by Tate James
She pursed her ruby-red lips at me but gave a short nod. "Not next week," she told me, tapping her long fingernail on her chin. "You have the main event fight at Anarchy. It'll have to be the week after."
I sighed. "So be it. I'll deal with my insufferable second over the bet."
Maxine smirked. "I'm sure he won't mind waiting. It'll give you more time to perfect that lay back on the pole. You still look all stiff and awkward instead of effortless and sensual."
I gave her a hard look, and she just fluttered her lashes back at me. Having worked for me for close to three years, she was getting a good read on what lines she could safely push, and I respected her intelligence for paying that much attention.
"Careful, Maxine," I teased back, "I might get a taste for this and steal your headline slot."
She gave a mock wail and pouted. "Please don't. You're already set to triple my best tip night on a fucking bet performance. Her gaze ran down my body in my activewear. "With those tits, that ass, and your perfect, sexy killer face? Ugh, you'd have me unemployed in no time."
I snickered briefly. "Lucky the boss likes you, then. And this is a one-time show."
She shrugged. "Unless you go losing any more bets with Zed. I have to admit I'm glad it was you who lost. I wouldn't be able to keep a straight face trying to show him how to do body rolls."
Well. There was a mental image I’d never known I needed and now couldn't get out of my brain.
Gathering up my things, I left the empty club and stepped out into the parking lot with my phone in hand, dialing Dallas. He didn't answer my call, so I sent a text as I slid into the Audi.
Hades: Check if Wenton Dibbs is back in the country. I have a feeling he is.
Because I seriously doubted these strings were being pulled from overseas right now. Nah, this was all a part of his grand sabotage plan; he'd be on the ground here somewhere, watching and waiting. He was trying to push me into making a rash move, but he was underestimating my patience.
Dallas didn't reply until I was already back at Zed's house, and I paused halfway through changing my outfit to read what he'd sent.
Dallas: Done. You're right. Landed late last night at a private airstrip outside Cloudcroft.
Dallas: Got a positive ID off the airstrip security camera. It's Wenton Dibbs.
Surprise rippled through me, and I stood for several moments staring down at his text before replying to him.
Hades: How positive?
Dallas: There's always a margin for error, but three different programs gave a positive match to Wenton Dibbs. I'll send the image over.
I held my breath, waiting for the freeze-frame image to come through on the message, and Lucas appeared in my doorway.
"Is everything okay, Hayden?" he asked, his face filled with concern. He'd been to see his mom while I was at my dance lesson, and his eyes were tight with exhaustion.
"Yeah," I replied, nodding. "Yeah, just... Dallas managed to finally get a CCTV image of Wenton."
Lucas's brows rose, and he came further into the room. "He did? That's good news, right?"
I blew out a breath, tapping my phone on my palm. "Yeah, I guess so. I just..." I trailed off, not wanting to voice my vulnerable thoughts out loud.
He wrapped his arms around my waist, holding me in the safe circle of his arms and letting me rest my face on his chest. But then I remembered the dark, healing scar of his brand was right in front of my nose—hidden by just a thin layer of T-shirt fabric—and it lit me up with confusion all over again.
"I don't get it, Lucas," I muttered, wrapping my own arms around his waist and holding him tighter. Guilt washed through me again as I thought about how close I'd come to losing him before I'd even realized how much I cared. "Why would Wenton be on a vendetta like this? Why impersonate Chase to fuck with my head?"
Lucas didn't answer immediately, then gave a sigh. "I can't even start to speculate." He pulled back slightly and cupped my face with his hand. "The human mind is a fucked up thing, babe."
There was an edge of distress in his gaze and a bitterness to his voice that made me frown. "Hey, what happened with your mom? You seem upset."
He gave a small headshake. "It's not important. She was just having a bad day, I think. The MS is messing with her memory and making her think I'm my uncle. He was her older brother, and I think they were pretty close when they were kids."
I reached up and stroked my fingers through his hair, wanting to comfort him but knowing full fucking well that didn't come naturally to me. "What does she say when she thinks you're him?"
Lucas gave a headshake. "Just... nonsense. Shit that makes zero sense at all. I keep trying to ask her about Jack being in the Guild, but it never goes well. She just… yells accusations at me—him—that she won’t let him anywhere near her babies anymore." He gave a frustrated sigh. "I don't know. It sounds totally insane... but if I was an outsider listening in? It sounds like my uncle Jack did something to hurt me when I was a kid."
I bit my lip, my heart hurting for him. That was a lot like what it sounded. I was almost positive Sandra knew her brother was in the Guild, too.
"But then she was going on about hurting her babies. Plural. And I was an only child, so... I have no idea. Maybe there's something else going on with her. The clinic asked if they could run some more tests and make sure they didn't miss anything in her original diagnosis." He sounded so resigned to it all. And so guilt-ridden.
"Lucas, you can't accept responsibility for your mom's medical condition," I told him gently. "Life just dealt her a crappy hand. That's not on you."
My phone buzzed and I pulled back from Lucas's embrace with an apologetic look. "Sorry, it's..." I clicked into the message and opened the still image Dallas had sent. "It's... Wenton." It really was, too. Dallas had also included some files he'd managed to dig up on Wenton Dibbs, and I clicked into those as I sank down onto the edge of the bed.
"What is it?" Lucas asked, sitting down beside me and keeping one hand on my waist like a physical sign of support. "Medical records?"
"Yeah," I replied, scanning over the documents. "How the fuck Dallas accessed these, I have no idea. But it explains a lot... I think? It sounds like Wenton suffered some serious abuse as a kid—no real shock, knowing the Lockharts—but since then has been in and out of psychiatric care with delusions that he was actually his dead cousin, Chase Lockhart."
"Shit," Lucas breathed. "That's... intense. Zed's downstairs; want me to grab him?"
I stood up, my mind whirling as I tossed my phone onto the bed. I was only half-dressed in my yoga pants and bra, and if I was going to go kill a ghost from my past, I needed to look the part.
Without answering Lucas—because my attention was already a million miles away—I went over to my closet and started hunting for the right outfit to confront my tormentor in. To deal with the man who had taken on Chase's identity and grudges and made them his own. Whatever psychological trauma had caused Wenton to follow this path, he'd done the damage. It was on me now to end it and exact retribution for the offenses he'd caused.
Lucas said something else, but I wasn't listening, and a moment later he left my room.
I dressed carefully, selecting a pair of second-skin leather pants and a bra-top that consisted of two dozen straps and buckles. My hair went into a tight braid, and my makeup was heavy on the eyeliner and scarlet lips.
Zed stomped into my room as I sat on the end of the bed to lace up my thigh-high boots and jerked to a stop when he locked eyes with me. Then his gaze ran over me with so much intensity I could almost feel it as a physical caress.
"You look like you're dressed for murder tonight, boss," he commented, keeping his tone casual as he watched me meticulously lace up my second boot. I needed them tight because I hated the feeling of thigh-high boots slipping down and scrunching.
"You know me so well, Zed," I replied, calm as the eye of a storm. "I take it Lucas filled you in."
Zed jerked a nod. "He did. Wenton Dibbs."<
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"Wenton Dibbs," I repeated back. I didn't want to dwell on what this meant for me... for my memory. Because now I was starting to second-guess a lot of things I'd classified as fact. If Chase could make Wenton's death feel so real, what else had he fooled me on?
"I'm coming with you," Zed announced. "Don't fucking leave without me."
I finished my boot and stood up. "No, I need you here."
He froze in the doorway. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me. I'm going alone, and you're staying here with Lucas in case Wenton sees me coming and tries to grab him again." I jerked my chin up, my gaze hard as I dared him to disobey me. This wasn't about us though. This was business, and Wenton had fucked with my business one too many times. Or... that's what I was trying to convince myself.
Zed stared at me for a long moment, neither of us blinking. Then he closed the space between us and grabbed my face with a rough grip. "Stop it," he snapped. "Just fucking stop. After everything we've been through together, you seriously think I'm going to sit on the sidelines and babysit your fucking boy toy while you put your life on the line again? No. Hell no. Don't even think about pushing this issue, Dare, or I swear I'll knock you out and handcuff you to my bed until you wake the fuck up and see that you're not alone. You've never been alone."
I held his intense gaze, my expression hard and unyielding despite the way he gripped my face like a rough lover. I eventually blinked and gave a small nod. "Good. I hoped you'd say that. Go arm up; I want this fucker dead before close of business."
The tension radiating through Zed flooded out, his shoulders dropping and his fingers releasing my chin. "Thank fuck." Then he grabbed my braid and crushed his lips to mine for one of the hottest goddamn kisses of my life. "Don't test me like that again, Dare. I won't hold back next time."
He kissed me again, making my heart pound against my ribs and my breath catch, then released me to race out of the room.
In his absence, I raised a shaking hand to my lips, tasting his kiss still there.
"Get Lucas a vest and a gun!" I shouted, my voice full of steel that my body wasn't sharing in that moment. "We're not taking chances."
This ended now. Wenton Dibbs was a dead man.
35
Cold determination coursed through my veins as I stalked through the front entrance of Locked Heart Enterprises. The metal detectors screamed, and a security guard tried to stand in our way. His hand had barely even brushed the Taser on his belt when Zed disarmed him. By the time the elevator doors slid open, the guard was handcuffed to a chair with his own cuffs and had a gag over his mouth.
Lucas stuck close to my side as I stepped into the elevator and stabbed at the button for the thirty-second floor.
"Cass is on his way," Lucas told me, checking his phone as I stood there watching the display tick off each floor level. "He wanted us to wait for him."
"Not our fault he wasn't around when we left Shadow Grove," Zed commented as he checked his gun and tightened a strap on the knife holster strapped to his thigh.
"This is nothing we can't handle without him," I murmured, my eyes locked on the floor display. We were almost there. "I don't care how many delusions of grandeur Wenton has had in recent years, he's still no match for us."
Of that I was confident. If it were Chase himself, it'd be a very different matter. But Wenton... nah. It explained why he'd been taking potshots at me from a distance; he knew he wouldn't stand a fucking chance if he came at me head on.
The elevator dinged a cheery sound to announce we'd arrived, and I drew a deep breath as the doors opened and I raised my gun. But there was no one in the reception area for Locked Heart Enterprises. The lights were off and the desk sat totally vacant; not even a computer was set up.
Unease rippled through me as I cautiously made my way to the main office floor, only to find it equally as empty. It was midafternoon on a Friday; there was no way this office should be empty. Hell, the desks didn't even look like they'd ever been used. Blank, lifeless monitors were set up on each one with identical swivel chairs neatly in place, but otherwise there was absolutely no evidence that this office was in use.
"What the fuck?" Lucas whispered, his eyes darting all around and his gun at his side.
"Stay alert, Gumdrop," Zed snapped. "This could be a trap."
"It is a trap," I murmured back. But I didn't turn and run. This wasn't the sort of trap that would end in my death. Wenton had put too much effort into playing with me to end it so soon. I wasn't anywhere near scared enough yet to die.
I continued further into the vacant office, but Lucas grabbed my arm to stop me before I could get far.
"Hayden, if it's a trap, then we should go." His eyes radiated concern, and even Zed hitched his brows like he wanted to agree with Lucas.
Fuck that. I didn't come this far to tuck tail and run at the first sign of danger. Reckless? Yes. But what a boring fucking life I'd be leading if I always took the safe path. Besides, I was no amateur with delusions of heroism. I knew my skills and my limitations. I wouldn't have come this far if I weren't confident I could handle whatever nasty tricks Wenton had up his sleeve for me.
I shot Lucas a reassuring wink. "Just stay alert, Wilder. We got this."
He reluctantly released my arm but didn't try to argue anymore as I led the way through the empty office, gun at the ready. A short corridor gave access to some closed offices, but the one at the end was my focus. It was the only office with the door open, and from where I stood, I could already see someone sitting at the desk, just the top of a head above the high-backed chair. I trained my gun on that swatch of hair.
After stepping through the door, I swiftly moved aside so Zed could sweep for any potential threats. But there were none. No armed thugs hiding behind the door, ready to shoot us on sight. No trip wires rigged to explosives either. That I could see, anyway.
"Sorry I didn't make an appointment," I said aloud, returning my gun to the bit of Wenton's head that I could see. "I figured you'd be expecting me sooner or later."
He gave a low, amused laugh that sent a ripple of dread rolling through my body. As he laughed, he spun his chair around, and my heart shuddered to a complete stop inside my chest.
"You always knew me so well, Darling," he replied with a sly grin, linking his fingers on the desktop as he sat forward. "We really are so evenly matched."
My gun waivered as my palms turned slick with sweat, and a tiny quiver shook my knees. "Chase," I croaked.
His smile pulled wider. "In the flesh, Darling girl. You should have double-tapped, then followed up with a chest shot." He clicked his tongue in reprimand, pointing a finger at his scarred forehead and the leather eye patch covering his left eye.
He was right. I knew better than to fire one shot and expect it to have done the job. We'd always been taught to fire at least three bullets to ensure our target was dead, not just badly injured.
The tense silence hanging between us was abruptly broken as several ceiling panels dropped with a crash and a half-dozen heavily armed men surrounded us in a flash. But their guns weren't on me. They were on Zed and Lucas. Not even Zed could shoot his way out when he was that outgunned in such a small space.
"Gentlemen, please escort my fiancée's friends back downstairs. I'd like to speak with her alone." Chase delivered his order with all the casual nonchalance of ordering a turkey club sandwich for lunch.
I already sensed Zed coiled, ready to fight to the death, so I wrenched my gaze away from Chase to nod at my second. "Go," I told him, flicking my eyes over Lucas to include him in my order. "Now."
Zed's lips parted, the defiance clear on his face, and I hardened my glare to silently communicate just how badly he was not to undermine me right now. He got the message—he always did. But that didn't mean he liked it.
His nostrils flared with anger and his jaw ticked with tension, but he jerked a short nod. "Understood, boss." His furious gaze shifted past me to the dead man at the desk.
"That's it
, Zeddy," Chase taunted, "be a good lapdog and do what your mistress says. Some things never change, do they?"
Zed was so close to throwing his life away and shooting Chase where he sat, I could feel it. Hell, I was tempted too. But the second one of us fired our weapon, all three of us would be dead. And that wasn't the outcome I was still hoping for tonight.
"Zed," I warned him, my tone low. "Take Lucas and go."
"Yeah, Zed," Chase repeated. "Oh, stripper boy, I almost didn't recognize you without all the blood covering your pretty face."
"Just go," I snapped, giving Lucas just as hard of a look. He was angry and scared, but this wasn't his fight.
Zed put his gun away and stuck his hands up to show his escorts he was unarmed—sort of—then turned both hands around to flip Chase off. One of Chase's men slammed the butt of his rifle into Zed's stomach, making him double over, and I kept my spine straight, refusing to react.
Neither Zed nor Lucas protested any further as they left, and I steadied my arm as I kept my gun trained on Chase. We didn't speak. We just stared at each other, and that creepy, cold smile sat on his lips like he was thoroughly enjoying himself.
A few moments later the elevator dinged, echoing through the empty office floor, and Chase let out a sigh.
"You can drop the act now, Sweetness. We're alone." He sat back in his chair, relaxed as all hell, and nodded to my gun. "We both know you're not going to shoot me, so just put it away. Or better yet, hand it over. It's mine after all."
My mouth went dry. It had been... once. Then I’d grabbed it from him in our fight and shot him in the face with it, and it'd been my closest companion ever since.
"How?" I asked, my voice hoarse. "How did you survive?"
He cocked his head to the side, his one eye trained on me like a laser sight. "You'd have known if you'd taken the time to finish me off properly, Darling." He tapped his forehead. "I never did tell you that I was born with a section of my skull missing. Doctors fixed it with a titanium plate. Luckily for me, your bullet hit that plate and ricocheted. Took my eye, of course." He waved at the eye patch. "But kept my brain from turning into scrambled eggs. How's that for good karma, huh?"