Page 17 of Man of Honor

Wyatt didn’t laugh. “It’s messy, Gage.The kind of trouble you don’t want to be dragged into.”

I wasn’t sure I wanted to know, but I had to ask.“What’s he into?”

“Everything.” His grim tone chilled me to the bone.

“Boone must have known,” I mumbled, half to myself.

Wyatt nodded. “Funded it, too.”

I thought about the day Boone had sent me away, shoved me onto that bus and told me to keep out of trouble or not come back at all.And I did. I kept my distance and bided my time like he wanted.Meanwhile, he and Dominic were building a criminal empire, sowing seeds they wanted to keep hidden from the rest of us.

No wonder things were so chilly between Dom and Gideon.

My fingers clenched around the empty mug until I worried I'd snap the handle.I set it down carefully and wiped my palms on my jeans.“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I don’t want you caught in the crossfire.” Wyatt's gaze drifted to my bruised knuckles, and his jaw tightened.“Whatever you think of your own capabilities, this isn’t your fight.”

“If it involves my brothers, it will always be my fight,” I snarled, but just as I was about to really get into it, my cell phone pinged and started vibrating.I winced and dug around in my pocket, swiping my thumb across the screen to light up a message from Gideon: I'm waiting.

There was no location attached, but I knew exactly where he’d be.Since I was a kid, it had always irritated me how Gideon summoned people like it was an order from on high.Still did. He expected to be obeyed, and the shit-kicking part of me lived to disappoint, but I’d learned young that fighting Gideon was like trying to drain the bayou with a sieve.Pointless.

I shoved the phone back into my pocket and looked up to catch Wyatt watching me, tracking the shift in my expression.“I’ve got a date with a priest,” I said, forcing a grin I didn’t feel.

Wyatt raised one eyebrow and gave me a long, searching look, the kind that let me know I wasn’t fooling him.“Looks like you’re psyching yourself up to face a firing squad.”

“Yeah, well, it’s been a few years since I’ve been to confession.” I chuckled, climbing stiffly to my feet.I balled up the paper towel leftover from breakfast and shoved it into my empty mug, dangling the handle off one finger.Fixating on insignificant details so I didn’t have to meet Wyatt’s eyes.“Catch you later,” I said casually.

But Wyatt stood too, making it look easier than it had been for my battered body.He clamped a hand on my shoulder, like he’d done a hundred times when I was younger.The touch should have felt like nothing, platonic and routine, but it never had.Not for me, and especially not now, with his callused thumb sliding against my bare skin and turning my body into a live wire.

“Remember what I toldyoutoday,” he said, dead serious.“Heal up and stay out of trouble.I smoothed things over with Etienne about the stolen truck, but Vanderhoff doesn’t want to dropit.I can’t keep running interference between youforever.”

He still smelled so good. That subtle aftershave, light enough to not be overpowering in the heat, but inviting in a way that made me want to shove my nose against his throat andbreathe deep.

I shuddered and pulled away. “You know me,” I saidlightly.

“Yeah,” he replied, not even cracking asmile.“That’s theproblem.”

Chapter Eight

GAGE

I wasn’t rushingas I headed toward the family cemetery. Gideon could wait, and I’d never liked this part of the property.I followed a gravel path that wound through a dense thicket of live oaks, draped in swaths of Spanish moss.The air was thick with the cloying scent of magnolia, and just below that, the ever-present smell of nearby bog.Mosquitos buzzed around my head, frantic to gorge themselves on blood before the heat dropped them flat.On the other side of the oaks, the land sloped down to a shaded grove that was speckled with crumbling headstones.

The family plot was older than any of us.Older than the Beaufort name itself, I figured.It was the final resting place of the mortal remains of dozens of Jesuit priests and too many orphans to count.Most of the headstones were humble, cracked and covered in lichen, but some of the senior clergy had been given elaborate markers with tall, ornate crosses.Marble angels with outstretched wings stood guard over the graves, their faces softened by moss and the endless march of centuries.The newer portion of the cemetery was flashier but distinctly less sacred.Death on display, that was the style of the Beaufort family ancestors.

Cemeteries creeped me out, especially this one, where shadows moved like people in the corner of my vision if I turned my head too fast.But Gideon loved it here. When most teen boys were playing video games or riding dirt bikes, he was tending the graves of the old priests, ripping creeper vines out by their roots like it was a holy edict.For him, it was meditation. That was one thing that hadn't changed, at least.

I found him beside Boone’s grave, staring down at a sparkling new headstone that hadn't been there before.He stood perfectly still, reminding me eerily of the statue of Saint Michael that guarded the gate.Guardian of souls, defender against evil.The statue was impressive, but if I had to bet, I’d put my money on Gideon every time.His broad shoulders and muscled frame could go toe-to-toe with even the toughest of God’s angels.

He’d probably sensed my arrival long before the gravel crunched under my boots, but he didn't look up.His hands were clasped behind his back and his head was bowed, but he wasn’t praying.He was waiting.

Sorrow crept through me as I looked down at the name carved into white marble: Boone Beaufort.The man who’d pulled us all from the edge of hell.Somehow, now that he was gone, I felt closer than ever to falling.No one had warned me that his health was failing.

I swallowed hard, but the lump in my throat didn’t budge.It swelled, doubling in size as I read the inscription carved into the stone:humbled by sin, forgiven by grace.

I coughed, but my voice was still a garbled mess when I spoke, scraped raw with old resentment.“He sent me away. Never told me how much he was struggling.Never even gave me a chance to help.”

Gideon tilted his head to acknowledge he'd heard, though his eyes never left the headstone.“That’s how he wanted it."

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