Alpha Warrior
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Aimée Thurlo
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Chapter One
Wherever Nick Blacksheep went, trouble usually followed. That’s the way it had been since he’d taken his first breath back on the Navajo rez thirty-three years ago.
Travis, Nick’s younger brother, held the punching bag steady as Nick continued to channel his anger into the inert mass. “Work out on this, then we’ll go a few rounds,” Travis said.
“Wear me down first? Won’t work. Right now you couldn’t handle me, little brother,” Nick growled, and continued to pound the heavy bag.
“Anger destroys focus. I can take you.”
“In your dreams,” Nick retorted, sinking his taped fists into the thick leather with a lightning-fast combination.
“Have an Enemy Way Sing done. Release the past and the memories of war you still carry inside you and you’ll be able to sleep again at night.”
“The old ways have no part in my life,” Nick said, pounding the body bag with an intense flurry of jabs.
“You need to restore the balance. The path of harmony that allows a man to walk in beauty, the hózho, will elude you until you put your ghosts to rest.”
“It’s the present that’s the problem. There’s no reason for me to have been put on disciplinary suspension. We’ve had eight domestic disturbance calls this month alone from that address. The lowlife there can’t keep his fists off his wife. I responded to the last call, and when he tried to slip by me to go whack his wife, I threw him across the hood of his sports car.”
“I agree that you did the right thing. But nothing will change until the guy’s wife leaves him for good.”
Nick slammed his fist into the bag one last time, then stepped back. “I better hit the shower. I’ve got a meeting with the chief and the review board tonight.”
“Everyone in the department knows you’re a good cop, and there’s enough evidence to clear you. Providing you don’t screw up tonight, you’ll be fine,” Travis said. “Things have hit bottom so they have nowhere to go but up.”
“I have my own saying. Just when you think it’s really bad, it gets worse.”
“Your main problem, bro, is that you substitute attitude for patience.”
“I’d rather push things to get them rolling than play nice,” Nick said, removing the tape from his knuckles.
Travis shook his head. “A little patience gets better results. Remember how it was for us.”
Nick met his brother’s eyes. They’d been watching each other’s backs since the day their father told them he was going for a walk in the desert and never returned. To this day, they never figured out if he’d meant to abandon them, or had been trying to do them a favor. On the rez, when a man knew that he was dying, he’d sometimes walk off like that. That last act was considered a gift to his family, since a death in the house meant that the building would have to be abandoned. The Navajo Way taught that the chindi, the evil in a man, would never be able to merge with Universal Harmony, so it remained behind, posing a threat to the living.
“I’ll let you know how things go,” Nick said.
WHEN NICK STEPPED INTO the shower, he could hear Travis punching the heavy bag. Travis had lightning-fast reflexes. Nick lacked his brother’s speed and agility, but he packed more power and could slug it out toe-to-toe with anyone.
Fifteen minutes later, Nick was dressed and ready to leave. Tugging on his boots, he stood and automatically reached for the detective’s badge he normally kept on the dresser. The empty gesture made him curse. Suspension meant no department firearm or badge.
As Nick walked down the hall he saw his brother still working out in the gym they built. They’d worked hard to make what had once been a “fixer-upper” in the middle of nowhere into the perfect home for two bachelors. Marriage wasn’t in the cards for either of them. They’d already seen too much of life to settle down with a wife and become a role model for rug rats.
THE RIDE INTO TOWN was open road, most of it down a river valley flanked by wide mesas. Nick pressed on the accelerator and felt the Jeep respond. He liked speed and the edge of danger it brought.
Before long, he entered a west side, high-end housing development, complete with a six-foot wall opposite a private golf course.
His thoughts were focused on tonight’s meeting when he came upon an apparent TA, a traffic accident, just ahead in the right-hand lane. Two vehicles, an old sedan and a big van, were side by side, contact point at the front end, just off the road. Their headlights and taillights were still on. Closing in, he noted the fresh grooves on the driver’s side of the sedan. From the looks of it, it appeared that the van had cut off the sedan and made contact—not that uncommon. At least neither vehicle had rolled or had plowed into the fence.
Nick stopped, and as he switched on his driver’s-side spotlight, he heard a blood-curdling scream. Two large figures wearing hoods were gripping a woman by the arms, trying to drag her around the rear of the sedan.
Fighting like a wildcat, she suddenly broke free. She slammed her clenched fist into the face of the man on her right, swung and kicked his partner in the groin, then raced along the fence line toward Nick.
Giving her room to pass by on his right, Nick pressed down on the accelerator. Intent on scattering her assailants, he drove right at them, giving them two choices—jump out of the way or become a hood ornament.
