A/N: Annnndddd we're back. I know it's a little later than I had hoped, but I think I have finally dedicated myself to writing this story. This is number three in the Lockdown series and will make much more sense if you have read those first. I will be shooting for weekly updates, but the muse has been a bit fickle lately so i'm sorry if it's longer at times. Enjoy!

The Blood of the Wicked

Chapter 1

"And Shepherds we shall be, for Thee, my Lord, for Thee. Power hath descended forth from Thy hand, that our feet may swiftly carry out Thy command. So we shall flow a river forth to Thee and teeming with souls shall it ever be. In nominee Patris, et Filii, Spiritus Sancti."

The following gunshots resounded off the brick walls of the dank alley with a muffled pop and the man trembling on his knees fell into a stagnant puddle with a heavy thud, joining the rest of his friends strewn about on the dirty ground.

"Son of a bitch."

Connor's quiet exclamation had Murphy looking up from the body at his feet to find his brother pressing a hand to the bleeding gash on his bicep. "Motherfucker got you good, c'mere let me see."

"It'll be fine," Connor said, brushing him off. "It's not bleeding too bad, we can take care of it when we get back."

Murphy frowned at the sight of the deep cut but nodded, knowing there was little he could do at the moment anyway. "Where the fuck did those other two come from? I thought you said it was only the three of 'em." He turned a questioning, slightly irritated look at Edwards who was standing off to the side, still breathing heavily from the fight.

"There was." The younger man defended. He had been in charge of staking out the seedy little bar these gentlemen had been holed up in and alert Connor and Murphy once they left. "I followed them all the way here, they were alone. Unless…"

"Unless you were followed as well," Murphy finished for him. "They must've spotted you."

Edwards looked down at the five bodies littering the floor of the alley as he thought back, trying to recall where he could have possibly made a mistake. "I don't know…" He shook his head.

"Yeah, well, that's the fucking problem, isn't it?" Connor berated harshly as he moved around the bodies, collecting their bullet casings from the ground. They took great care these days to ensure that they left no trail. "You don't know? You should always know, kid. You need to be aware of everything around you. We all depend on it. That could've ended a lot worse than it did."

Edwards felt the guilt of his failure curling through him. Lowering his gaze back to the ground, he nodded, willingly shouldering the blame that Connor had placed on him. "You're right, I'm sorry. I fucked up. It won't happen again."

"See that it doesn't," Connor said brusquely as he shoved the gathered evidence into his pockets and headed for the other end of the alley toward their car. "C'mon, we've been here too long, we need to go," he called back over his shoulder.

Murphy cast a quick glance in Edwards' direction, noticing that the kid's head was hanging lower than normal. Personally, he felt that Connor's reprimand had been a bit harsh. Edwards had more than held his own with them over the last six months and it was rare for the kid to have a slip up like tonight. He also knew that his twin had been in a less than savory mood to begin with and was probably using the situation to relieve some of his frustrations. Indeed, they were all feeling a bit testy.

This was their first big job since the complete catastrophe that was New York City. For the last six months they had followed Smecker, jumping from state to state, hunting down criminals who had slipped through the cracks of the legal system.

Up to this point, all of their hits had been relatively small targets, a few small-time drug dealers, rapists, wife-beaters, a couple of child molesters. Just to get their feet under them, find their groove and iron out the kinks in the dynamics of their group. Shortly after finally putting Kennedy Dawson to rest, Smecker had decided that they were ready to up the ante and landed them in Nashville, Tennessee. There had been reports of a new street gang trying to take over the east side of the city and Smecker had seen it as a great opportunity to test their skills as a team.

Nashville, just like every city, had its fair share of street gangs and violent crime, but this particular gang had quickly developed a fearsome reputation built on their ruthlessness. A large number of innocent civilians had lost their lives as a result of their senseless violence and the Saints were all too happy to put a stop to it. That was two weeks ago. Smecker had given them a specific timeline to take these guys out and they had now passed their deadline by three days.

The men that met their end in this alley tonight were the last on their list and Murphy was grateful for it. They were all ready to get the hell out of this city. It was too dangerous to stay in one place for very long, lest whatever bloodhound the feds had chasing after them these days catch their scent.

Murphy looked ahead at Connor who was walking at a rapid, limping pace a good ten feet in front of him before glancing back at the young man following in his wake. He could tell just by looking at him that Edwards was busy beating himself up. He could practically see the self-berating thoughts swirling behind his eyes. Unable to handle the kicked-puppy look on the kid's face, Murphy slowed his pace just enough so that he fell into step with the young man, giving him a nudge with his elbow. "Stop kicking your own ass, kid. We got the job done, and we're all alive, that's what matters."

Edwards shrugged. "He's right, that could've ended a lot worse. It's unacceptable."

"We've all made mistakes. You didn't do anything that we haven't done ourselves. You just have to learn from it and make damn sure you're more careful next time."

The young man nodded but looked ahead at Connor with an expression that Murphy recognized as holding more than a little hurt. "Don't fucking worry about him. He's not really mad at you, he's just being an ass. He's sick of this city and he's ready to move on. I think we all are."

"C'mon! Step it up, let's go!" Connor hollered back over his shoulder.

Murphy rolled his eyes at his brother but picked up his pace all the same, giving the kid an encouraging pat on the shoulder as he went.

/ / /

"Well," Smecker leaned back in his chair, exhaling a cloud of smoke as he allowed himself to relax. He had completely abandoned all hope of ever being able to kick the habit, what with the company he kept these days. "We're a few days behind schedule, and it sounds like tonight could've gone smoother," he watched Edwards deflate in on himself a bit, "but I'm willing to call this a win. You got the job done and managed to stay well under the radar while you did it." He paused, eyeing the three men who were scattered around the dingy, pay-by-the-hour hotel room, cleaning and tending their weapons.

When he looked at them he saw purpose. He saw the potential of what the world could become under the rule of the Saint's iron justice. The things they had accomplished so far were simply the beginning. The MacManus brothers had only just started fulfilling the vision that had been driving him for the last nine years, and after what he saw from the trio here in Nashville, Smecker knew they were ready for the next step.

"It's time we moved on," he continued. "We'll be leaving tonight." He looked at the window where light from the approaching dawn was beginning to filter through the thin curtains. "As soon as the sun goes down."

"Where're we headed?" Connor asked without shifting his focus from the Beretta 92FS in his hands.

"Hopefully north," Murphy mumbled, nudging his twin on the bed next to him. "This heat turns you into a miserable bastard."

"Fuck you."

"See?"

"Chicago," Smecker interrupted them, noticing the way Connor's hands faltered slightly before returning to their methodical rhythm.

"That's a big city," Connor remarked, his tone carefully indifferent.

Smecker shrugged. "We go where the bad guys are."

"Seattle has bad guys. Why can't we go to Seattle?" Murphy complained as he slammed a freshly loaded clip into his gun before setting it aside and picking up another. "It's cooler there and they have actual real rain."

"We aren't going after just any bad guy this time." Smecker let his statement linger.

Connor and Murphy both went still as they glanced up at him, their expressions a blend between curiosity and anticipation, although, Connor's eyes held a caution that his twin's seemed to lack.

Stubbing out his smoke, Smecker leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Mauricio Gael Herrera." He let the name roll off his lips, watching his audience carefully for their reactions.

Connor and Murphy's expression remained blank, but Edward's hands stilled over his disassembled weapon, his eyes snapping up to meet Smecker's.

"Are you shitting me?" he asked, his tone incredulous.

Connor shot a confused glance at Murphy who simply shrugged. "Who is he?"

Edwards huffed out a breath. "Only the leader of the most powerful drug cartel in Mexico."

"The Nogales Cartel," Smecker clarified. "One of the largest drug trafficking syndicates in the world. It's estimated that over the last twenty years, they're responsible for the import of nearly three hundred tons of cocaine, and half as much heroin to the U.S. alone. They have cells throughout Mexico and scattered across the United States in numerous major cities, specifically Los Angeles and Chicago."

Nudging Connor with his elbow, Murphy rubbed his hands together, looking like a child on Christmas morning. "Now that's what I'm fucking talking about!"

Connor didn't seem to share his twin's enthusiasm and he glared at Smecker through hard eyes. "Sounds like quite a job," was all he said.

Smecker stared right back, his gaze unwavering. "You're ready."

"You still think that after tonight?" Connor shook his head. "Murph and I may be ready, but the kid, he's got a way to go yet, I think."

"Ah Christ, Connor, would you give it a rest?" Murphy gave his twin a shove. "Stop being such a miserable ass. He made a mistake."

Connor pushed his brother back. "One mistake is all it fucking takes, Murphy. I need to know he's got his head in the fucking game."

"My head is right where it needs to be." Edwards said, his voice quiet.

Connor eyed his brother for a moment before shifting his gaze over to where Edwards sat, fiddling absent-mindedly with his weapon. The young man refused to look up and Connor suddenly felt like a piece of shit.

He knew he was acting like an asshole. It had been a long couple of weeks and the pressure to finish their work in this city had been weighing heavily on his shoulders. He was both exhausted and stressed to the max, a dangerous combination for him.

Rubbing a hand through his hair in irritation, Connor turned his attention back to Smecker who was watching him intently. "You really think this is the best course to take?"

"I do," Smecker insisted. "It won't be easy. I won't lie to you and tell you that it'll be a simple job. The Nogales Cartel is very powerful and Herrera wont be an easy man to get to, but I have faith in your skills and in your coordination as a group. I trust that you can get this done. You're ready." He glanced meaningfully at Edwards who was still staring down at the gun in his hand. "All of you."

Connor took a moment to consider Smecker's words before looking over at his twin. "Qu'en penses-tu? (what do you think?)" he asked, deftly switching to French so they could consult just the two of them.

Murphy shrugged. "Je pense que nous pouvons le faire, mais si vous voulez attendre je comprends. Assurez-vous juste que vous le faites pour la bonne raisons. (I think we can do this, but if you want to wait, I understand. Just make sure you're doing it for the right reasons.)" He gave his brother a pointed look.

Connor remained silent for a few more moments before finally speaking. "I need to see what you've got on this guy." he turned back pointing a finger at Smecker. "I won't sign us up for anything until I know every fucking detail. I want to know that we have all of our bases covered before we even think about taking a swing at him or his organization. This is big, there'll be no room for slip-ups or stupid mistakes."

"I'm aware," Smecker said shortly, his own irritation beginning to show. "I'll gather everything I have and we can start working through it once we're on the road."

"Fine." Connor gave a curt nod before setting his weapons aside and using a rag to wipe the gun oil from his hands. "I'm gonna go take a shower," he said, rising stiffly from the bed and making his way toward the tiny hotel bathroom.

Murphy watched as Connor did a limping shuffle across their small room, and for a moment he felt a twinge of doubt. His twin had never fully recovered from the stab wound dealt to him by Dawson and it was likely that he would walk with a slight hitch in his step for the rest of his life. Muscle damage, Edwards had guessed, possible nerve damage as well if the pain Connor was still experiencing was any indication. It didn't affect or slow him down much, but it continued to serve as an ugly reminder of the hardships they had faced back in New York. Things Murphy would rather forget.

They had come a long way since then, but maybe Connor was right. Maybe they weren't ready for a job of this magnitude. This Cartel boss sounded like a pretty big fish, or rather a shark, one of the giant white ones, much bigger than Dawson, and possibly even larger than Papa Joe. They'd never faced anything like this before, maybe Connor was right to be cautious.

"You know I wouldn't have put this on the table if I didn't think you were ready for it."

Smecker's voice cut through his doubts, causing Murphy to look over at him. "Aye." He nodded, dropping his own weapon to the bed and using the same rag Connor had to clean his hands. "Connor's right, though, we need to make sure we do it right. Have you put any thought into a strategy yet?"

"I've been thinking on this for quite some time now," he said cryptically. "Like I told Connor, we'll go over everything once we're on the road." He stood from his chair and headed for the door. "You all better get some rest. I'll be back at dusk and we'll head out. Be ready."

"Aye, g' night, Smecker." Murphy waited until the man slipped out, closing the door behind him, before glancing over to Edwards. The young man had yet to look up from his weapon, which he was expertly piecing back together, and Murphy watched him for a moment, his thumbnail finding it's way to his mouth as he studied him. "What do you think about all this, kid?" he eventually asked.

"Come on, Murphy, you and I both know it doesn't matter what I think." the hurt in his voice was barely disguised by the acid in his tone.

Murphy dropped his hand from his mouth and sat up straighter. "The fuck are you talking about? 'Course it does."

Edwards slid in the last piece of his now re-assembled Desert Eagle and set it aside, finally raising his head up to meet Murphy's gaze. He looked like he had something on the tip of his tongue, but after a quiet moment of consideration, he shook his head. "Sure, ok." he consented, his voice softer. "Let's say my opinion mattered," Murphy started to interrupt but Edwards didn't let him, "I would say that this job has me nervous. This is big, Murphy. Way bigger than anything we've done so far. The Nogales Cartel is huge. This won't just be one job. If we do this, we won't be fighting just one battle, we'll be charging into war."

Murphy regarded him quietly for a moment, the young man's words only reinforcing his own private doubts. "You think we shouldn't do it?"

Edwards sighed and ducked his head again, busying himself with repacking his duffle bag. "I think we're going to do whatever you and Connor decide. I'm with you regardless."

Murphy shook his head. "I know you are, but your opinion matters, kid. I'm not sure where you got the fucking idea in your head that it doesn't. Not only does it matter, but I respect it, I've come to rely on it."

"That makes one of you," The young man muttered as he slid freshly loaded clips into his bag.

"Christ, if this is about what Connor said tonight, I told you not to worry about it. He doesn't mean it. I can guarantee he's already beaten himself up over it. Just give him some time to decompress, he'll come around."

"Sure," Edwards responded, his tone clipped.

Murphy narrowed his eyes at the uncharacteristic attitude, but the bathroom door opened, breaking through the moment.

Connor could feel the tension as soon as he stepped out of the steam and he cocked an eyebrow at his brother. Murphy gave him a meaningful look before inclining his head toward Edwards who was ignoring them both as he worked on packing up his gear. Connor ruefully nodded his head, knowing what his brother was trying to say.

"I claim next shower," Murphy called, grabbing a clean set of clothes before heading for the bathroom, giving Connor a pat on the shoulder as he passed by.

Connor waited until he heard the water kick on before moving toward the bed, his fingers snagging the clean t-shirt he had sitting out. Pulling it over his shaggy, still dripping hair, he covered the array of old scars decorating his chest and abdomen before sinking down onto the bed. Edwards was still keeping himself busy and Connor palmed the cigarettes that were sitting on the comforter next to him. Pulling one out, he lit it up and leaned back lazily against the headboard, waiting for the young man to quit playing this avoidance game.

"You're not going to make this fucking easy on me, are you, kid?" he finally asked, breathing out the last drag of his cigarette as he twisted it in the ashtray on the nightstand.

"Not sure what you mean," Edwards mumbled, not looking up from where he was shoving clothes into a backpack.

Connor watched him for a second longer before huffing softly and shaking his head. "You're a shit liar, Josh."

At that, Edwards went still but he kept his head down, eyes focused on the bag in his hand.

Connor sighed, swinging his legs over the bed as he gained his feet. "Look, I'm sorry, alright?" he said, crossing the small space and picking a black sweatshirt up off the floor that he knew belonged to the young man. He took the backpack out of Edwards' hands, stuffing the sweatshirt inside before dropping the bag onto the couch. "I know I'm a bastard, but you have to understand my concern. A mistake like tonight could've ended everything. I need to know that you've got it together up here." He tapped his temple. "I need to know that you're focused."

"I told you, I'm good," Edwards said quietly. "I don't know what happened tonight. I've gone over it again and again in my head and I can't figure out where those other two came from. It doesn't make sense and I have no explanation or excuses. But I'm here and I'm as focused as I've ever been. If you can't trust that, then trust the hundreds of other times I've had your back over the last eight months."

Connor could detect the hurt in the young man's voice and he felt another pang of remorse. He knew he could be a hard ass. He didn't mean it most of the time, it was just how his mind handled the stress. Unfortunately, stress had been nipping at his heels for the last two weeks, and his fuse had burned down to nothing.

"I do trust you, kid," he said tiredly. "We all make mistakes, just promise me you'll be more careful next time, aye? If we go through with this job that Smecker has planned, we'll need to be at our best."

Edwards nodded, and Connor patted him on the shoulder as he walked back over to the bed, collapsing stomach first onto the sagging mattress. He had almost drifted off to sleep when Edwards' voice gently pulled him back.

"Connor?"

"Hmmm?"

"Are we really considering doing this job?"

Connor sighed but stayed where he was. "We'll hear Smecker out and go from there. Get some sleep now, kid. We're back on the road tomorrow."