Hidden Rocco (Hidden Alphas Book 5) Read online

  Hidden Rocco

  Victoria Pinder

  Contents

  Series information

  Join Victoria Pinder

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Also by Victoria Pinder

  About the Author

  This book is dedicated to my friend Helen Hardt who was an amazing inspiration from my time I lived in Denver. I will forever think of you as the most successful president ever and I’m grateful to learn from you.

  Please check out the Hidden Alphas Series and get caught up.

  Hidden Alphas

  Hidden Gabriel

  Hidden Raphael

  Hidden Michael

  Hidden Dane

  Hidden Rocco

  Hidden Alphas Boxed Set

  And don’t forget to pick up Returning for Valentine’s (FREE if you go to my website)

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  Chapter 1

  The tunnel just underneath the prison smelled like the sewer, though it was meant for water disposal in case of flooding. The walls glistened with slime.

  Rocco Hellsworth was sure that even if they managed this escape as planned, the stench would be in his bones.

  He glanced behind him.

  Bear, his cellmate, easily carried the plastic garbage bag with clothes they’d acquired months ago and stashed for their escape. He was built like a wrestler on TV, and just as strong.

  Sweat beaded on his brow as they scrambled, half-hunched, on the slick floor toward the end of the sewer line.

  Freedom. Once Rocco cleared the prison, he would find his mother and convince her to take care of her health.

  Cancer could be treated, but she'd refused because she thought she had nothing left; two dead sons and one falsely imprisoned, unable to help.

  Years of the straight and narrow life hadn’t changed anything when he'd been accused of robbery. He'd taken the rap for his brother, Roger, who had ended up six feet under anyhow, along with their other brother, Harry.

  Rocco used his butter knife to open the metal screws of the sewer from below.

  His forearms flexed, his lean muscles hard from prison labor, and before that, his life as a Marine. He and Bear yanked backward together.

  A grunt escaped his lips as the screech of the old metal gave way. Fresh night air from outside wafted into his nostrils.

  Freedom smelled sweeter than sewage.

  He swallowed, afraid to hope, as he slapped his cellmate on the back. “Bear, the second we're out, goodbye.”

  Bear gave him a mock salute. “Rock, you’ll never see me again.”

  He hoped that was true, and this was the end of their journey. Bear, in jail for armed robbery, wasn’t a good man--but there’d been zero way out without bringing his roommate.

  Rocco’s new mission would be to show his mother she had reason to get help. He stripped off his prison shirt. “Give me my clothes.”

  They each tossed their uniforms in the tunnel, and Bear ripped into the plastic bag. The bigger clothes went to Bear.

  Rocco’s lean body meant his stolen clothes sagged, but Bear grunted as he pulled his on and said, “My jeans are tight.”

  They fit, and that was all that mattered. Rocco peered out of the manhole cover that he’d half propped to the side and gazed up and down the road.

  No police cars. No alarms. Just black tar, parked cars and street lights. His muscles tightened. “Tight is better than orange.”

  “True enough.” Bear glanced out beside him. Any second, police might arrive and he and Bear had to part ways.

  He’d never see, hear, smell, or listen to Bear, ever again.No one would swear at him in the middle of the night for no reason.

  Most importantly, he’d see his mother.

  He pushed open the cap all the way and climbed onto the wet pavement.

  It must have rained.

  He reached down to help Bear, as he’d helped out his team when on a mission—Rocco wouldn’t leave any man behind.

  Bear took his hand despite the fact he was a hundred pounds heavier and Rocco steadied him on the quiet road.

  He wiped his hands clean, wishing he could ditch the sewer smell, and checked the side street. He’d chosen this spot after researching the original sewer designs, as it was two blocks away from the prison, with lots of houses to cover their escape. The homes behind fences all had their lights out as he and Bear silently put the lid back on.

  He shook his escape partner’s hand.

  “Don’t walk. Run,” Bear said. Truer words hadn’t been so obvious. Two years as cellmates, finished. “Good luck, Rock.”

  “You too,” Rocco said, while Bear mock-saluted him for a final time before darting off into the dark shadows.

  Rocco headed toward the main street with his hands in his pockets as his stolen sneakers squeaked.

  Bear claimed that this was the part of Rocco's plan that became stupid, but Rocco’s brain was sharp.

  If he thought like a police officer or prison guard, they would assume escaped men would run like rats into the shadows.

  Rocco’s deceased brothers would have planned a scatter, so he did the opposite.

  Sirens pierced the air and Rocco’s mind became hyperaware.

  Maybe this would be a mistake and he'd get a one-way ticket back to spend the next twenty years inside the barb-wired prison.

  Rocco imagined his mother’s joyful face when she opened the door to find him there, which made the risk worthwhile. He held out his hand and hailed a passing gray sedan with decals in the side window.

  The vehicle with Utah license plates stopped, but he wasn’t sure how he’d pay. He didn’t have a phone or a checking account and his little bit of cash wouldn’t get him far.

  Police zoomed down the street and for one second he stood, frozen, in the shadow of the closed main street pharmacy.

  But the police cruiser continued down the street, right past him.

  Rocco cleared his throat. “Are you taking passengers, sir?”

  The man’s eyes widened and he pointed to the signs. “This is an Uber or a Lyft, for whatever app you use to call it in.”

  App. On the television shows he’d seen that meant something on phones. Rocco politely and quietly said, “I lost my phone, sir.”

  The man tapped his steering wheel. “Tell you what, give me fifty bucks and I’ll take you wherever you want.”

  Fifty might as well be five thousand as it was currently impossible.

  Rocco smiled. “Thanks anyhow. It’s a good offer but I only have twenty in cash.”

  Two more police cars headed toward him.

  Rocco’s body tightened and his mind screamed for him to run.

  He remained by the gray sedan as the driver said, “I take electronic transfers.”

  Flashing blue and red sirens raced past them.

  The lack of a phone or an account wasn’t going to stop him now. Rocco’s heart beat fast but he met the man's gaze
with a tired smile. “I don’t have my phone or wallet. It’s been a rough day, sir.”

  The man’s expression eased. He unlocked his doors and pointed to the back. “You look worn out. I’ll take you to the bus station, it’s on my route, and you can make your way from there.”

  This must be his grandmother in heaven shining a light on him.

  Soon he’d get to his mother, somehow. He opened the back door. “Thanks, man.”

  Another police car zoomed past and his entire body tightened. He needed to get to Miami and convince his mother her health was important and if he looked her in the eye, she’d keep her word. He knew her.

  The driver signaled with his lights that he was going onto the street. “Seems like the police are out in force tonight.”

  The kind stranger had no idea. At all. All of this was because of him. Adrenaline rushed in his veins but he met the polite stare of the man helping him and said, “They’re just doing their job. Probably going to break up a local bar brawl.”

  In the mirror, Rocco noticed that the man’s brow furrowed. “Well, they’re going in the other direction, if it’s the bar I’m thinking of—I don’t drive that street for a reason.”

  Rocco nodded but didn’t say anything else that might give him away.

  The man pulled over two minutes later near the bus station.

  He hadn’t had to risk walking in the open at all. The driver rolled down his window. Rocco stepped out and said, “Have a nice night.”

  Should he ask the man’s name? If he was polite, he would exchange information. Rocco patted him on the shoulder and hoped he didn’t smell like the garbage he'd waded through. He quickly lifted his hand. “Thanks again, sir.”

  The man waved before driving off and Rocco checked all the doors to the bus station visually.

  Six entrances and exits with no one going in our out.

  Inside the door, he saw long benches, ticket counters and overhead display TVs.

  No police in sight. He headed in, and made his way toward the counters on the far end, passing the food court.

  The food court had a burger place, a coffee counter with the longest line, a fried food vendor, and a pretzel shop.

  The smell of the oil for the burgers was the strongest.

  The white florescent lights meant there were no shadows anywhere as families grouped together in the coffee and food lines. The lights were so bright they almost blinded his retinas.

  Prison never shone with this many watts.

  Rocco approached the section for ticket sales where the sellers sat behind windows with gold bars like a bank teller.

  He sauntered toward an older man with a white moustache, reaching into his pocket that held every penny he’d socked away when money wasn’t a normal form of compensation in prison.

  Rocco had dreamed of escape for two years of his five-year sentence, but the dream turned into a plan of action once his mother had sent him a letter saying that she was dying. Roger’s death a few months back, then Harry’s, who’d followed their brother right to his grave, had her reeling.

  No letter he could write would convince Mary Hellsworth to change her mind.

  Nothing would, except for her to see him, in person.

  Rocco had always been the good son, her reason to live, until Roger robbed that bank in Vegas and set Rocco up to take the rap.

  Rocco ignored how his stomach was in knots at being out in public again when for years he’d been secluded and smiled at the older man with wrinkles and astute brown eyes. “One ticket please.”

  “You look awful.” The man’s nose twitched.

  Rocco lowered his body and leaned against the counter as he searched for a fast answer. “I had my phone and wallet stolen.”

  The sharp gaze softened and the old man scooted his chair forward. “That’s too bad, son.” He counted blank white tickets and put them back in a pile. “So, where to?”

  Good question. Rocco hadn’t planned on answering so many questions. He’d planned a walk to the bus station, and here he was. He’d been friendly in his previous life. “What’s your name, sir?”

  “Doug,” the old man replied with a nod.

  The announcer said Bus 782 to Tucson was departing in two minutes. People headed in from the terminal and right toward the six front doors. Rocco’s ears heard every footstep like they echoed, and he turned to see two officers walking together into the station.

  His pulse quickened. “Doug, I need to start over. Where does the next bus go?”

  “Denver,” Doug said. “It’s a nice place to start over.”

  “I’ll take your advice then.” Rocco kept his head down, and hopefully unnoticed as he continued, “I’ve always wanted to see the Mile High City.”

  “That will be one hundred and twenty dollars,” Doug said.

  That price tag was out of his budget. Prison didn’t work on a cash system. His muscles flexed, prepared to fight his way out of the station as the officers came closer. “How far will twenty bucks get me?”

  The older man let out a sigh and asked, “That’s all you got?”

  Rocco had intended to walk and hide and work whatever odd job he could to continue this journey. So far he’d ridden on luck so he kept up his story. “Until I get to my bank, sir.”

  Doug printed something under the counter. “Most people aren’t as polite as you. You sound like you were in the military.”

  Rocco stared at Doug and swore he saw a halo about the man’s head, which was impossible. Angels didn’t exist in the real world. “Marines. Ten years, sir.”

  The man reached beneath the counter. Rocco froze, half afraid he’d sounded the alarm, but then Doug handed over a small white receipt. “I could tell. Look, we have a military discount. Have fun in Denver and good luck with starting over.”

  Moisture formed in his eyes when he never cried. Doug politely ignored him as Rocco blinked away his tears. He tried to give his small amount of cash to Doug as he said, “Here-”

  “No, you keep that.” Doug shoved it back. “This is the least we can do for a Marine and your service.”

  That had been years ago. Rocco composed himself as the police officers in the corner laughed with each other. Rocco’s spine tingled but he pocketed his money and ticket while he said, “Thank you, sir. I’ll repay you when I can.”

  Doug laughed. “Well, if you were a bad guy, half the town is also former military so we’d shoot you straight between the eyes without blinking.”

  Rocco’s adrenaline spiked but he nodded, “I understand, sir, and thank you.”

  Without another word, Rocco kept his head down but walked briskly out the back door, away from the officers, and toward the endless lines of buses.

  The smell of diesel was almost sweet.

  He checked his ticket and continued toward Bus 24, Denver bound. Rocco climbed on. Some seats were filled, and half of those passengers wore shifty expressions, something he was familiar with from prison.

  He spoke to no one and took a seat in an empty row.

  No one dared to join him.

  After a few minutes, the bus driver honked and pulled out of the station.

  As they headed onto the highway, Rocco’s mind raced at his good fortune. He’d expected to hide in bushes during the day and go through a battlefield until he made it to Miami.

  And his mother.

  Denver was north and west instead of east and south, but it was far from the prison. He could get a few odd jobs in the city, earn money, change his appearance, and buy a faster ticket home.

  The view from the bus on the highway was brown on brown with the occasional cluster of pine trees and until the scene changed to more trees and the distant mountains. His mind reeled. Now what? He couldn’t call or get in touch with his mother to let her know he was on his way. The cops would keep her under constant surveillance.

  He watched everyone from his seat and didn’t move a muscle. Perhaps he’d find a different way to reach his mother. Talking alone wouldn’t
convince her to help herself.

  Hours passed and up ahead he saw a sign for Colorado. He was almost out of Utah. Good.

  Cars slowed at the state border, then stopped in a line.

  His heart raced as the bus driver announced on the intercom, “The police are doing a car search. Seems there was a prison break and they are checking IDs.”

  They knew.

  The entire busload of people groaned like they were annoyed. Rocco saw the blue lights and his mind blurred—he had to disappear. But where? He ignored his instinct to hide and walked over to the driver. “How often does this happen on the bus, sir?”

  “More than you think. They always find a reason to search. It’s usually the police or ICE these days.” The driver let the sentence sit in the air, then added,

  “So, we’ll be here a while as the police will check everyone.”

  He wouldn’t go back to prison.

  If his mother agreed, the two of them would head to Costa Rica. He had contacts and could get a fake ID. She could join a retirement community of ex-pats there. In prison, he’d read about the American lifestyle that his mother might like.

  Suddenly the bus lurched forward and the driver said, “They’re waving us through.”

  Again it was like he was blessed. His life was not normally this good. They neared the police officers and the bus driver slowed and opened the door to call out, “What happened?”

  Rocco expected to be arrested or shot at. The officer stared right at him.

  The second officer gestured them forward. “We’ve found the escapees.”

  Bear. They must have caught his roommate, not that he knew for sure. Escapees was plural and Bear and he separated.

  Rocco had only involved him in the escape because it had been impossible to plan and dig without his cellmate seeing.