Savior Complex: An MM Age Gap Romance (Wild Heart Ranch Book 3)
Savior Complex: Chapter 22

Ant and I saw Gael and Yaya off yesterday. Erik was patient as Yaya and Gael wrapped Ant in lingering hugs, and I pretended not to notice when he surreptitiously brought his shoulder up to wipe away a stray tear. Ant hugged me tight, weeping openly as the plane took off, but we already have plans for their next visit. Now that Gael and Ant have been reunited, there’s no way they’ll be separated for long.

Today we’re in Erik’s trailer with a large touchscreen on his bar, reviewing tomorrow’s operation. Anders is here with his husband, Omar, whom I’ve never met before, and Max, a fucking brick wall of an operative. I find out he and I have a lot in common—we’re both from Mexico and grew up around gangs.

“It’s good we’re on the same side now,” he says in his deep lyrical voice. “Because we used to be enemies.”

“Good for me,” I say, gesturing to my gray hair. “You could kick my ass without breaking a sweat.”

He pats my back, nearly knocking me over. “Nah, I bet you put up a pretty good fight.”

He’s not wrong.

Meanwhile, as I observe Omar’s stoicism, I’m tempted to ask how he maintains a relationship with someone like Anders. However, the combination of frustration and adoration on his face tells me Omar knows exactly who Anders is. If I had to guess, he loves Anders because of who he is, not in spite of.

I still struggle to think of myself as a good man in comparison to Levy’s sunshine, but watching Omar and Anders together is a good reminder that who I am is exactly who Levy wants.

I refocus on the screen, working through the plan with everyone. We’ve got nine locations to hit.

“I’m used to doing this all on my own, so it’s weird to have actual help,” I explain before pulling up the neighborhoods.

Before I get going, there’s a knock on the door, and Anders lights up, bounding over to the door.

“Hopper!”

Anders drags the man inside and gives him a rib-squeaking hug. I’m curious as I take in the trim guy with the New York accent and tattoos.

Omar glares at his husband. “Who invited Hopper?”

“Why do you ask questions when you know the answers?” Anders responds, laying his head on Hopper’s shoulder.

“It’s my fault,” Hopper says, offering his hand, which Omar takes reluctantly. “I like the ops where you help people. Like, there’s still plenty of people to kill, but then there’s also good people to save. I don’t get a whole lot of that in my job.”

Levy tells me Hopper is the enforcer for a powerful, weirdly ethical mob boss in Manhattan, so maybe I’m a little more surprised than I should be by his desire to do well.

I laugh at the thought. “Levy was right. We’re all a bunch of white knights.”

Coming up to me, Hopper asks, “You’re Ant’s uncle, right?”

“Si. Yes. Javier. And you’re the famous Hopper.”

“In the flesh,” he says with an exaggerated bow, then grabs me in a big hug. “Thank you for showing the little guy he’s worth finding. He’s one of us, and I’m so happy for him.”

“One of us?” I ask with a grin.

He gestures between himself and Anders. “I saw the video. He’s a tiny bit fucked in the head, but still good people.”

I let out a big belly laugh and return his hug, wondering how his honest answer heals something inside me.

With introductions out of the way, I give out assignments. Everyone has three bad guys to go after, and we’ve done what we can to ensure no one from the colonias or the households is injured.

“Anyone have questions?”

“So, when Hopper and I go in on these colonias…?”

Omar puts up his hand. “I’m going to stop you right there. You and Hopper aren’t going anywhere together.”

“Why not?” Anders asks, genuinely confused.

Nobody else is confused, and I’ve known Hopper for all of seven minutes.

“Hopper is untested with this team and a lot’s riding on this. Hopper comes with me,” Omar says definitively. “Anders, you go with Max.”

“Wait—how did I get stuck with Anders?” Max asks, ribbing him.

“Because you drew the short straw. Also, Rae said you left the dishes in the sink last night and I should punish you somehow.”

Max pushes his lips out. “This is what happens when your partner is your commanding officer.”

Omar turns back to Hopper and Anders. “Also? No counting your kills over comms. It’s crass. You’re both pretty, you’re both deadly, and, Hopper, you have to know Anders has way more kills than you could make up for in a lifetime.”

If I’m not mistaken, that’s pride in his voice.

Hopper scrunches his nose. “Guess I’ve got some catching up to do.”

I step in next to Omar, whispering, “Something tells me you just waved a red flag in front of a serial killer.”

Grimacing, Omar agrees. “You might be right about that.”

Once we’re done, we head over to the bunkhouse for dinner. When we arrive, Charlie, Nacho, Levy, and Ant are finalizing their plans and Bram is setting up the table like a buffet. The rest of us pull the dining chairs into the living room so we can all eat together. Levy scoots his chair closer to me, basically ensuring we’re touching from shoulder to feet as we juggle our paper plates.

“You feel good about these guys?” he asks, taking in the living room full of muscle-bound operatives.

“I do. Hopper is a bit of a wild card, but he’s still in the good column.”

“Damn straight I am,” Hopper says, sneaking in from the side, gnawing on a chicken leg.

I startle at his sudden appearance, but Levy laughs and asks, “You looking forward to this?”

“Hell yeah. I love killing bad guys. It’s a little disappointing that we’ll have to be fast and quiet, but, you know, greater good or whatever,” he says, shrugging as he walks off.

Levy’s eyebrows rise as we watch him sit next to Nacho and start up a conversation.

“That one’s going to be a problem.”

We’re all sitting in Wimberley’s big Learjet when Ant’s therapist joins us…then starts walking toward the cockpit.

“You’re a pilot?” I ask as she and Ant exchange hugs.

“I always love the tone of concern when somebody asks me if I’m a pilot,” she says, grinning.

“How does that compare to the tone of concern one has when they’ve actually flown with you before?” Anders jokes, joining us.

“You want to ride up front with me, Bash?” she threatens.

Anders quickly sits next to his husband and makes a big deal of putting on his seat belt. “I’m trying to live because I still haven’t made the mile-high club.”

“Now, darling, you know that’s not true,” Omar says, placing his hand on Anders’ knee.

Anders lights up at the memory and whispers something in Omar’s ear. He runs a finger down Anders’ nose. “Exactly.”

“Whatever. No fucking in the bathrooms,” Hedy snarks as she makes her way up front.

Soon, we’ve all settled in, and the flight takes off smoothly. Ant looks out the window over the changing Texas landscape.

I touch his arm. “You okay?”

He lifts a shoulder. “This is the first time I’ve flown as a free man,” he says, looking up at me, his nerves evident in his bright eyes. “And it’s weird, but I think I’ve seen this view before.”

“Like you were flown over Texas before?”

“More like I’ve taken off from a similar place. Not Wimberley specifically, but this is definitely not the first time I’ve seen this exact landscape.” He taps his chin. “It was a stop-off, maybe? I don’t remember leaving the plane, so we may have just been picking up someone else before taking off.”

“Another kid?”

“Probably. The way it worked was that I’d be sold off, and then when they wanted something different or someone younger, I was sold back to the same people and shuffled to a different spot. They had a few small planes and always tried to move multiple people to make it worth it.”

I stitch my brows, trying to focus on the logistics and not the way my nephew was dehumanized in every possible way or the fact the gang I’d been running with was associated with something much larger and far more evil than running weed in Central Mexico.

“I didn’t realize it worked that way. I thought you were just sold from one place to the next. I didn’t know you circled back to the same people to be sold again.”

Erik and Charlie exchange a look. Erik looks especially disturbed as he says, “We didn’t know that either.”

“Why not?” I ask, my temper flaring. “Why wouldn’t you ask how the fuck he was sold?”

Ant’s hand lands on my arm. “Tío, I didn’t remember until just now. There’s lots of things I’m still remembering.”

I take a deep breath and then a few more. “My apologies, gentlemen.”

Erik’s eyes are sad and red-rimmed. Charlie takes the lead. “That’s big, Ant. Really big, and I’m so glad you remembered. Do you think other gangs do it that way too?”

“I don’t know. I do know they don’t like being called a gang.”

“What do they want to be called?” asks Charlie.

“A syndicate. Because they have people everywhere. Once one place was done with me, they would call their friends in Minneapolis and ask if anyone needed a thirteen-year-old.”

I dip my chin, rubbing my forehead.

“Sorry,” Ant says. “I didn’t mean to make you sad.”

“It’s not that, nephew. I’ll just never understand how you survived that.”

“I didn’t,” he says simply. “But a version of me did, and I’m glad.”

Erik’s eyes redden further, and he clears his throat. “It was smart, what they did. We’re often able to track back because the current ‘owner,’” he says with a snarl, “isn’t particularly careful with their own paper trail. If they have a network of vetted ‘owners,’ and you keep going back to them, they have better control.”

Charlie rubs his jaw. “If you remember this area, that means there’s an offshoot of that syndicate in Central Texas. Right under our fucking noses.”

Ant looks stricken. “I’m sorry. I wish I would have remembered…”

Charlie holds up his hands. “No. You didn’t do anything wrong. I’m just thinking about the fact I’ve traveled the world looking to help people, and there’s been a major operation in my backyard, and I had no idea.”

Levy clears his throat. “Just my two cents—Ant, up until now, there’s no way for your brain to know what’s important to remember and what isn’t. My guess is that the more you do this, the more you’ll put together what’s important for us to know. In the meantime, let’s celebrate the fact this is your first op.”

Taking Levy’s lead, I say, “This is my first op with my nephew, who I am very proud of.”

He squeezes my arm and takes a deep breath, then goes back to looking out the window. Erik and Levy are sitting across from us. Erik keeps shifting his gaze to Ant who’s watching the clouds go by. Levy, who’s figured out how to read my mind, smiles at me, reaching for my hand.

“This is a good thing,” he reminds me.

The flight is relatively smooth, save for some minor turbulence, and we land in a dusty private airfield about five miles from the colonias. Several older-model cars are waiting for us at the side of the unmanned runway.

We get out, and despite the setting sun, heat waves rise above the flat scrub surrounded by prickly low-lying mesquite trees. The smell of dirt, engine exhaust, and ozone is thick in the air.

“Why do I have to drive a beige Taurus?” Anders complains while walking up to his and Max’s car.

“Who says I’m going to let you drive?” Max fires back, jingling the keys at him.

Anders grouses but goes to the passenger side, and Omar sends Max a thumbs-up as he gets in the car with Hopper. I go with Erik and don’t mind him driving while I check the map. Ant, Levy, Nacho, and Charlie head toward a station wagon with wood paneling and a missing bumper.

Hedy gave Levy the keys to the station wagon, but Nacho snatches them before Levy can even look at the driver’s seat. Tapping my chest, I mouth a silent thank you in Nacho’s direction. Levy catches the gesture and lifts a middle finger as he gets in the back with Ant. Laughing—and relieved—I blow him a kiss.

We’re all sweating as we do a quick comms check, everyone verifying that, yes, they know where they’re going, and no, their car does not have air conditioning in the triple-digit heat.

“The jet is nice and cool, in case anyone’s concerned,” Hedy cracks over the comms.

Jerk.

We each head off toward our assigned locations. Omar quickly runs into an issue when Hopper starts skipping through all the radio stations, most of which are coming in from Mexico.

“Please turn off the radio, Hopper. I require silence to focus.”

“Well, I require background noise to focus, and I don’t understand the Spanish stations.”

“Then the road noise should suffice.”

There’s a tense pause on the line, then a gruff “Fine” from Hopper. Thirty seconds later, Hopper starts humming to himself over the comms, and I look over at Erik, shaking my head. “Can I say how happy I am to be paired with you?”

He holds out his fist, and I bump it. I’m tempted in this moment of conviviality to ask him about his intentions for my nephew, but no. We need to focus on the operation at hand.

Erik and I arrive at our colonia first, then wait as everyone else verifies through comms that they’ve reached their locations.

Ant’s voice comes across the line. “We’re at the warehouse, and the only person we see is a guard wearing an unfortunate set of overalls.”

“Unfortunate, how?” Anders asks.

“They’re like a red that’s faded into pink. Doesn’t go with his coloring. Also, he’s armed to the teeth. We’re still trying to avoid killing support staff, right?”

“Correct. Can’t make any assumptions.”

“Can’t we assume that because he’s armed, he’s not there against his will?”

“Good call. Still, it’s best to avoid killing him if you can.”

There are some grumbles across the line, but we agree that it would be bad to kill somebody based on an assumption.

Well, most of us agree. Hopper is still put out by the lack of background music.

Like the other two teams, Erik and I scout the three locations we’re going in on. The colonias are a combination of spread-out rusted trailers and multiple trailers stacked right next to each other.

We’ve agreed on silent comms, save for letting the group know when we’re going in and when the mission has been accomplished.

The one wrinkle Charlie’s team discovered is that the only entrance to the warehouse is the one the guy in the unfortunate faded red overalls is guarding. Given the lack of options, they’re waiting for at least one of the teams to join them before going in.

We’ve already decided Erik will stay in the car for our first target. I already know what to do and, frankly, Erik sticks out.

We find a mesquite tree to park by, and I exit the car to the sound of the Texas nighttime. It’s pitch-black and the stars overhead are gorgeous. There is, however, some wildlife slithering in the underbrush, and my heart rate spikes at the sound of a rattle a few feet to the left.

I stop in my tracks, and thankfully the snake has slithered off into the dark by the time I’m able to pinpoint it with the light on my cell phone.

While most of the trailers we passed are in pretty bad shape, this one is newer, and the truck in the gravel drive is the nicest we’ve seen all day.

“I’m at the door,” I say over comms.

“I’ve got your back,” Erik replies.

I plaster on a smile and knock on the aluminum door under a yellow light swarming with flies and mosquitoes. A sweaty, shirtless man with bedhead opens the door.

“What?” he asks with a snarl.

“Carlos Espinoza?”

“Who wants to know? And don’t tell me you’re one of those fucking missionaries, or I’ll shoot you where you stand.”

“No, I don’t believe in God,” I reassure him as I step into his space and run my favorite knife across his carotid arteries. The move is so quick he doesn’t quite understand what’s happened.

“Then wha—” he tries to say, his voice coming out garbled. He reaches for his throat and comes back with a bloody hand. He tries to talk again, but, oops, I’ve also sliced through his larynx—I find it goes a long way toward avoiding detection. He reaches for the gun in his waistband, but I’ve already picked that off him.

I lean in close, keeping my voice low. “Boo.”

He jerks at the soft word, and I raise my foot up, kicking him farther into his trailer before locking the door from the inside and pulling it shut.

“We’ve got the first one under control,” I say, meeting Erik at the car.

“That’s it?”

“That’s it. Now let’s get the fuck out of here.”

We head to our second one as Anders and Max call out their first one.

“Hop? Omar?” I ask.

“He decided to ask the guy a few questions,” Omar grumbles over the line.

“Hop, this is not that kind of a mission. It’s kill and go. Kill and go.”

“So you don’t want to know how many guards are in the warehouse? Or when the next shift ends?”

Several frustrated sighs come across the comms, but I answer, “Yes, of course, we want that information.”

“It’s the exact same schedule you gave us. He verified what we already know.”

“Thanks, Hop. Now, remember the name of the game is to get out of there unseen. So…”

Gunfire rattles through the comms, and Erik shakes his head. “I might kill Anders for inviting him.”

Omar’s and Hopper’s comms remain open. Omar’s smooth grunts tell us he’s quickly and efficiently killing bad guys while Hopper’s delighted giggle effectively tells us the same.

“The other two guys on our list were at the same location,” Omar says, his voice even.

“Literally no one is going to want to fuck with us after this one,” Hopper snickers.

“I’d ask what you did,” I say, “but I want to sleep tonight.”

“Good call,” Omar says dryly.

“You have to admit that when his eyeball popped out, it was pretty cool,” Hopper says, laughing at his own joke. “Oh, sorry. I’ll shut up now.”

Omar comes on the line. “Since we’re done here, we’ll start back toward the warehouse.” There’s a pause and a scuffle. “Hopper, I’d really rather be the one to drive.”

“Breaking the law, breaking the law, breaking the law,” we hear Hopper chant as their old VW’s engine rattles to life.

“Anders, next time Hopper is yours,” Omar says, and we all laugh.

Anders and Max reach their second target and announce they’re going in. Thirty seconds later, Anders comes back on the comms. “Target acquired and destroyed,” he says, accompanied by the slam of an old rusty car door.

We roll up to our second location and call it in. It’s a small trailer stacked close to other small trailers, and the front yard is fenced in with cinder blocks and steel-reinforced gates. Erik takes the lead, and when he approaches the gate, a vicious-sounding dog goes off on the other side.

“Hey, wait,” Hopper says. “Where are you? Dogs love me.”

Erik and I see the large brindle pit bull at the same time, and he backs away. “Hop, I’m going to take you up on that.”

He gives Hopper the information, then slides into the driver’s seat and takes off toward our third location. A few minutes later, we hear barking as Omar and Hopper pull to a stop in front of the house.

“Shit,” Omar says. “Hopper went over the fence.”

The barking goes quiet, and Hopper’s voice comes across the line. “Opening the gate for you, Omar.”

“How did you get the dog to do that?” Omar asks.

“Do what?” I ask, curious.

Omar’s voice is a bit awed when he answers, “The dog is sitting at attention and smiling at us.”

“I told you. I’m good with dogs.”

Erik and I crack up. Fucking Hopper.

“Hey, what are you two doing in my yard? What did you do to my dog?” a guy asks in Spanish.

“Are you Miguel Selena?”

“Yes, who the fuck wants to know?”

That’s followed by an eerie silence on the line. After several moments, all we hear is the sound of walking and panting.

Omar comes back on the line, his voice tired. “Hopper took care of the guy. And, apparently, he and I have a dog now.”

Erik laughs. “Hopper loves dogs. His husband is going to be so mad.”

“Liam said I can’t bring home any more dogs from ops.”

“Can I have a dog?” Ant asks as Anders and Max announce they’ve reached their third location.

Max’s takedown is silent and quick.

Erik and I end up in a horseshoe-like grouping of trailers for our third assignment. These aren’t separated by fences, and there’s a sort of makeshift, overgrown courtyard in the middle. It consists of a rusted-out card table and equally rusted-out folding chair, all being quietly overtaken by grass and weeds.

A single electrical pole stands off to the side of the trailers, and it’s dotted with various kludged-together outlets and long lengths of orange extension cords snaking from the pole to the trailers. At the far end of the property, just past the last trailer, are two small buildings made from scrap material. It takes me a minute to realize they’re outhouses.

Everyone’s inside—likely to escape this oppressive heat—TV shows, radio stations, and family conversations all spill into the sad little courtyard.

“Javier, this feels like a bad place,” Erik says, looking around.

“It does, but you need to stay in the car. You’re too conspicuous. I’ll take care of it.”

“I’d rather not.”

I place a hand on his shoulder. “I thank you for your concern, but this is what I do.”

Strolling up to the last trailer on the right, I confidently knock on the door. Several moments pass, and the door opens slowly. At first, I assume the latch has merely come loose, then I look down into the dirt-smeared face of a little girl in a tattered dress.

“I’ve got a kid here. Is there anything in this guy’s records that indicates he has children?”

Ant comes across the line. “No. He’s single, no children.”

“Girlfriend?”

“No. No girlfriend. At least not one we know of.”

“Is it possible this is someone he’s taken?”

“Most likely scenario.”

The door swings open a little wider, and our mark is on the couch, snoring away, surrounded by bottles of booze and used needles. Fuck.

“Is he your dad?” I ask the little girl in Spanish. She could be five, she could be ten, who knows. She shakes her head, her eyes welling with tears.

“Did he take you from your house?”

She nods.

“Do you know where you live?”

She shakes her head.

“Do you want to go home?”

She nods, and I kneel, gesturing for her to get on my back, which she does readily. Her legs don’t quite wrap around my ribs, but she clings fiercely to my neck, and I let her.

“Close your eyes,” I whisper.

“Okay.”

I turn my face toward hers, and her eyes are squeezed shut. Walking up to the guy, I quietly draw the blade across his neck. As his pulse slows, his eyes flutter open, confused. I bury the knife in his temple because fuck him.

“Are your eyes still closed?”

“Yes.”

“Good. We’re going to help you find your mom now.”

When I arrive at the car, Erik’s eyes widen. “Oh shit.”

“Yes, I know.”

He switches to the driver’s side, and I sit in the back with the little girl, buckling her in.

“What should we do?”

“Once our guys take over the warehouse, we’ll find her parents like everybody else’s.”

“Guard just went on break,” Ant announces. “We’re going in.”

“Be careful,” Erik whispers.

“Okay.”

“And keep the line open, please,” I say.

“Sure thing, Tío.”

Seconds later, gunfire filters through the comms. Erik and I exchange a fearful look, and he guns it.

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