The second floor would be Sabre Security. Reid planned to gut the whole floor and create the offices they needed. He was leaving most of it one open space. He didn’t have a lot of definite plans, but he knew the centre of the operation would be a massive conference table where they could hash things out together.
Eventually, he’d turn it into a modern investigative center, with computers and communications equipment, everything they needed to get Jaxon cleared. There was even a place for a gym in the corner for training. Hallways led to other offices, a kitchen, and bathrooms.
It didn’t take long for every member of the team to add their own suggestions about specific things they wanted included.
The plans had nearly been finished when Deke approached him. “What are we putting here?” He pointed to an unlabeled room on the plans.
“It’s only the most important room in the building,” Reid said.
Deke scratched his head. “Uhhhh…. an interrogation room?”
Reid laughed. “Not exactly, this is for the future. Our future.”
Deke continued to stare at the plans, confusion still written on his face. “Okay, I give up.”
“It’s the room for our Littles,” Reid said, as if anyone could have guessed that.
“But we don’t have any Littles.”
“Not yet, Deke, not yet.”
A huge grin spread across Deke’s face. “I guess we’d better get busy.”
Later that night, beers in hand, they toasted to the hard work and to the purpose for which it had all been done. “To Jaxon,” Reid said, raising his bottle.
The clink echoed. “A free Jaxon,” Gage added.
Hutch nodded. “Whatever it takes.” To that, everyone raised their glasses.
Connor leaned forward, breaking the quiet that had followed the toast. “I’ve got leads on the trafficking angle.”
Law added, “I’ll handle covert recon on the DA.”
Deke cracked his knuckles. “I’m the muscle. I have a feeling we’re gonna need it.”
Sawyer tapped his laptop. “Hacks and intel.”
Reid looked at each of them. All his brothers. Sarge’s legacy. “And we don’t stop until he’s home.”
CHAPTER ONE
It was really happening.
Jaxon Ruick stepped out of the black SUV Reid had sent to pick him up from the prison gates earlier that morning. The April air in eastern Tennessee had finally shaken off winter’s bite, the sun was riding high overhead, warming the day into the upper fifties. Cool enough to keep the breeze crisp, but bright and mild against his skin.
Looking around, he searched for a prison van, expecting one to roll up at any minute to drag him back to that piss-soaked hellhole he’d called home for the last eight years. It was hard to believe he was finally free. After all, it was April Fools’ Day. Maybe this was all just a cruel joke.
He rolled his shoulders once, feeling the familiar stretch of new scar tissue and ink under his shirt. Tattoos covered most of his upper body now—dark lines and symbols earned one session at a time in the prison yard, badges of survival rather than decoration. Shaved close on the sides, his hair had grown past regulation length on the top, falling just over his brows. The clean-cut FBI agent look had vanished years ago, replaced by something harder and darker, something that warned people to keep their distance.
Reid had told him a biker named Ravage, not one of his brothers,would be picking him up in one of the company vehicles. Not that he had anything against Ravage, but he didn’t know him. He didn’t trust him. He seemed safe enough. Still, Jaxon hadn’t spoken more than necessary during the ride.
Jaxon liked the silence. He’d learned the hard way how words could be weapons. No, better to stare out the window at the passing pines than make useless small talk. He’d rather spend the time picturing all the people he’d missed.
People like Taziana Thomas.
There hadn’t been a day in all these years that thoughts of her filled his head. She was the girl who got away. No, she was the one he’d thrown away. In prison, memories of Tazzy had been the only thing that kept him sane. His Little all-American Tasmanian devil.
He could still picture the last time she’d visited him in prison. Eyes wide and pleading, her hands pressed to the Plexiglas like she could reach through it and pull him out. He’d refused her visits after that. Refused her letters. Every time the guard called her name on the list, he’d told them to send her away.