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  Remy tugged at Brandt and Carl and nodded toward the street.

  “With me,” he said quietly as he started toward the street. Brandt and Carl

  both fell into step beside him, but a soft call from Shawn halted them.

  “Listen, lad,” he said as he came up to them.

  Remy turned to look at him curiously, and Brandt let Carl pull him to the

  side as they watched. Shawn took Remy’s face in his hands, wincing at the pain in his fresh wound, and he looked at him for several long, precious seconds. Brandt could feel Carl twitching beside him. He knew they had to be moving, but it seemed no one had the heart to say anything and cut the encounter short. Remy’s eyes darted back and forth across Shawn’s face almost uncertainly, and he finally looked down and

  nodded and started to pull away. Shawn gripped him harder and pulled him back,

  kissing him gently.

  Brandt saw Remy tense, and as the two men pulled apart, it was obvious that

  Remy was holding his breath as Shawn struggled to speak. Brandt was holding his

  breath as well, for that matter. ‘Just say it, you daft bugger,’ Brandt thought desperately.

  “Be careful,” Shawn finally said with difficulty as he let Remy go and

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  stepped away.

  Brandt deflated slightly, and he heard Carl growl behind him. Shawn and

  Remy were both fucking idiots.

  “And you,” Remy said quietly as he nodded once more and turned to go.

  Brandt gave Shawn one last scathing glance and then jogged to catch up to

  the other two.

  XLIII.

  “WHAT the hell?” Carl muttered under his breath as he and Remy walked swiftly

  away from Les Bon Temps Royale. Remy didn’t look back as he heard Shawn’s

  4Runner start, or allow his pace to slow when Brandt called him softly.

  “Dixie,” Brandt hissed again as he jogged to catch up to them. Remy didn’t

  know how much more drama he could handle. He was convinced that it was, in fact,

  Brandt’s fault that he’d cracked so easily. Ambient insanity, that was it. “Why can’t you just–”

  “Don’t start, Wally,” Remy growled angrily.

  “But–”

  Remy stopped and whirled around, letting the larger man bump into him and

  stumble backward as he pointed his finger in Brandt’s face. “I’m trying my

  damnedest to blame you for all that fucking mess, but it’s fucking hard when you

  keep trying to help!” he yelled as he waved his hands through the air and stomped his foot. “Why do you have to be so fucking likable, huh?”

  Brandt looked mildly surprised at his outburst, and Carl’s hand slipped

  around Remy’s waist, pulling him gently onwards as they started moving again.

  “I didn’t–”

  “You don’t just say you’re falling in love with someone and then turn around

  and take it back! Especially not Shawn!” Remy shouted, and Carl tightened his grip to the point of pain, ending Remy’s rant with a little squeak.

  “He said that?” Brandt asked in disbelief.

  Remy clenched his jaw and forced his brain to switch gears. Now was not

  the time or the place to start acting like a jilted teenager.

  “Gray and I left the car just down… shit, can either of you monsters fit in the

  back of a Mustang?” Remy said as it struck him suddenly that he shouldn’t have

  picked the two largest men in the group to accompany him. He’d simply grabbed the two closest bodies.

  “I, for one, have never tried,” Carl muttered testily.

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  “What was that back there?” Brandt demanded persistently. “Why can’t you

  just tell him you love him? And what the hell is going on? Was what Gray said true?”

  “How the hell should I know?” Remy retorted defensively. They came upon

  the yellow Mustang and Remy reached for the door handle, but Brandt’s hand on the car door stopped him. “And I have told him,” Remy added quietly as he looked down at Brandt’s hand over his. “I got tired of not hearing it in return.”

  Remy glanced up at Brandt and saw pity briefly flit across his handsome

  features before the anger returned.

  “You know a lot that we don’t,” the bigger man growled suddenly.

  Remy’s eyes flickered over his face and quickly to Carl as the other man

  sidestepped to position himself behind Remy. Remy turned slightly to open up his

  door before turning his head once more to look Brandt in the eyes. Carl didn’t exactly look like his usual and relaxed self, and when Remy’s eyes once more found Brandt the man was inexplicably holding his lighter and what appeared to be a tampon.

  “What the hell are you doing with that?” Remy asked, his voice wavering

  between irritation and amusement.

  “Wick,” Brandt said simply as he flipped open the cover to the Mustang’s

  gas tank.

  “Oh, holy hell!” Remy cried in a near-panic. He lunged forward but was

  stopped literally in mid-air when Carl wrapped his arms around his torso and pulled him back with a warning hiss.

  Brandt twisted the top off the gas tank and looked at Remy questioningly.

  “It’s not hard to tell that you’re keeping something from us, Dixie,” he said as he stuffed the tampon into the gas tank. Remy’s jaw dropped as he watched the string of the thing saturate with gas and droop as it grew heavier. On a newer model car this might not have been possible, but on his classic… his baby… it was entirely too

  possible.

  “You sick fuck!” Remy cried in anguish as he went limp against Carl’s body.

  “What did she ever do to you?”

  “Tell us what you know, and she’ll make it to the train station,” Brandt

  bargained with barely repressed glee as he flicked his shiny new lighter open.

  “We really don’t have time for this, gentlemen,” Carl hissed as Remy stared

  in horror at the flickering flame. “Remy, just swear to us you’ll spill it so we can drive to the fucking place instead of hitching.”

  “I swear,” Remy cried desperately. “I’ll tell you anything you want to know.

  I’ll read you a fucking encyclopedia. Just please don’t toast her!”

  XLIV.

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  THIAGO sat in the back of Shawn’s 4Runner as the man whipped through the streets

  of New Orleans, driving toward the train station. He was unbuckled, being thrown

  around slightly, and he was bearing down on Nikolaus as if he were about to devour the smaller man.

  Nikolaus cowered, his eyes darting around in search of assistance that wasn’t

  anywhere near coming.

  “You’re in some serious shit unless you start talking, hijo, and I mean

  yesterday,” Thiago growled as he glared at the younger man.

  Nikolaus swallowed hard and nodded. “Anything, I’ll tell you anything,” he

  stuttered obediently.

  “Oh, for Christ’s sake. Cut the fucking act, you little bastard,” Gray snarled

  from the front passenger seat.

  Thiago saw Nikolaus stiffen and then slump against the door with a roll of

  his eyes.

  “Unless you want to be thrown through the fucking windscreen, keep your

  fucking mouth shut,” Shawn shot back at Gray angrily.

  “Oh, now you want me to shut it?” Gray shouted sarcastically. “What

  happened to tying me up and torturing me for information, huh? What happened to

  shoot first, apologize to my mother at the funeral? Make up your fucking mind, you fuck!”
br />   Thiago growled wordlessly and pulled out his pistol, leveling it at the rear

  view mirror and firing without a second thought. Gray turned his head slightly just before Thiago pulled the trigger and managed to shy away from the blast, while

  Nikolaus balled up in the back seat and covered his head with a warning shout. The unsilenced blast reverberated throughout the enclosed space, and Shawn yelled in

  surprise and swerved the car briefly before regaining control. His hand went

  immediately to his ear and he turned to shout at Thiago.

  “Next person who speaks without my say will be re-upholstering the inside

  of this fucking car,” Thiago said in a low, menacing growl that he was sure none of the other three men had ever heard before.

  Shawn’s mouth snapped shut when he saw the look in Thiago’s eyes, and

  Gray and Nikolaus both watched him warily, looking like kicked puppies. Thiago had somehow vastly lost control of this operation, and like he had told Gray before, it was time to get it back.

  “You,” he snarled, pointing the gun at Nikolaus and growling. “Speak.”

  “I don’t… I… I’m sorry!” Nikolaus blurted out, his panic now obviously

  genuine. “If I had known before… about how… what you all were… I never

  would’ve… I… I’m sorry!”

  “Sorry for what? What have you done?” Thiago pressed on, still utilizing the

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  adrenaline and the anger to push the now terrified man, even though he wasn’t

  enjoying the experience all that much himself.

  “I’ve been in contact with… with various agents from the Organization,

  BND, and MI6,” Nikolaus admitted hesitantly.

  “MI6?” Shawn yelled questioningly as he turned to look back briefly. Thiago

  cocked the gun and glared at him, but Shawn shrugged and turned around again to

  watch the road. “My fucking eardrums!” he shouted angrily with a gesture toward his ear.

  Thiago noticed with a slight pang of guilt that Shawn’s ear was bleeding. It

  could have been from the puff of hot powder emitted by the gun, or from the

  shattering debris of the rearview mirror, but the shot could very well have busted the man’s eardrum.

  “Cocksucker,” Shawn added, though since he apparently couldn’t hear it

  came out fairly loud.

  Gray snorted and clapped his hand over his mouth, and Thiago rolled his

  eyes. Nikolaus was the only one left he could intimidate, apparently, and it was no fun since he felt so goddamned guilty about doing it. He clapped Gray upside the head for no other reason than to make himself feel better, and he turned back to Nikolaus.

  “When you say in contact, what do you mean?” he asked wearily.

  “I’ve been sending reports of our movements and the group’s decisions,”

  Nikolaus said calmly, realizing now that Thiago wasn’t going to really shoot him. “I was supposed to give warning if we decided to attack the Organization. Today was

  the day they were going to move in and take you all down.”

  “Did you fucking tattle on us again?” Gray shouted angrily as he turned in

  his seat to look back at Nikolaus. “Did you tell them where we’re headed?”

  “I told them we were leaving from the port,” Nikolaus said as he met Gray’s

  glare. “I thought they were the good guys, but I’m not so sure anymore.”

  “Well, by all means, take your fucking time deciding!” Thiago shouted

  angrily.

  “Well, excuse me, Mister Big Bad Archer Man!” Nikolaus shot back, his

  gray eyes blazing angrily. “I wasn’t the only one keeping secrets, was I? Who else is working for you that you don’t know about?”

  Thiago was momentarily stunned by the anger, and he blinked at Nikolaus

  several times before mentally conceding that point. When the fuck had he so

  completely lost control of this thing?

  “Jesus,” Gray muttered as he turned back around. “Remy’s a double, Niko’s

  a plant, Brandt and Thiago were working together but didn’t fucking know it, and

  Shawn’s been trying to kill the lot of you for four fucking months without doing

  much more damage than to get himself shot! What about Carl? Is he the Grand

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  Poobah of the fucking Underground, just here for shits and giggles? You six are the most unorganized, half-assed group of slipshod piece of shit agents I’ve ever had the displeasure of being captured by!” he spat as he gestured and squirmed in a fashion disturbingly reminiscent of their Cajun friend.

  Shawn turned to look at him with narrowed eyes, and Thiago saw Gray

  shrink away from the man slightly. Thiago braced himself for one of Shawn’s tirades.

  Shawn tugged at his bleeding ear and shouted, “What?”

  XLV.

  THEY somehow stuffed Brandt into the back seat of the Mustang, and he was

  hanging in between the front seats, breathing in Carl’s ear and accompanying Remy’s monologue with soft growls.

  For his part, Carl was listening quietly, only prompting Remy every now and

  then with pointed questions.

  “Gray and I uncovered a lot of shit, though now that I know the Organization

  knew about us, it’s hard to tell what was planted and what was real,” Remy told them as he negotiated the narrow streets. “I don’t know where to start. I didn’t know

  anything about that raid or why the Archer– Thiago– started what he did. I just knew that something bad was going down. We found out that the Organization has a… I

  don’t even know what to call it. A subversive element. At least we think so.”

  “Why do you think that?” Carl asked curiously.

  “Well, we all do our own thing, no one ever knows what anyone else is

  working on. And have you ever heard of a retired agent?” Remy asked as he glanced over at Carl.

  “No. But then we wouldn’t, would we?”

  “I think they kill them off. The Organization. I don’t think they let us out

  when our contracts are up. I think that’s what Thiago and his men found on that raid, and I think that’s why he went under, freeing agents by saying he had killed them and then recruiting some to help him.”

  “That was your job, yeah?” Carl asked as he turned to look at Brandt.

  Brandt flushed slightly under Carl’s steady gaze and nodded. “Dixie’s right,”

  he murmured. “There are two sides to the Organization; a legitimate one and an

  Underground.”

  “How do you know that?” Carl asked sadly, though he already knew the

  answer.

  “I was on that raid,” Brandt answered quietly.

  “What?” Remy cried angrily as he almost ran off the road. “Then you know

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  more than I do, you crazy fuck! Why’d you need to blow up my fucking–”

  “I needed to blow something up, goddammit!”

  “Not a classic fucking ’69 Boss 302!” Remy cried, his voice cracking with

  distress.

  “Hush!” Carl shouted, his voice booming in the small vehicle and

  immediately silencing the other two. “I have questions. If I don’t get answers, there will be hell to pay, you both understand?” he said authoritatively.

  “Yes,” they both responded obediently.

  “Why did you blow up the cabin in North Dakota?” Carl asked bluntly.

  Remy looked into the rearview mirror apprehensively and then shrugged.

  “My goal was to try and turn all of you, make you think the Organization was trying to kill us.”

  “Are
you saying they aren’t trying to kill is?” Carl asked angrily.

  “No, they are trying to kill us,” Remy insisted.

  “Then why did you have to fake an explosion to convince us if they’re really

  trying to kill us?”

  “I didn’t know they were trying to kill us at the time,” Remy responded

  defensively.

  “Jesus, Remy,” Carl groaned as he looked away and rubbed his face in

  agitation. “Where does all your money come from?” he asked.

  “What?” Remy asked in what appeared to be genuine shock.

  “Your money. No agent makes this sort of coin without something on the

  side. That goes for Wally, too. Does it come from the Archer’s dealings?”

  “No,” Remy said defensively.

  “What do you mean, that goes for me, too? I don’t have that kind of money,”

  Brandt said angrily with a flick of his thumb over his shoulder to indicate the house from which they had just come.

  “That was a nice building you blew up in Sydney, mate. Not another body in

  sight. Did you own the whole thing?” Carl asked shrewdly.

  “I… well… I resent the implication that I’m dirty,” Brandt said testily as he

  tried to fold his arms and sulk in the cramped back seat.

  Carl found it highly amusing that both men were so insulted by the

  implication that they’d been somehow earning ill-gained money when they’d both

  been playing both sides of this fight from the start.

  “Nosy bastard. Fuck,” Remy muttered to himself as he pulled into the

  parking lot of the train station. The 4Runner sat several spaces down, empty. They’d

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  gone different routes, and the one Remy took had been the long way around. The

  others were probably already on the train. “I’m not dirty, either.”

  “And?” Carl pressed.

  “Well, there are legitimate ways of dealing with money, you know,” Remy

  said as he turned to look at Carl with wide eyes.

  “What, like the stock market and shit?” Carl asked incredulously.

  “Well, when you’re the one assassinating politicians and CEOs, it’s easy to