.
Martin is a man who is lost but needs an answer and he can only find it at Crooked Tree Ranch. Tyler is a man trying to help detecting seismic activity and employed to set up a new station on Crooked Tree Ranch property. When their paths cross it seems not only is there attraction but they also are able to help the other. Now, Tyler does not hold the answer Martin is seeking but he does offer him a chance to stick around till the answer is given. I wanted to wrap Martin in a massive bear hug and tell him no matter what the answer is, he is a good man and was just as much a victim as Justin and Adam were. However, some times we can't be told, we have to experience the answers to full understand and even appreciate what our path holds. As for Tyler, perhaps he isn't seeking answers as Martin is but something is missing from his life and the ranch, more specifically Martin, might be just what he needs to find that missing link.
I won't say more about the plot of the story because as Martin and Tyler need to experience the ranch to understand what's missing, the reader needs to experience their journey to appreciate the joy of Montana Sky. I will say that if this really truly is the end of the series than it is the perfect way to bring it together. I'd say things are all "wrapped up" but with a series like Montana you can never really write "the end" so who knows, maybe the ranch will have another story to tell down the road. Either way, this won't be the last time I visit Crooked Tree Ranch.
I never lived or visited a ranch but I did grow up on a farm and the land really does have a way of not only healing but also giving one perspective on what truly is important in life and the author really has a grasp on helping the reader understand that. RJ Scott has a way that doesn't just tell us a story, she shows us so that you feel like you are riding, or in this case sitting in the tent next to the characters. You may not run into people like this every day but you want to, you want to know them. True storytelling at its finest. If you have yet to experience the difference between writer and storyteller then give Montana and RJ Scott a read because you will surely see the line between the two afterwards.
If you are already a fan and reader of Montana then what are you doing reading my review, you should be checking out Martin and Tyler's journey already. If this is an unfamiliar series for you, then now is the perfect time to start. For those who are just starting, this is a series that needs to read in order even though each entry has a different pairing for the central story, there is an ongoing connection that won't make sense if you start in the middle.
This was my first re-read of Montana and life on the Crooked Tree Ranch(only the first four as Second Chance Ranch was just released) but it won't be my last. This is another series that may not be a yearly re-read but it'll cross my kindle again and again. There are so many people involved in these five stories and although each one centers on a new pair, its definitely one that needs to be read in order. I love how the ranch seems to collect people and gives them a home but its the people already on the ranch that holds everyone together and makes it a loving home. Some of the entries are pure romance, others hold an edge of mystery, but there's always plenty going on to keep me entertained and coming back.
A Cowboy's Home #3
Chapter One
Justin’s vision blurred as his head smacked against the wall, but he used the force of the blow, caught his attacker off balance, and pivoted to avoid the gun against his side.
They grappled for dominance, and Justin knew from sparring that he would have to push beyond his skill set to take Saunders down. Fucker wasn’t new to this, and he was a scrappy fighter with nothing to lose.
“No one leaves the team, you know that!” Saunders snapped. “You’ll fuck us all up.”
“You lied to me,” Justin shouted.
In answer, Saunders shoved him, but Justin sidestepped and pressed forward. He wanted Saunders to answer questions. Adam was alive, and Saunders had stolen Justin’s life. He wanted him unconscious on the floor, and then he could think.
Saunders grunted as Justin went limp, and Justin waited for the exact moment when Saunders’s center was extended, and then with the flat of his hand, he jabbed his boss right in the throat. Saunders didn’t go down, he didn’t make a fucking sound, but his focus was knocked for a second. Justin slammed him into the wall, kicking hard at Saunders’s wrist; the gun Saunders had pulled on him to “clean up the Adam mess” fell to the floor.
Saunders didn’t wait to be killed—he was fighting for his life, just as Justin was—but Justin had years of bottled up aggression, and he let it rip with a snarl. Saunders scrambled to get the gun, but as he bent over, Justin kneed him in the face. Dazed, Saunders stumbled back. Then, having control for a moment, Justin shoved him hard, pushed the heavyset man against the wall, and held him tight with his feet off the floor.
“You told me my family was in danger!” Justin shouted right in Saunders’s face.
“They could have been.”
“I was a kid.”
Saunders pushed him, but Justin ignored the frantic scrabbling of Saunders’s nails on his skin. Justin had strength borne from the temper and horror clawing inside him.
Saunders gouged at Justin’s face, snapping free with a slick move. Their foreheads connected and Saunders stumbled; Justin’s hold loosened enough for Saunders to use his weight advantage and slam Justin into the wall, his head taking the brunt of the assault.
Justin shook off the pain, and was up on his toes, forcing Saunders away, then crouched a little and swept out a leg to catch Saunders at the back of the knee. He shouted in pain and fell to one side, giving Justin a better advantage, pushing his knee to Saunders’s throat and levering his body to exert more pressure. For the second time Saunders scrabbled to get free, but Justin wasn’t shifting.
“Stop it, Justin!” Webb shouted over the confusion. The other operative had stayed out of the fight up till then, but he was stepping in as soon as Justin got the upper hand.
Webb’s gun was trained on him, and even as Justin pressed harder on Saunders’s throat, he calculated how he could get the weapon away from Webb.
“You gonna kill me?” Justin snapped at Webb. “What lies did he tell you to get you to do that?”
Saunders was nothing but red tape and rules, even in a unit with allegedly zero accountability. Webb, on the other hand, was another enforcer, the one who’d trained Justin, shown him how easy it was to kill.
Justin pressed harder, and Saunders’s scratching and pawing grew less intense with each passing second. Webb wasn’t shooting, wasn’t pulling Justin off. What did he care?
The scrabbling stopped. Saunders was finally unconscious, and Justin had a split second of knowing that Saunders wasn’t dead, just passed out, but hell, he didn’t want to kill the guy.
A bullet burned its way by his body and thudded into the wall. Webb wasn’t letting him leave the warehouse alive. With no time to assess, and acting on pure instinct, Justin swung round. A second bullet caught him in the thigh even as he tripped Webb and made a calculated grab for the gun.
Saunders jumped him—freaking asshole hadn’t stayed unconscious, but Justin pushed back against him, twisting so Webb’s gun was at chest height. Saunders reflexively pressed the trigger, pumping a bullet into Webb. The O of surprise on Webb’s face was the last expression he made as he fell to the floor with a neat hole in his forehead.
Justin fought for control of the gun. He was next—and that was not how he was going to die. He still had a list to complete.
Saunders tried every trick he knew to take Justin down, but Justin wasn’t playing by the rules. He used every ounce of his killing side to fight dirty until he finally took the gun from the man he’d called the boss.
And then he turned it on Saunders.
“Justin, back off.” Saunders dropped to a crouch, his hands on his knees, his breathing labored.
“You lied to me,” Justin said.
“We had to, Justin, we needed you hungry. Needed men who were willing to die, who didn’t care about themselves.”
Justin didn’t even flinch, that was him in one sentence. But if he’d known Adam was okay, would it have been different? “You should have told me Adam was alive.”
Saunders held up a hand. “Justin, you were in so much pain you were giving up. You wanted to die, and Adam was in witness protection with a head wound and amnesia. Hell, kid, I saved you both.”
Justin couldn’t believe what he was hearing. That was some fucked-up thinking right there. If he’d had known that Adam had survived, maybe that would have just left guilt he could live with. He may not have even started on this journey; not killed his first man in this all-consuming need to pay for his sins, not caring if he lived or died. “The first thing you told me was that Adam was dead. You never even had to think about what to tell me.”
“There was so much confusion at the scene—”
“Bull. Shit.”
“We had to put Adam in WITSEC. The DOJ said they’d keep him safe—”
“And me?”
“I saw something in you when you woke up. You had a fire in your eyes. I gave you purpose, trained you—”
“Turned me into a killer.”
“We gave you purpose when you were ready to give up.”
Justin tapped the gun on his knee. “Fuck you,” he said.
“Think of the lives you saved working on this team.” Saunders near screamed at him. He was losing control, and likewise Justin had to rein back his instinctive need to shoot the son of a bitch.
The team had stolen all those years from him, and whatever good he might have done couldn’t weigh up against losing his family. “We’re going to the ranch, and we’re explaining it all to Adam, to my family.”
“You know that won’t happen. You did this for your country. You tell anyone, and they’ll hunt us all down. You think any of this was sanctioned? Rob will have no option—protocols will kick in. You know they’ll get Rob to kill you, and then he’ll be gone as well.”
Justin didn’t care about any of that. Rob was just another hired assassin, same as him; there was nothing Justin feared from Rob. He crouched next to Saunders, the gun tight in his hand and resolve in his heart. “Do you know how many people I killed for this team?”
“For you, Justin. What about the extra list, huh? The ones you killed for yourself?”
Justin reared back. “They’re not part of this. I’m talking about the unsanctioned ops, the situations we were ordered into.”
“Fuck you, Allens; you were happy to do it. Your fucked-up brain—”
“Let me think,” Justin snapped. He’d seen Adam in Chicago, seen him at Crooked Tree through the trees. Seen with his own eyes that he was alive. There could have been hope for Justin with Adam by his side, maybe he could have pulled himself back from the brink—
Saunders interrupted his thoughts. “For God’s sake, you know what we do. You signed up for the ops, killed to keep your country safe. You knew if we were compromised, we’d be removed. You shot Webb.”
Justin gestured with his gun. “Technically you shot Webb.”
“You think that’s going to go unnoticed?”
“Doesn’t matter,” Justin spat. “I’m out.”
“You can’t do that.”
“Watch me.”
“You’ll have a target painted on your back? You need to come in, and we’ll deal with this appropriately. There are procedures, rules to follow—”
“Suddenly there are rules? What happened to a free license to keep the country safe?” Justin asked.
“You fucked that up as soon as you started on your forays into revenge?”
“As well as getting the job done. I saved lives. No one knew what we’d done. We’re heroes, right?”
Saunders looked uneasy. “Clarke won’t like this—Webb down, you gone rogue. You know what will happen. He’ll ask me to deal with this before it all goes to shit. No one can know what we do.”
“Then explain to me why I shouldn’t take you out now, before you order me killed? It seems to me that without you doing whatever Clarke tells you, I’ll be a hell of a lot safer.”
Saunders must have read the intent in Justin’s eyes because he whimpered and crab-walked back to the wall, one hand in front of him. “Please,” he begged. “Don’t kill me.”
Justin grimaced. “Jesus, Saunders, I’m not going to kill you.” He noticed a lot of tiny details at that moment: Webb’s blood spreading to touch his foot, the scent of death, the way Saunders had a calculating look in his eye even when cowering—he probably had already called Rob for backup.
The team had made Justin into a weapon, and he’d been the good soldier, every minute of his day fueled by anger. He’d done everything to keep his country safe, everything to keep his family and friends from being hurt.
And in the middle of that he’d hunted down four out of the five who’d hurt him and killed Adam, dealt with the collateral damage, boxed away the fallout, and finally he had Saunders—the man who had taken the hate in Justin’s heart and turned him into a killer—begging for his life.
“What will you do?” Saunders asked, his chest heaving, his face bloodless.
Justin had to think. He didn’t know what he was going to do. He wanted to go home, but his head told him that wasn’t right. His heart, however, demanded that he explain, see his family. But that would put them in danger.
Webb was dead. Saunders crouched in front of him, and Rob? Who the hell knew where Rob was. Last Justin knew, Rob had finished the job in the Carolinas. They were an elite team: him, Rob, and Webb the blunt weapons, and Saunders the planner, and above them Clarke, who sat at his cozy Pentagon desk deciding on the order of people’s lives. Who knew who was above that and how far it went?
Justin had never asked, had signed up wholly to the concept that with terrorists on US soil, sometimes corners had to be cut to ensure their country’s citizens were safe. He cast a look at Webb, and something like remorse washed over him.
“If you kill me, Rob will have no choice but to take you out before you kill him.”
Justin chuckled darkly as he focused back in on Saunders. “I know my place, and I’ll eat a bullet before Rob has to kill me and my part in this is over. But you… if I let you live, what does that make me?”
Saunders looked desperate. “Compassionate?”
He kicked out at Justin, caught his knee, and Justin stumbled backward. Everything happened in slow motion: Justin pivoted to get his balance and Saunders reached for an ankle holster, pulling a gun, his movement sharp and desperate. He shot, but Justin had a grip on his arm and the bullet went wide.
“Stop it!” Justin ordered. “I don’t want to kill you—”
“Fuck you!” Saunders shouted and yanked at Justin, lifting the small pistol until it was aimed right at Justin.
Justin acted on instinct. He didn’t have a clear shot as he let his weight shift, falling back as he pulled the trigger. The angle was acute and the bullet ended up off-center in Saunders’s forehead.
Saunders was dead before his body hit the floor.
For a few seconds, Justin stared down at the man, guilt and adrenaline like acid inside him.
“Jesus,” he muttered. He waited for guilt to win, but common sense shoved it out of the way.
He pushed his weapon into his jeans at the base of his spine and scanned the empty warehouse. The place was familiar to him, and he pushed open the first door with a rusting Staff sign, stumbling down corridors until he found the keypad, stopping to catch his breath. The minute he attempted entry, Clarke would know.
He imagined the interior, the steel framework, the desk, and the computer.
After quickly keying in the code and opening the door, he crossed to the office, pushed in the memory stick from his pocket, thankful it hadn’t been smashed in the fight. He dragged everything he could find on the PC onto it. Then he pulled down the container of C4, flipped the catch, packed the explosive around the room, set the timer, and gave himself just enough time to get away.
He needed to run, so he pressed his shirt to the wound in his leg, dragged the belt from his jeans, and used it to keep the shirt in place. Where it had been numb, there was fire in his leg, and he was pretty much fucked if he didn’t get the bullet out soon. He was halfway across the interior of the warehouse when he heard the single word.
“Cowboy.”
Justin stopped. His hand automatically went for his weapon, but it was only Rob, using the ridiculous nickname that had been coined over one tequila too many.
Rob, the one trained killer who knew Justin way too well.
Justin didn’t even bother to take out his gun. If Rob were here to kill him, then he would have been dead already.
He turned. Rob had his weapon in his hand, but held loose at his side, not aimed at him. “Rob.”
“You’re bleeding.” Rob’s tone was steady, dispassionate; no empathy in his expression or in his flat tone.
Justin looked down at his jeans, at the tear in them and the damage the bullet had wrought, at the blood soaking into denim. “Flesh wound,” he dismissed, even though it burned like hell.
That raised a dark chuckle. “That’s what you said in Vancouver, remember? You nearly fucking died.”
Justin forced his hands into his pockets. He didn’t want a walk down a shared memory lane of undercover jobs. “I’m okay.”
Rob tilted his head to the warehouse. “What did you do?”
Justin shrugged. “What I had to do.”
Rob closed his eyes briefly. “Shit, Justin. Who?”
“Saunders, Webb.”
“Both of them?”
“I didn’t have a choice.”
“Why?”
He wasn’t going to explain that it had been Saunders who shot Webb; the technicalities weren’t necessary. Saunders and Webb were dead: the boss, the enforcer… and that just left him and Rob. He couldn’t even think about the pencil pusher above them, Clarke wasn’t important.
So, what should he say? I killed them because they fought back, because they carried on lying? Because they destroyed me, made me into something I was never meant to be?
He kept those words to himself. “It was me or them,” he said instead.
Rob winced. “And just us now.”
“And Clarke, and whoever he reports to,” Justin reminded him.
They’d had this conversation before, wondering how a unit like theirs could survive without someone above Clarke calling the shots.
“There’ll be a price on you now. Whoever the fuck it is, they’ll say you’ve gone rogue, and send me to kill you for what you did. You know too much.”
Justin stepped closer to the man he loosely called friend. “You’re a liability as much as I am. Come with me. We can find somewhere, anywhere, and be something else.”
“Like what? This isn’t some happy-ever-after scenario. We’re trained killers, Justin. We don’t know any different.”
Justin held himself steady, pushing away the insistent press of dizziness. “We could be something else.”
Rob laughed, and when he moved, it was to holster his weapon. Then he looked at Justin with deliberation in his icy green gaze. “You’d better hide well,” he said, and regret flashed in his eyes.
Justin nodded. “I’m done.”
Rob shook his head. “No you’re not; you still have one more on your revenge list. I know you.”
The list that Rob spoke of, the men who had hurt him and killed Adam, named five men—and four were dead. Only one more left to cross off. But his imperative to kill, that Adam was dead, was a lie. So, did that mean Justin had been wrong to end those responsible for Adam’s death? Even if he wanted to hurt them for what they’d done to him? Or, if they wanted to hurt others? A tiny amount of uncertainty pushed its way into his consideration, but it wasn’t enough for him to stop.
“One more.” He didn’t drop his gaze from Rob’s.
“You need to leave that list alone, Cowboy. It’s going to be the end of you.” Rob sighed heavily. “Clarke will send me to take you down after what you’ve done here. What you know, what we’ve done, we could take down the White House.”
“I took an oath….”
“But you’d be running for your life, and I know you as well as you know me. I’ll find you. Don’t make me do this.”
“Just give me some time.” Justin thought of the memory stick in his pocket, all the information he’d gathered about the fifth man on his revenge list.
“Hell, I don’t know how much time I can stall this.”
“I’ll do what needs to be done, and I’ll disappear.”
Rob scrubbed a hand over his face. He looked more than troubled, horrified maybe, almost certainly resigned. “Shit, Justin, this…. You have to drop this, go somewhere I can’t find you.” He shook his head. “Look, leave it, yeah? They’ll know what you’re doing. They’ll send me to track you down. Don’t make me kill you.”
Justin stepped closer, placing a palm on the flat of Rob’s chest. “I won’t make you do it.” He injected some of the familiar cockiness into his voice. “You’re my friend, Rob, as much as we can be in this fucked-up shit.”
“Then just hide, don’t let me find you.”
“Even if you find me, I’ll make sure to take myself out. I won’t let you have that on your conscience.”
Sadness replaced the horror. “Fuck, what did they do to us?”
Justin wished he had an answer. Wordlessly he turned and walked away.
In a sick, twisted way, Rob was the definition of his family, and what Justin had just done had made Rob his enemy.
It’s not like I deserve family.
He made it to his car, not even the noise of the explosion making him falter. With determination, and staying under the speed limit, he made it away from the city. Heading south he switched cars twice to older models he could hot-wire, avoiding cameras as much as he could.
He only stopped when his ability to focus began to fade. His head hurt, his thigh burned, and something was seriously wrong. He was nauseous and dizzy, and wasn’t going to make it much farther.
He wiped the steering wheel clean of the blood and his prints. Any CSI worth their salt would still find DNA in the car, and they would have all the information they needed for a profile, but the man who matched it wasn’t even alive.
Because Justin Allens had died when he was sixteen, and the man he’d become overnight was black ops, hidden so deep he wasn’t even sure he knew who he was anymore.
He closed his eyes as he stood beside the car. He’d driven south by instinct, pulled off the road at a lane that eventually led up into the mountains. Somehow his head told him the place would be safe until the fever broke.
Or until it didn’t.
Twenty miles west of here was where the Crooked Tree land started. The bleeding had stopped, but the pain had reached the point where he couldn’t breathe or move without cursing. The agony in his head was a band of fire, and his thoughts were a muddle of hell and hurt. He’d been slammed him so hard against the wall he likely had a concussion, and it was a miracle he’d driven that far in one piece.
Unless he went to a hospital and got some treatment for the leg wound, he could just bleed out, slowly and agonizingly, his brain swollen and frying in his head.
Maybe from here he could get to Crooked Tree. He crouched with difficulty and cursing to dig at the dirt, holding enough in his hand so he could feel its coldness, smell the dark loam. This was Montana soil, and dying here would work.
He glanced up and down the road. Who would find him? A soccer mom with kids? A man on his way to work? A bus driver minding his own business?
Justin didn’t have a choice. He pulled out his knife and tore at the jeans, sweat beading on his brow. He couldn’t see a fucking thing. The entry hole was small, but who the hell knew how far the bullet had gone?
He ran the blade of the knife across the wound, blood seeped, and he swallowed a scream. Blackness threatened, and he counted in his head, focusing on the numbers until he could look down at the wound.
He poked with the knife, finally finding the bullet, and as if he was doing it to someone else, he dug out the piece of metal, screaming in the safety of his car at the pain. His vision blurred but he was aware enough to ask was the bullet he’d removed intact? Had he got it all? I need to check.
He tightened the belt another notch; the wound was red and raw, but wasn’t bleeding so much. Thank God it appeared no arteries were involved, but there was enough blood that made him think he wasn’t going to make it out alive from this situation. Hell, what did it matter anyway? Even if he managed to get to a hospital, he’d be a dead man as soon as Rob got the order to take him out.
What had happened back at the warehouse was the beginning of the end for the Unit, and he’d broken every unspoken rule. He was dying either way, but he regretted that he may not live to kill the last man on his revenge list. Somehow he needed to find peace with that. He’d wanted so badly to make his revenge complete.
Maybe Jamie Crane would be the one who got away. The one man who’d actually won after what he’d done to Justin and Adam; the one who lived.
His vision dimmed a little and he blinked away the blurriness. He was going to die there on the side of the road.
No.
Finding somewhere on Montana dirt to die wasn’t enough. If Justin was going to let the poison inside him eat away at his flesh, it had to be real and forever, back where it all started.
He wanted to find a small corner of Crooked Tree, and he wanted to die there.
Rob’s voice echoed in his thoughts. “Cowboy, don’t make me kill you.”
Justin wanted to go home.
Justin’s vision blurred as his head smacked against the wall, but he used the force of the blow, caught his attacker off balance, and pivoted to avoid the gun against his side.
They grappled for dominance, and Justin knew from sparring that he would have to push beyond his skill set to take Saunders down. Fucker wasn’t new to this, and he was a scrappy fighter with nothing to lose.
“No one leaves the team, you know that!” Saunders snapped. “You’ll fuck us all up.”
“You lied to me,” Justin shouted.
In answer, Saunders shoved him, but Justin sidestepped and pressed forward. He wanted Saunders to answer questions. Adam was alive, and Saunders had stolen Justin’s life. He wanted him unconscious on the floor, and then he could think.
Saunders grunted as Justin went limp, and Justin waited for the exact moment when Saunders’s center was extended, and then with the flat of his hand, he jabbed his boss right in the throat. Saunders didn’t go down, he didn’t make a fucking sound, but his focus was knocked for a second. Justin slammed him into the wall, kicking hard at Saunders’s wrist; the gun Saunders had pulled on him to “clean up the Adam mess” fell to the floor.
Saunders didn’t wait to be killed—he was fighting for his life, just as Justin was—but Justin had years of bottled up aggression, and he let it rip with a snarl. Saunders scrambled to get the gun, but as he bent over, Justin kneed him in the face. Dazed, Saunders stumbled back. Then, having control for a moment, Justin shoved him hard, pushed the heavyset man against the wall, and held him tight with his feet off the floor.
“You told me my family was in danger!” Justin shouted right in Saunders’s face.
“They could have been.”
“I was a kid.”
Saunders pushed him, but Justin ignored the frantic scrabbling of Saunders’s nails on his skin. Justin had strength borne from the temper and horror clawing inside him.
Saunders gouged at Justin’s face, snapping free with a slick move. Their foreheads connected and Saunders stumbled; Justin’s hold loosened enough for Saunders to use his weight advantage and slam Justin into the wall, his head taking the brunt of the assault.
Justin shook off the pain, and was up on his toes, forcing Saunders away, then crouched a little and swept out a leg to catch Saunders at the back of the knee. He shouted in pain and fell to one side, giving Justin a better advantage, pushing his knee to Saunders’s throat and levering his body to exert more pressure. For the second time Saunders scrabbled to get free, but Justin wasn’t shifting.
“Stop it, Justin!” Webb shouted over the confusion. The other operative had stayed out of the fight up till then, but he was stepping in as soon as Justin got the upper hand.
Webb’s gun was trained on him, and even as Justin pressed harder on Saunders’s throat, he calculated how he could get the weapon away from Webb.
“You gonna kill me?” Justin snapped at Webb. “What lies did he tell you to get you to do that?”
Saunders was nothing but red tape and rules, even in a unit with allegedly zero accountability. Webb, on the other hand, was another enforcer, the one who’d trained Justin, shown him how easy it was to kill.
Justin pressed harder, and Saunders’s scratching and pawing grew less intense with each passing second. Webb wasn’t shooting, wasn’t pulling Justin off. What did he care?
The scrabbling stopped. Saunders was finally unconscious, and Justin had a split second of knowing that Saunders wasn’t dead, just passed out, but hell, he didn’t want to kill the guy.
A bullet burned its way by his body and thudded into the wall. Webb wasn’t letting him leave the warehouse alive. With no time to assess, and acting on pure instinct, Justin swung round. A second bullet caught him in the thigh even as he tripped Webb and made a calculated grab for the gun.
Saunders jumped him—freaking asshole hadn’t stayed unconscious, but Justin pushed back against him, twisting so Webb’s gun was at chest height. Saunders reflexively pressed the trigger, pumping a bullet into Webb. The O of surprise on Webb’s face was the last expression he made as he fell to the floor with a neat hole in his forehead.
Justin fought for control of the gun. He was next—and that was not how he was going to die. He still had a list to complete.
Saunders tried every trick he knew to take Justin down, but Justin wasn’t playing by the rules. He used every ounce of his killing side to fight dirty until he finally took the gun from the man he’d called the boss.
And then he turned it on Saunders.
“Justin, back off.” Saunders dropped to a crouch, his hands on his knees, his breathing labored.
“You lied to me,” Justin said.
“We had to, Justin, we needed you hungry. Needed men who were willing to die, who didn’t care about themselves.”
Justin didn’t even flinch, that was him in one sentence. But if he’d known Adam was okay, would it have been different? “You should have told me Adam was alive.”
Saunders held up a hand. “Justin, you were in so much pain you were giving up. You wanted to die, and Adam was in witness protection with a head wound and amnesia. Hell, kid, I saved you both.”
Justin couldn’t believe what he was hearing. That was some fucked-up thinking right there. If he’d had known that Adam had survived, maybe that would have just left guilt he could live with. He may not have even started on this journey; not killed his first man in this all-consuming need to pay for his sins, not caring if he lived or died. “The first thing you told me was that Adam was dead. You never even had to think about what to tell me.”
“There was so much confusion at the scene—”
“Bull. Shit.”
“We had to put Adam in WITSEC. The DOJ said they’d keep him safe—”
“And me?”
“I saw something in you when you woke up. You had a fire in your eyes. I gave you purpose, trained you—”
“Turned me into a killer.”
“We gave you purpose when you were ready to give up.”
Justin tapped the gun on his knee. “Fuck you,” he said.
“Think of the lives you saved working on this team.” Saunders near screamed at him. He was losing control, and likewise Justin had to rein back his instinctive need to shoot the son of a bitch.
The team had stolen all those years from him, and whatever good he might have done couldn’t weigh up against losing his family. “We’re going to the ranch, and we’re explaining it all to Adam, to my family.”
“You know that won’t happen. You did this for your country. You tell anyone, and they’ll hunt us all down. You think any of this was sanctioned? Rob will have no option—protocols will kick in. You know they’ll get Rob to kill you, and then he’ll be gone as well.”
Justin didn’t care about any of that. Rob was just another hired assassin, same as him; there was nothing Justin feared from Rob. He crouched next to Saunders, the gun tight in his hand and resolve in his heart. “Do you know how many people I killed for this team?”
“For you, Justin. What about the extra list, huh? The ones you killed for yourself?”
Justin reared back. “They’re not part of this. I’m talking about the unsanctioned ops, the situations we were ordered into.”
“Fuck you, Allens; you were happy to do it. Your fucked-up brain—”
“Let me think,” Justin snapped. He’d seen Adam in Chicago, seen him at Crooked Tree through the trees. Seen with his own eyes that he was alive. There could have been hope for Justin with Adam by his side, maybe he could have pulled himself back from the brink—
Saunders interrupted his thoughts. “For God’s sake, you know what we do. You signed up for the ops, killed to keep your country safe. You knew if we were compromised, we’d be removed. You shot Webb.”
Justin gestured with his gun. “Technically you shot Webb.”
“You think that’s going to go unnoticed?”
“Doesn’t matter,” Justin spat. “I’m out.”
“You can’t do that.”
“Watch me.”
“You’ll have a target painted on your back? You need to come in, and we’ll deal with this appropriately. There are procedures, rules to follow—”
“Suddenly there are rules? What happened to a free license to keep the country safe?” Justin asked.
“You fucked that up as soon as you started on your forays into revenge?”
“As well as getting the job done. I saved lives. No one knew what we’d done. We’re heroes, right?”
Saunders looked uneasy. “Clarke won’t like this—Webb down, you gone rogue. You know what will happen. He’ll ask me to deal with this before it all goes to shit. No one can know what we do.”
“Then explain to me why I shouldn’t take you out now, before you order me killed? It seems to me that without you doing whatever Clarke tells you, I’ll be a hell of a lot safer.”
Saunders must have read the intent in Justin’s eyes because he whimpered and crab-walked back to the wall, one hand in front of him. “Please,” he begged. “Don’t kill me.”
Justin grimaced. “Jesus, Saunders, I’m not going to kill you.” He noticed a lot of tiny details at that moment: Webb’s blood spreading to touch his foot, the scent of death, the way Saunders had a calculating look in his eye even when cowering—he probably had already called Rob for backup.
The team had made Justin into a weapon, and he’d been the good soldier, every minute of his day fueled by anger. He’d done everything to keep his country safe, everything to keep his family and friends from being hurt.
And in the middle of that he’d hunted down four out of the five who’d hurt him and killed Adam, dealt with the collateral damage, boxed away the fallout, and finally he had Saunders—the man who had taken the hate in Justin’s heart and turned him into a killer—begging for his life.
“What will you do?” Saunders asked, his chest heaving, his face bloodless.
Justin had to think. He didn’t know what he was going to do. He wanted to go home, but his head told him that wasn’t right. His heart, however, demanded that he explain, see his family. But that would put them in danger.
Webb was dead. Saunders crouched in front of him, and Rob? Who the hell knew where Rob was. Last Justin knew, Rob had finished the job in the Carolinas. They were an elite team: him, Rob, and Webb the blunt weapons, and Saunders the planner, and above them Clarke, who sat at his cozy Pentagon desk deciding on the order of people’s lives. Who knew who was above that and how far it went?
Justin had never asked, had signed up wholly to the concept that with terrorists on US soil, sometimes corners had to be cut to ensure their country’s citizens were safe. He cast a look at Webb, and something like remorse washed over him.
“If you kill me, Rob will have no choice but to take you out before you kill him.”
Justin chuckled darkly as he focused back in on Saunders. “I know my place, and I’ll eat a bullet before Rob has to kill me and my part in this is over. But you… if I let you live, what does that make me?”
Saunders looked desperate. “Compassionate?”
He kicked out at Justin, caught his knee, and Justin stumbled backward. Everything happened in slow motion: Justin pivoted to get his balance and Saunders reached for an ankle holster, pulling a gun, his movement sharp and desperate. He shot, but Justin had a grip on his arm and the bullet went wide.
“Stop it!” Justin ordered. “I don’t want to kill you—”
“Fuck you!” Saunders shouted and yanked at Justin, lifting the small pistol until it was aimed right at Justin.
Justin acted on instinct. He didn’t have a clear shot as he let his weight shift, falling back as he pulled the trigger. The angle was acute and the bullet ended up off-center in Saunders’s forehead.
Saunders was dead before his body hit the floor.
For a few seconds, Justin stared down at the man, guilt and adrenaline like acid inside him.
“Jesus,” he muttered. He waited for guilt to win, but common sense shoved it out of the way.
He pushed his weapon into his jeans at the base of his spine and scanned the empty warehouse. The place was familiar to him, and he pushed open the first door with a rusting Staff sign, stumbling down corridors until he found the keypad, stopping to catch his breath. The minute he attempted entry, Clarke would know.
He imagined the interior, the steel framework, the desk, and the computer.
After quickly keying in the code and opening the door, he crossed to the office, pushed in the memory stick from his pocket, thankful it hadn’t been smashed in the fight. He dragged everything he could find on the PC onto it. Then he pulled down the container of C4, flipped the catch, packed the explosive around the room, set the timer, and gave himself just enough time to get away.
He needed to run, so he pressed his shirt to the wound in his leg, dragged the belt from his jeans, and used it to keep the shirt in place. Where it had been numb, there was fire in his leg, and he was pretty much fucked if he didn’t get the bullet out soon. He was halfway across the interior of the warehouse when he heard the single word.
“Cowboy.”
Justin stopped. His hand automatically went for his weapon, but it was only Rob, using the ridiculous nickname that had been coined over one tequila too many.
Rob, the one trained killer who knew Justin way too well.
Justin didn’t even bother to take out his gun. If Rob were here to kill him, then he would have been dead already.
He turned. Rob had his weapon in his hand, but held loose at his side, not aimed at him. “Rob.”
“You’re bleeding.” Rob’s tone was steady, dispassionate; no empathy in his expression or in his flat tone.
Justin looked down at his jeans, at the tear in them and the damage the bullet had wrought, at the blood soaking into denim. “Flesh wound,” he dismissed, even though it burned like hell.
That raised a dark chuckle. “That’s what you said in Vancouver, remember? You nearly fucking died.”
Justin forced his hands into his pockets. He didn’t want a walk down a shared memory lane of undercover jobs. “I’m okay.”
Rob tilted his head to the warehouse. “What did you do?”
Justin shrugged. “What I had to do.”
Rob closed his eyes briefly. “Shit, Justin. Who?”
“Saunders, Webb.”
“Both of them?”
“I didn’t have a choice.”
“Why?”
He wasn’t going to explain that it had been Saunders who shot Webb; the technicalities weren’t necessary. Saunders and Webb were dead: the boss, the enforcer… and that just left him and Rob. He couldn’t even think about the pencil pusher above them, Clarke wasn’t important.
So, what should he say? I killed them because they fought back, because they carried on lying? Because they destroyed me, made me into something I was never meant to be?
He kept those words to himself. “It was me or them,” he said instead.
Rob winced. “And just us now.”
“And Clarke, and whoever he reports to,” Justin reminded him.
They’d had this conversation before, wondering how a unit like theirs could survive without someone above Clarke calling the shots.
“There’ll be a price on you now. Whoever the fuck it is, they’ll say you’ve gone rogue, and send me to kill you for what you did. You know too much.”
Justin stepped closer to the man he loosely called friend. “You’re a liability as much as I am. Come with me. We can find somewhere, anywhere, and be something else.”
“Like what? This isn’t some happy-ever-after scenario. We’re trained killers, Justin. We don’t know any different.”
Justin held himself steady, pushing away the insistent press of dizziness. “We could be something else.”
Rob laughed, and when he moved, it was to holster his weapon. Then he looked at Justin with deliberation in his icy green gaze. “You’d better hide well,” he said, and regret flashed in his eyes.
Justin nodded. “I’m done.”
Rob shook his head. “No you’re not; you still have one more on your revenge list. I know you.”
The list that Rob spoke of, the men who had hurt him and killed Adam, named five men—and four were dead. Only one more left to cross off. But his imperative to kill, that Adam was dead, was a lie. So, did that mean Justin had been wrong to end those responsible for Adam’s death? Even if he wanted to hurt them for what they’d done to him? Or, if they wanted to hurt others? A tiny amount of uncertainty pushed its way into his consideration, but it wasn’t enough for him to stop.
“One more.” He didn’t drop his gaze from Rob’s.
“You need to leave that list alone, Cowboy. It’s going to be the end of you.” Rob sighed heavily. “Clarke will send me to take you down after what you’ve done here. What you know, what we’ve done, we could take down the White House.”
“I took an oath….”
“But you’d be running for your life, and I know you as well as you know me. I’ll find you. Don’t make me do this.”
“Just give me some time.” Justin thought of the memory stick in his pocket, all the information he’d gathered about the fifth man on his revenge list.
“Hell, I don’t know how much time I can stall this.”
“I’ll do what needs to be done, and I’ll disappear.”
Rob scrubbed a hand over his face. He looked more than troubled, horrified maybe, almost certainly resigned. “Shit, Justin, this…. You have to drop this, go somewhere I can’t find you.” He shook his head. “Look, leave it, yeah? They’ll know what you’re doing. They’ll send me to track you down. Don’t make me kill you.”
Justin stepped closer, placing a palm on the flat of Rob’s chest. “I won’t make you do it.” He injected some of the familiar cockiness into his voice. “You’re my friend, Rob, as much as we can be in this fucked-up shit.”
“Then just hide, don’t let me find you.”
“Even if you find me, I’ll make sure to take myself out. I won’t let you have that on your conscience.”
Sadness replaced the horror. “Fuck, what did they do to us?”
Justin wished he had an answer. Wordlessly he turned and walked away.
In a sick, twisted way, Rob was the definition of his family, and what Justin had just done had made Rob his enemy.
It’s not like I deserve family.
He made it to his car, not even the noise of the explosion making him falter. With determination, and staying under the speed limit, he made it away from the city. Heading south he switched cars twice to older models he could hot-wire, avoiding cameras as much as he could.
He only stopped when his ability to focus began to fade. His head hurt, his thigh burned, and something was seriously wrong. He was nauseous and dizzy, and wasn’t going to make it much farther.
He wiped the steering wheel clean of the blood and his prints. Any CSI worth their salt would still find DNA in the car, and they would have all the information they needed for a profile, but the man who matched it wasn’t even alive.
Because Justin Allens had died when he was sixteen, and the man he’d become overnight was black ops, hidden so deep he wasn’t even sure he knew who he was anymore.
He closed his eyes as he stood beside the car. He’d driven south by instinct, pulled off the road at a lane that eventually led up into the mountains. Somehow his head told him the place would be safe until the fever broke.
Or until it didn’t.
Twenty miles west of here was where the Crooked Tree land started. The bleeding had stopped, but the pain had reached the point where he couldn’t breathe or move without cursing. The agony in his head was a band of fire, and his thoughts were a muddle of hell and hurt. He’d been slammed him so hard against the wall he likely had a concussion, and it was a miracle he’d driven that far in one piece.
Unless he went to a hospital and got some treatment for the leg wound, he could just bleed out, slowly and agonizingly, his brain swollen and frying in his head.
Maybe from here he could get to Crooked Tree. He crouched with difficulty and cursing to dig at the dirt, holding enough in his hand so he could feel its coldness, smell the dark loam. This was Montana soil, and dying here would work.
He glanced up and down the road. Who would find him? A soccer mom with kids? A man on his way to work? A bus driver minding his own business?
Justin didn’t have a choice. He pulled out his knife and tore at the jeans, sweat beading on his brow. He couldn’t see a fucking thing. The entry hole was small, but who the hell knew how far the bullet had gone?
He ran the blade of the knife across the wound, blood seeped, and he swallowed a scream. Blackness threatened, and he counted in his head, focusing on the numbers until he could look down at the wound.
He poked with the knife, finally finding the bullet, and as if he was doing it to someone else, he dug out the piece of metal, screaming in the safety of his car at the pain. His vision blurred but he was aware enough to ask was the bullet he’d removed intact? Had he got it all? I need to check.
He tightened the belt another notch; the wound was red and raw, but wasn’t bleeding so much. Thank God it appeared no arteries were involved, but there was enough blood that made him think he wasn’t going to make it out alive from this situation. Hell, what did it matter anyway? Even if he managed to get to a hospital, he’d be a dead man as soon as Rob got the order to take him out.
What had happened back at the warehouse was the beginning of the end for the Unit, and he’d broken every unspoken rule. He was dying either way, but he regretted that he may not live to kill the last man on his revenge list. Somehow he needed to find peace with that. He’d wanted so badly to make his revenge complete.
Maybe Jamie Crane would be the one who got away. The one man who’d actually won after what he’d done to Justin and Adam; the one who lived.
His vision dimmed a little and he blinked away the blurriness. He was going to die there on the side of the road.
No.
Finding somewhere on Montana dirt to die wasn’t enough. If Justin was going to let the poison inside him eat away at his flesh, it had to be real and forever, back where it all started.
He wanted to find a small corner of Crooked Tree, and he wanted to die there.
Rob’s voice echoed in his thoughts. “Cowboy, don’t make me kill you.”
Justin wanted to go home.
Second Chance Ranch #5
Chapter 1
Rob Brady knew three things. His sister was dead, he was the guardian to her two boys, and he was stuck in Hell.
And why am I fixating on Hell?
Oh yeah, the room, the kids, the crushing grief of absolutely fucking everything.
If Hell was a small, airless room with no windows, a flickering light, and two utterly silent children staring at him as if he’d personally murdered their mother.
Oh, and a thin-lipped woman from Child Protection Services looking at him the same way.
Of course, he hadn't killed his sister because he only ever took out the bad guys. With ruthless efficiency, he’d carved out the poison in the US and kept its citizens safe. Most people would’ve described him as an assassin, but he was more than that; the last resort when normal lines of defense failed.
At least, he used to be until he caught a bullet things went pear-shaped.
“How long have they been on their own?” Rob Brady didn’t know what else to ask. He wanted to be angry with the DCFS but how could he be? Instead, he wavered between anger and guilt, and it was guilt that was winning.
“Mr. Brady, they were never on their own.”
“My sister—” He stopped talking when he realized he was just about to state how long ago his sister died when her children were sitting right there in the room. Lowering his tone, he then turned to Sylvia from the DCFS, efficient and steady, and just ever so slightly pissed at him. “A year. They’ve been on their own a year.”
Sylvia inhaled sharply and clutched her folders to her chest.
“And for a little less than that, we have tried to track down their uncle and been unable to find anything.”
“I know. I get that.” Anyone trying to find him would reach several dead-ends whichever way they went. First of all the navy and his time in the SEALs, then when he joined the team combatting mainland terrorism. At every turn, his existence was classified, and in the end, he'd become nothing more than a ghost. “That isn't my point.”
Sylvia tapped a finger on the files in a steady rhythm. “Then please, can you enlighten me as to what exactly is your point?”
He opened the door and gestured for her to go into the hallway, following her out and shutting it behind them. He had questions and didn’t want to ask them in front of his nephews.
“Why has no one adopted them? Why don’t they have a forever home with a new family?”
“Because your sister’s intention was that you would take the boys. It’s explicitly stated in every legal form we have, and it was her dying wish.”
“But she couldn’t have known I would ever come back. Or that I was even alive…” He floundered for something to say. He’d come back to town on the off chance he’d see what was left of his extended family from a distance, and instead, he’d learned his sister was dead, after losing a battle with cancer, that there was no father in the picture, and that his nephews were in the system.
“Nonetheless, they are legally your responsibility. Given you worked so hard to get authorization from Governor Chilton, something I’ve never seen before, along with psych evals that no normal person would have access to, you are now in a position to leave with your nephews.”
The minute he’d heard about the boys, he'd realized he needed to get things done. He’d called in favors, had people who owed him create a backstory so tight he seemed like Mother fucking Teresa, and now he was here. His nephews needed a home, and he thought on his feet because he only had another three good months to put anything in place for them. He wanted them looked after, safe, and so he had one more mission before leaving. He’d have to delay spending his last weeks on a beach in Aruba, sipping cocktails and sleeping with anything that moved.
“I can take them today?” he asked. A small, hesitant part of him wanted her to say no, that there were more details to be ironed out.
“Yes.”
“Now?”
“Yes.” She pursed her lips as if it were against her better judgment. But he'd passed all the checks, and the references were sound, he had the governor's endorsement. It was done.
“Okay then.”
He pushed back into the room. Bran, the older of his two nephews, stared at him steadily. Toby, the youngest, sniffled and gripped his brother hard. Any ordinary uncle would’ve hugged them close and told them everything was going to be okay. But he wasn't a regular uncle, and he swore Bran knew that because there was accusation in his eyes.
You don’t even know us; he seemed to be saying.
Was it right for Rob to be taking them from their new foster home? They’d been placed with a family currently fostering six kids, and on the surface, everything seemed okay. He’d done his due diligence, and the parents checked out, but there was a weird vibe in the house, a rule of fear, and he didn’t like it.
He’d stayed alive this long by listening to his instinct, and his gut told him he should take Bran and Toby, that he was the boys’ kin. He also knew where he could find them a better home. In the mountains, with rivers and horses, and a whole group of people who would look out for them.
“Everything will be okay.” Was he reassuring himself or the boys?
If anyone who knew him had seen he was being handed two children to take care of, they'd call the cops.
Of course, he could handle the cops. He’d done it before, but the kids would slow him down. Unless he strapped them to his back and—
“Mr. Brady?”
Sylvia talked to him, or at him, and from her expression, she wasn't impressed he'd stopped listening.
“Sorry, say again?” He glanced at Toby who was sniffling harder and snuggling deeper into his brother. I should go to Toby and…
And what?
Do what? Say what? Scare the kid rigid by being all up in his face?
“We need an address for our records. Unless you reside with Governor Chilton?” The last she added sarcastically.
Oh yeah, a house, an address, he probably needed those. He’d managed to fool them with his credentials so far, and the recommendation he'd gotten from the governor for a favor owed had cut through the red tape. The address was easy; it was the only place he had on his to-do list, the one where the kids could maybe have a home. He just needed to hire a lawyer, update his will, get Justin to agree to his proposal, and he'd be able to leave without any worries.
“Crooked Tree Ranch, outside of Helena, Montana.”
Rob Brady knew three things. His sister was dead, he was the guardian to her two boys, and he was stuck in Hell.
And why am I fixating on Hell?
Oh yeah, the room, the kids, the crushing grief of absolutely fucking everything.
If Hell was a small, airless room with no windows, a flickering light, and two utterly silent children staring at him as if he’d personally murdered their mother.
Oh, and a thin-lipped woman from Child Protection Services looking at him the same way.
Of course, he hadn't killed his sister because he only ever took out the bad guys. With ruthless efficiency, he’d carved out the poison in the US and kept its citizens safe. Most people would’ve described him as an assassin, but he was more than that; the last resort when normal lines of defense failed.
At least, he used to be until he caught a bullet things went pear-shaped.
“How long have they been on their own?” Rob Brady didn’t know what else to ask. He wanted to be angry with the DCFS but how could he be? Instead, he wavered between anger and guilt, and it was guilt that was winning.
“Mr. Brady, they were never on their own.”
“My sister—” He stopped talking when he realized he was just about to state how long ago his sister died when her children were sitting right there in the room. Lowering his tone, he then turned to Sylvia from the DCFS, efficient and steady, and just ever so slightly pissed at him. “A year. They’ve been on their own a year.”
Sylvia inhaled sharply and clutched her folders to her chest.
“And for a little less than that, we have tried to track down their uncle and been unable to find anything.”
“I know. I get that.” Anyone trying to find him would reach several dead-ends whichever way they went. First of all the navy and his time in the SEALs, then when he joined the team combatting mainland terrorism. At every turn, his existence was classified, and in the end, he'd become nothing more than a ghost. “That isn't my point.”
Sylvia tapped a finger on the files in a steady rhythm. “Then please, can you enlighten me as to what exactly is your point?”
He opened the door and gestured for her to go into the hallway, following her out and shutting it behind them. He had questions and didn’t want to ask them in front of his nephews.
“Why has no one adopted them? Why don’t they have a forever home with a new family?”
“Because your sister’s intention was that you would take the boys. It’s explicitly stated in every legal form we have, and it was her dying wish.”
“But she couldn’t have known I would ever come back. Or that I was even alive…” He floundered for something to say. He’d come back to town on the off chance he’d see what was left of his extended family from a distance, and instead, he’d learned his sister was dead, after losing a battle with cancer, that there was no father in the picture, and that his nephews were in the system.
“Nonetheless, they are legally your responsibility. Given you worked so hard to get authorization from Governor Chilton, something I’ve never seen before, along with psych evals that no normal person would have access to, you are now in a position to leave with your nephews.”
The minute he’d heard about the boys, he'd realized he needed to get things done. He’d called in favors, had people who owed him create a backstory so tight he seemed like Mother fucking Teresa, and now he was here. His nephews needed a home, and he thought on his feet because he only had another three good months to put anything in place for them. He wanted them looked after, safe, and so he had one more mission before leaving. He’d have to delay spending his last weeks on a beach in Aruba, sipping cocktails and sleeping with anything that moved.
“I can take them today?” he asked. A small, hesitant part of him wanted her to say no, that there were more details to be ironed out.
“Yes.”
“Now?”
“Yes.” She pursed her lips as if it were against her better judgment. But he'd passed all the checks, and the references were sound, he had the governor's endorsement. It was done.
“Okay then.”
He pushed back into the room. Bran, the older of his two nephews, stared at him steadily. Toby, the youngest, sniffled and gripped his brother hard. Any ordinary uncle would’ve hugged them close and told them everything was going to be okay. But he wasn't a regular uncle, and he swore Bran knew that because there was accusation in his eyes.
You don’t even know us; he seemed to be saying.
Was it right for Rob to be taking them from their new foster home? They’d been placed with a family currently fostering six kids, and on the surface, everything seemed okay. He’d done his due diligence, and the parents checked out, but there was a weird vibe in the house, a rule of fear, and he didn’t like it.
He’d stayed alive this long by listening to his instinct, and his gut told him he should take Bran and Toby, that he was the boys’ kin. He also knew where he could find them a better home. In the mountains, with rivers and horses, and a whole group of people who would look out for them.
“Everything will be okay.” Was he reassuring himself or the boys?
If anyone who knew him had seen he was being handed two children to take care of, they'd call the cops.
Of course, he could handle the cops. He’d done it before, but the kids would slow him down. Unless he strapped them to his back and—
“Mr. Brady?”
Sylvia talked to him, or at him, and from her expression, she wasn't impressed he'd stopped listening.
“Sorry, say again?” He glanced at Toby who was sniffling harder and snuggling deeper into his brother. I should go to Toby and…
And what?
Do what? Say what? Scare the kid rigid by being all up in his face?
“We need an address for our records. Unless you reside with Governor Chilton?” The last she added sarcastically.
Oh yeah, a house, an address, he probably needed those. He’d managed to fool them with his credentials so far, and the recommendation he'd gotten from the governor for a favor owed had cut through the red tape. The address was easy; it was the only place he had on his to-do list, the one where the kids could maybe have a home. He just needed to hire a lawyer, update his will, get Justin to agree to his proposal, and he'd be able to leave without any worries.
“Crooked Tree Ranch, outside of Helena, Montana.”
Montana Sky #6
Chapter One
Martin briefly stoppedon the stone bridge and tipped his head to the sky. The rain had finally stopped, and stars dotted the vast black canvas untainted by light pollution. He was here, and he’d never felt so at a loss of what to do next.
Crooked Tree Ranch. Justin and Adam.
Why did I think it was a good idea to come to Montana?
Moonlight illuminated tiny parts of the darkness that shrouded Crooked Tree, and he turned full circle. There was only enough light to hint at the shape of things; a road that ended in the parking lot, a restaurant, reflective signs indicating where areas of the ranch lay from this central point. This way was admin, next to it, Branches Restaurant, and behind him was a notice about the distance to the cabins on foot, cycle, and by horse.
Below the bridge, the river rushed over large boulders and the noise mesmerized him long enough that he temporarily forgot the dread gripping his chest. Then it crashed back down on him and he questioned why was he standing there as if he had all the time in the world.
I need to know why Justin didn’t kill me. Then I can leave.
“I got your message.”
Martin jumped at the voice coming from the dark. Justin.
“Shit, you scared me.”
Justin stepped out of the shadows. “When I gave you that number it was for you to call me, not ask to come here. What do you want, Jamie?”
“I’m not Jamie,” Martin corrected immediately. “My name is Martin. Martin Graves. You know that; you know I can’t use Jamie anymore.”
I don’t want to use that name.
Justin leaned against the facing wall, arms crossed over his chest. Although his stance was intimidating, his expression was neutral; most importantly he didn’t look as if he was going to kill Martin. Even though three years ago in the coffee shop, Justin had unconditionally promised Martin he was safe from Justin killing him, it remained one of the more persistent fears chasing him in his nightmares. Martin lowered his hands, slowly, and willed his heart to start beating because his chest felt tight, and he was convinced he was about to drop dead.
That would mess everything up.
“I need to talk to you,” Martin answered, pushing his hands into his pockets and nudging his dropped bag back against the wall. “I need to know why you let me live.”
“What?”
This wasn’t going well. Martin didn’t exactly want anything rational, and Justin hadn’t moved, only stared at him as if he expected a grand speech. Martin did have a speech planned. Hell, he’d considered very carefully what he was going to say. In some scenarios, he spoke impassioned words, talking about what his dad had done, what he’d become, how his dad had hurt Justin and Adam, and how Martin carried that with him every day. How sorry he was. How his whole life in Vermont had gone up in flames and he needed somewhere to stop. In others, he told Justin that he’d found peace, held back the demons, and learned to live with the nightmares.
“You could have shot me, left me for dead, finished the kill list you had, but you didn’t. Why?”
“Hell if I know,” Justin said.
Martin took an instinctive step backward, his thighs hitting the wall. Justin left a foot between them, and waited.
“Was it because you saw something in me?” Martin asked desperately.
“Nope,” Justin said.
Martin’s heart sank. “But, when you said you wouldn’t kill me, you told me to find you one day and tell you that I knew I was brave. Did you think I was brave? Really? Is that why you didn’t kill me?”
“You can’t stay.” Justin glanced over his shoulder toward the restaurant as if he didn’t want to be seen on this bridge talking to a stranger.
“Answer my question,” Martin demanded. He’d come here straight from his mom’s funeral, hitchhiked his way to Helena, used the last of his money on a bus, walked the last four hours in a rain that had only let up for short amounts of time. Exhausted and soaked to the bone, his carefully constructed life was unraveling, and he needed this to stop.
“You should be anywhere but here,” Justin said. “If anyone sees you and tells Adam, it could hurt him.”
“God, is Adam here?” The last thing that Martin wanted was to see Adam. It was enough that he had approached Justin right now.
“No.” Justin let out an impatient sigh. “You need to leave.”
Martin couldn’t leave, he needed an answer.
“I’m not brave. You said I was brave, but was that the only reason you didn’t kill me? I have nothing else to hold on to when I don’t believe I am brave at all.” He shivered not just from the cold but from the icy feel of a hundred ghosts crawling under his skin. The rain started again, and Martin pushed his hair away from his face and was utterly lost.
They stood in silence for a while; then Justin cursed noisily. “Fuck. Let’s get the hell out of this rain.”
Justin headed up the hill, and after a pause, Martin followed. The restaurant building was internally lit with security lights, but they weren’t a glaring white, more of a subtle yellow gold in the rain. It was made of wood, sprawling into the trees, clear glass showcasing a gorgeous interior with more wood, and a counter toward the back.
“In here,” he said and opened the door to let Martin through. The warmth inside made his skin prickle, and he immediately shrugged off his soaked coat. Being warm and dry was a luxury, and he’d take it over cold and wet any day.
Justin checked him up and down. “Jesus kid, you look like shit. When did you last eat?”
Martin wanted to point out that Justin was only a year older than him and that kid wasn’t a good description, but he didn’t. All he could think about was the last time he’d had a proper meal, which had to be five or six days ago. He’d filled up on cheap gas station snacks, but a hot meal with real food, that was a distant memory. He knew he’d lost a bit of weight when his jeans found a new natural level resting on his hips.
“Not today,” he evaded.
Justin ushered him to a table and then went to the counter, talking to a shorter man Martin hadn’t even noticed was there. The second man leaned sideways to glance around Justin— right at Martin, and he frowned. The two of them exchanged heated words before the other man gave a full-body sigh and disappeared. Justin came back, turning the chair at the table to straddle it.
He was probably waiting for Martin to say something smart or insightful to explain what the hell he was doing here. They stared at each other in silence.
“Why didn’t you kill me?” Martin asked, again.
“Tell me what happened in Vermont,” Justin changed the subject immediately. “I know you have no job, that the place you worked at burned to the ground under suspicious circumstances.”
“How did you know that?”
Justin shook his head and huffed. “You really think I left you there without checking on you?” Then he leaned closer and his expression was hard. “I had to be sure you weren’t really your father’s son.”
That cut deep. Even after fighting as hard as he had against his birthright, he was David Crane’s son after all. Bad blood runs in my veins. One small push and his father’s legacy of evil could emerge and crack him wide open. Temper would make him hurt people, and fear would drive him to destroy everything that was right.
His heart hurt, and he stood slowly. Three years since Justin had spared his life, and in all that time, Martin had held on to the fact that someone had actually appeared to care about him. Justin was the one person he thought might understand or at least show something akin to compassion, but he’d been wrong. Who can blame him, after what I was part of?
“I understand.” He slammed a lid on the acidic self-hatred that boiled up inside. “I’ll go now.”
“Fuck’s sake, kid, sit down.”
Martin instantly reacted to the forcefulness of Justin’s tone. He’d grown up used to people telling him when to sit or stand or hurt people, another part of his messed-up psyche he had no control over. He sat, carefully, every muscle in his body aching.
“I’m not a kid,” he said. “I’m only a year younger than you are.”
Justin ignored him, went to fetch a water jug and glasses, and retook his seat. Carefully he poured out a glass and nudged it toward Martin.
“Tell me about the fire,” he said. “Start at the beginning.”
Clearly Justin wasn’t going to answer Martin’s question, and what else could Martin do but sit and talk? It was raining, he was only just warming up, there was coffee, and he didn’t want to leave yet.
“Everything was razed to the ground. We have a lot of contractors near there, buildings going up, and we were the last place left that wouldn’t sell to them. I don’t know if I can point at them as being responsible, but they knew the owner wasn’t interested in selling.” He couldn’t meet Justin’s gaze. “I didn’t start the fire.”
Justin studied him thoughtfully, then nodded. “Of course you didn’t. I know that.”
Martin wanted to take that as a win, that small good thing that Justin had offered him, but his thoughts were chaotic.
“Wait? Were you watching that as well?” Martin wouldn’t put anything past the enigmatic Justin with his ninja assassin skills and his ability to track Martin down all those years ago, despite how hard Martin had tried to hide. “Or are you saying you don’t think I could do it.”
Justin looked thoughtful.
“Just because your father was a domestic terrorist consumed with hate, and you were part of it when you were younger, it doesn’t mean you’re one of the bad guys now.”
Martin glanced around him, wishing Justin wasn’t talking so loudly. The connection to his dad was something he never talked about, and even though the restaurant was closed and empty except for the three of them, he didn’t want the words out there.
“I was never part of it, not really. I was trapped there as much as you were,” Martin defended.
Justin stared at him steadily, and Martin met the stare.
“Not quite the same way,” he murmured. “You had the freedom to run.”
“You think I didn’t try that? I was terrified.” Why am I defending myself? Justin doesn’t care. Hell, I don’t freaking care.
Justin had every reason to expect Martin to have done every evil thing his blood made him capable of. Including burning down the café.
“Well, right now I have no reason to doubt you. Of course, that could change.”
Justin sipped water and watched Martin over the rim of his glass, his expression focused and thoughtful.
Martin cleared his throat. “I’d been working hard at the café, community outreach, that kind of thing. Not that there was much of a community left after the big corporations bought up the old houses to replace them with trendy apartments.” His words ran together. “When the café burned down, Joe didn’t want to rebuild. So I had no job, or a place to live because I’d been sleeping in my room above the café. I needed to talk to you, to understand what you saw in me, and then I’m heading south.”
“South? Texas? Florida? Mexico?”
“The ocean,” Martin said, and that was about all he had to tell right now. To him, the ocean was as vast as the sky, and he wanted to lie on a beach and stare up at the blue and hear the wash of waves as he decided what to do next with his life.
Coffee arrived then. The shorter guy seemed as if he was weighed down by the thundercloud of anger buzzing around his head. Both coffees met the table forcefully, liquid sloshing over the mugs. Martin thought he was watching some kind of comedy double act. Justin looking chagrined; the short guy pissed.
“This is my partner, Sam,” Justin said. He knows who you are; he knows everything remained unspoken.
Martin held out his hand for Sam. “Hi.”
Sam ignored his overture and instead stared at him with narrowed eyes.
“So you’re him.” His tone was flat. “Jamie.”
“This is Martin,” Justin inserted with emphasis, and Sam shot him a heated stare.
The last thing he wanted was a debate about his real name and why he wasn’t using it. As far as he was concerned, Jamie Crane had died the same day Justin and Adam had been hurt.
He flushed and stared down at the menu on the table. For a brief hopeful moment Sam appeared to be leaving, and then at the last moment, he turned back and took one of the chairs at their table. He leaned in and pushed at Martin’s arm to make him look up.
“If you drag Justin back to anything, I will hurt you, okay?” He kept his tone low, but there was so much anger dripping from the words that Martin moved back in his chair and looked for the exit.
“Sam, it’s okay,” Justin said, sounding tired, then covering Sam’s hand with his own. “Nothing he brings with him will hurt me, no memories or experiences or people. Okay?”
“But what about Adam? What about him?”
Justin shook his head mutely.
“Promise me,” Sam whispered, just loud enough for Martin to hear, and then leaned into Justin and pressed a kiss to his lips.
“I promise.”
“And you’ll be the one to tell Adam when he and Ethan get back from vacation?”
“I will.”
“The day they get back.”
“Yep.”
At that, Sam straightened and nodded at Martin, although there was no welcoming smile, just a fixed stare that discouraged him. “Then I’ll get food.”
Only when Sam had gone did Justin lean forward.
“We need to talk about your mom.”
And the bottom fell out of Martin’s carefully constrained world.
RJ ScottWriting love stories with a happy ever after – cowboys, heroes, family, hockey, single dads, bodyguards
USA Today bestselling author RJ Scott has written over one hundred romance books. Emotional stories of complicated characters, cowboys, single dads, hockey players, millionaires, princes, bodyguards, Navy SEALs, soldiers, doctors, paramedics, firefighters, cops, and the men who get mixed up in their lives, always with a happy ever after.
She lives just outside London and spends every waking minute she isn’t with family either reading or writing. The last time she had a week’s break from writing, she didn’t like it one little bit, and she has yet to meet a box of chocolates she couldn’t defeat.
BOOKBUB / KOBO / SMASHWORDS
EMAIL: rj@rjscott.co.uk
A Cowboy's Home #3
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Montana Sky #6
Montana Series
