Category: Angst / Adventure / Romance

Pairing: Hector / Steph / Lester

Rating: R to NC 17 (MA - LSV)

Summary: Just who IS Hector?

Disclaimer: Miss Evanovich owns them, I just play with them. (and they like it)

Warning!! Nothing really worrisome in this one but some language and a vague inference of wanting someone.

Author's Note: Glad everyone's enjoying. Thanks for the awesome reviews! They keep Hector happy, and me writing. Chapters may slow down to one every other day this week.. Blame my DH, he bought a Wii. Me & Hector are gonna go jam out to Guitar Hero. ;-

The song for the next chapter or so is: Linkin Park - What I've Done

Breaking The Habit

4

I couldn't think of a better way to relate my story, so I simply retold the memories that had resurfaced as I lay here with them earlier. My eyes flitting back and forth between their faces as I explained how Ranger had found me in that bar. Steph's eyes lit with mischief when she realized I'd been Ranger's FTA. I tried to enjoy it while it was there, that mischief and innocence wouldn't last for too much of my history.

Lester laid at her back, looking calm, he already knew this part of the story. He was there in the bar that night, gun trained on one of my friends, ready to end their life if they made the wrong move.

Even then he wouldn't have shot to kill unless he felt there was a real threat. He'd told me so himself nearly a year ago, but that's a different story.

Lester was much the same person now as he had been back then. He was a good man. He also carried one trait a lot of other Rangemen could relate to. Myself included. He was a man of many masks. Lester's public face was the sexy playboy, but there was a lot more to the him then just that façade. I knew he was a college graduate, who went on to join the SEAL's before Rangeman, and was damn good at what he did. That's it. No details. Even as well as I did know him, that's all I knew of his past and it had taken years to learn even that. The real Lester was just as silent and withdrawn as I was.

The mischief in Stephanie's eyes turned to an outright laugh at my description of the greasy weasel who'd bonded me out. I guess that meant she wasn't offended by the familial disgrace.

Her laughter died quickly as the bullets started flying. Steph's just like that, she doesn't like her friends getting shot at. Even now, years after the incident, you can see worry etched in her features. Worry over a man she hadn't even known at the time. Nothing could possibly outshine this woman's soul.

I stopped for a breath in the same place my mind had left off earlier. Rolling my shoulders to release some of the tension before continuing on with my story. Knowing that this was where Steph would really start to find out just what I'd been involved in when Ranger found me.

"What did Ranger want? He always wants something." Steph's voice was quiet, barely making it to my ears before the silent darkness of the room swallowed it up. I liked the honesty of that statement. Everyone in this room knew that for the most part, it was deadly accurate. Except where she was concerned. Even those of us who hadn't known Ranger that long saw the differences in his attitude towards his Babe.

I held a finger to her lips to shush her before Question Girl took over. A ghost of a smile floating over me before I continued.

OoOoOoOoO

I couldn't decide that day whether Ranger was offering to save me from my fellow Latin Kings who had turned on me during my brief stay in Trenton's lockup, or if he was trying to tell me I wouldn't be around very long if I didn't cooperate. I was willing to bet that either one was a feasible possibility.

I'd heard stories about the great Ranger Manoso. Stories from guys who'd come through from Boston or Miami. Stories about how him and his Hombres were making it rough for the gangs to make a living. Stories that tumbled down from gang member to gang member, both inside prison walls and out, all up and down the East Coast. He wasn't someone I could just ignore if I didn't want to wind up sucking air through a straw.

I found myself following his lead. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. I climbed up into the passenger side of his truck as he yelled to the cops emerging from the station that he had everything under control. I marveled when they actually listened to him, turning and marching back into the station like so many ants. What did this man have that allowed him to have this much control over Trenton? What was I getting myself into?

He slipped into the truck beside me and we drove a quiet, tense ten minutes across town before he pulled into an underground garage. The Haywood offices have changed a bit since then, things were still being settled in and the imposing air that seems to leak from the building wasn't quite fully formed yet.

The comm. room wasn't as well equipped, but there were still more then half a dozen men hovering around monitors, talking cases, filling out reports. It was always a hive of activity, even before the cubicles were added and the offices fully outfitted. It was sort of the common room before it was the communications room.

Ranger led me past a cluster of his men to the bare bones of a conference room. Bobby, Lester and Tank were already there, huddled around one end of the table with sheaves of papers spread out in front of them.

I'd spent a lot of years hanging out with some scary street thugs, but being alone in a room with those four men was the first thing since I was sixteen that made me want to pray for protection. Aside from taking them on with my bare hands, I had no way to defend myself against these men if they decided they didn't need me. I had to be realistic, there was no way I could win against these four men. If I couldn't give them what they wanted, I was fucked.

Ranger directed me into a seat across the big table from the Hombres, taking the seat at the head himself.

As he introduced me to the men around the table I took my time taking in each of their appearances. Appearances can tell you a lot about a person, even if they are often deceiving, once you learn how to read people the little tricks don't always work.

From left to right, the three of them were an imposing wall of muscle.

Tank, the giant black refrigerator box from the club. He was an interesting comparison in planes and angles. His name was fitting for his ridiculous proportions, you probably could have fit two of me inside him. His skin and eyes were both a rich coffee color, a dark brown, nearly black, the color unbroken by hair anywhere on his visible body. The whites of his eyes stood out starkly, and I could imagine if he'd ever smiled in his life someone had seen a spectacular light-show. He held himself with the same bearing as Ranger, probably the same training. I wonder. If the movable mountain had the same training, then why did he defer to the obviously smaller, and less physically imposing man?

Lester was next. They looked like a peanut butter filled Oreo sitting there. And I couldn't exactly deny, even then, wanting to lick the filling out of that cookie. I might have even been willing to nibble on the cookies a time or two since.

Les hasn't changed much. He sat there in his golden perfection, his hair was such a dark blonde it bordered on brown, hanging much lower then it does now. He'd been forced to cut off a good chunk of it after a skip got him tangled up in some cuffs. He was the amusement before Steph came along. He's kept it shoulder length or above out of practicality since. From the moment I looked at Lester's face, his eyes sucked me in. Such an honestly Emerald shade of green with the lightest flecks around the iris, bordered in lashes that were so long they were nearly feminine. I found myself wondering if maybe Lester wasn't straight as an arrow. He was in good shape, had the same aura of danger as the others, but he seemed slightly softer around the edges, more laid back. Not only did he carry himself in a more relaxed manner, but he played up the asexuality of his features with the long hair. I would have bet money back then that Lester swung both ways, but it was quite awhile before that question would be answered. I also didn't think he had the same training as the other three, not unequal, just different. Lester was Intriguing.

On the far right was Bobby. Same dark chocolate skin as Tank, but the eyes were worlds different. A bright Amber color with shots of yellow. Black cornrows disappeared behind his head, tiny black rubber bands sticking off the ends at his collar. Someone took a lot of time and care to do that for him, even matched it to his work clothes. His face was very tense, but very blank. Fierce, almost calculating features. If he focused on me any harder, there was a good chance I might burst into flames. The only thing this guy was giving away, was that I was not trusted. That was ok. I wasn't exactly feeling inclined to trust them much at this point either.

Lester was the first one to speak after Ranger had told me their names.

"So who is he?" His question had been directed at Ranger, and there was a certain measure of hostility behind it. I guess Ranger didn't often leave his Hombres in the dark. Now maybe we'd all get to find out why I was here.

"Show them." He glanced down at my right forearm and I felt myself freeze all over.

He Knew! Shit! The Devil you know, or The Devil you don't? Obviously what I had to go back to wasn't going to get me far, may as well go all in now.

I slid my jacket slowly off my shoulders, letting it pool behind me on the chair. Slowly, I slid up the right cuff of the white thermal shirt I'd put on under my t-shirt three days ago.

Three days. Three days since I'd last known something stable enough to shower and put on clean clothes. It had been so many years since I'd had to do that.

When the cuff of my shirt was as high up as it was going to go, bunched up under my bicep, I turned my arm over on the table, bearing the inside of my forearm to the men across from me.

Staring back at them was my badge and ranking in The Pantera Tribe of The Almighty Nation of Latin Kings & Queens. A three inch long, highly detailed tattoo of a golden, five pointed crown spanned the width of my forearm. A black jewel inset in each of the five points, designating me as Fifth Crown in my local tribe. The initials P.T, for Pantera Tribe, in bold script across the brim of the crown. Below it, in a thick flowing script, was the name Koa, the middle name given to me by my mother, meaning 'Warrior' in her native tongue. She'd never intended for it to one day become my street name in a gang, never intended for it to be the name of 'The Banker,' who used his blades to be certain no one was late with their protection money.

The Pantera's Collection Agent.

OoO To be continued OoO