Dirty Secrets

by Landish, Lauren

  His face clouds, and his gaze turns inward, as though he’s deciding something important. After a few moments, he looks up, his eyes full of concern.

  “Mr. Angeline, do you have someone? A woman? A best friend? A dog, for fuck’s sake? Someone really important?”

  Allie flashes to mind, but I’m certainly not telling this man about my love life. Instead, I hum an agreement, which he seems to accept because he continues.

  “Then you understand loving someone so much that you want to shout it from the fucking rooftops, tattoo their name on your skin, claim them proudly everywhere you go, but knowing that would be dangerous for them. So you bottle that up and keep how special they are private to protect them from the bad parts of your life. And you know they deserve better, and you wish that you could give it to them, but you’re giving them all you have and just hanging on for dear life, hoping that it’s enough. To keep them with you and to keep them safe, always walking that line.”

  His words are honest and hit with a sharp sting, more accurate than he could’ve guessed. And with his simple declaration, the pieces fall into place. These two MC soldiers aren’t living here as any means of moving into my city. They’re merely watching each other’s backs as one of their own tries to find whatever version of a ‘happily ever after’ he can.

  It’s poetic in a way, a tiny dandelion whisper of hope to even a monster like me. I nod my head several times and let the corners of my mouth tilt up in a hint of a smile.

  “I can understand that, even appreciate it. But rules are rules. What exactly are you willing to do to stay on the proper side of that line?”

  Zallow’s off the couch in an instant flash of anger, his words spat with the venom he has yet to show. “I’m not one of your guys, Angeline. I’ve already pledged allegiance and that’s not fucking changing.”

  I didn’t move when he stood and I don’t now either, simply sitting back and letting my sigh of disappointment wash over them both. Myra grabs at his hand, pulling him back to the couch beside her. She holds his hand tightly, her thumb running a soothing path along his skin. It’s a fascinating thing to behold, the way he relaxes in increments from her mere touch.

  She’s obviously somewhat submissive to him, she’d have to be to be his Old Lady, but she has such power in their dynamic. It reminds me of Allie and myself, though Allie has yet to recognize the power she holds over me.

  Once she has calmed the beast, I give him a genuine smile. “I never asked you to. In fact, I respect that more than you’d know. But that wasn’t what I was implying when I said rules are rules.”

  His eyebrows furrow together, and then he gets it. He growls under his breath, frustrated and searching for a way out of doing this. Such a simple thing, a small ask, really, but it’s the point of the matter between men like us. Of course, he’s not on my level, but he is a proud man, and I’m asking him to castrate himself, in front of his woman, no less.

  He looks to Myra and then to the babe I’ve yet to glimpse in the bundle of blankets, his eyes soft, but when he turns back to me, his gaze hardens.

  The words are forced out of his throat, but they come. “Mr. Angeline, may I live inside your city with my family? I intend no ill will toward you and yours. I merely wish to live a simple, happy life, knowing we are safe here.”

  I know he can see the sparkling light of triumph in my eyes, though the win is small now that I know he’s not a scout looking for a way into my town.

  “You and your family are more than welcome in East Robinsville, Mr. Zallow . . . provided you maintain a household, not a stronghold. No more than your immediate family plus one at any time. I will make Pete aware of our arrangements, and I trust that you will you do the same for Mr. Chambers as his VP.”

  Robert nods, and then he realizes what I said a heartbeat later. “How did you—” he starts to ask.

  I tsk a bit, giving him a knowing smirk. “Did you forget what I told you about the king? He maintains his throne because he knows everything, even those things that others think are hidden from his sight. Please tell Silas hello for me.”

  I pause, waiting for it to sink in that I’m acquainted with his MC President. He pales for a moment before reddening, his jaw clenching as I turn to Myra.

  “Miss Cole, my condolences on the unexpected loss of your mother. It seems you’ve done her memory a great service with the way you’ve maintained her home.” I turn toward Robert. “Take good care of them.”

  Confident that I’ve dropped enough information to assure his continued easy homesteading and lack of violence in my town, I make my way to the door.

  I glance back once, taking in the family. The love is obvious, even through the fear of the moment. He would die to protect them. He loves them that much. The vision is oddly sentimental to me, making me wistful for happier times with my own father and mother, before I knew what the family business really was and I’d thought my father simply a businessman who would regale us with silly stories over Sunday dinners.

  The door swings shut behind me, and I climb into the back of my Mercedes, letting Gavin drive us to the club as I text Pete.

  Eagle Raiders secure. Zallows + one allowed safe passage. Be watchful.

  I know that Zallows prostrated himself today, but if a future situation requires him to break his vow to me, he will readily do so because his allegiance lies elsewhere.

  I’ll let sleeping dogs lie, but I won’t turn my back.

  Chapter 9

  Allie

  “Hey Allie, can you come here for a minute, please?” I hear Donna ask from the front lobby. I finish wiping down the mirror and toss the rag and spray bottle of cleaner back in the cabinet in the corner.

  “Coming!” I holler and fast-walk down the hallway. I can see Donna and Eileen at her desk, looking back and forth between me and something in the lobby. Confusion is written all over their faces, which makes my steps slow and my eyebrows pull together. “What’s up, guys?”

  Eileen’s face breaks into a huge grin, her eyes open wide, and she points a finger to something I can’t see, licking her upper lip like a giant chocolate gummy bear’s in the lobby . . . or Chris Pine. She’s got a thing for him.

  I take a few more steps and I see what has them all buzzy. Standing in the lobby of Encore is Dominick. He’s dressed as he always is, in a custom-tailored suit that emphasizes his broad shoulders, a silk tie and pocket square . . . yet somehow, he looks oddly at ease, considering there are gym bags and kids sprawled out on the floor around him and a group of three moms in the corner openly ogling him.

  When he sees me, his eyes light up for a moment before going dark as he takes me in. I’m not dressed inappropriately for the studio, but the dance shorts and sports bra seem to make him . . . angry?

  Or is that desire making his eyes stormy?

  Maybe an equal measure of both, I decide, but whatever it is, it’s heated and fiery, making me want to twirl around a bit to give him a better view.

  “Allison,” he says, his voice seeming deeper than usual in the space that usually only holds teenage girl screeches and classical music with the occasional burst of pop. As far as greetings go, it’s light on the words but feels heavy, powerful.

  “Dominick,” I reply, trying to sound as casual and as normal as he does, if anything, to screw with Donna’s and Eileen’s heads. It’s a total fail, as my voice comes out breathy and fizzy. I want to shout, ‘He came to see me at work!’ and then I want to tell the moms in the corner to back the fuck up because he’s mine.

  Instead, my eyes stay locked with his, which seems to amuse him for some reason, and I wonder if he can read my mind. He steps forward, placing a chaste kiss to my cheek, and I’m surrounded by his spicy, masculine scent. I fight to hold myself back from climbing him like a spider monkey and burying my nose in his neck for another hit. Instead, I step back as he turns and picks something up from the small table next to him.

  I’m shocked and blushing furiously when he holds out a small bouquet
. “These are for you.”

  I take the wrapped flowers, burying my nose in them, but honestly, he smells better.

  “Thank you,” I tell him politely, trying to maintain my dignity in the lobby as best I can. “Wildflowers? You seem like a roses kind of guy.”

  He smirks, the cocky one that lets me know he’s about to say something he knows I’ll like, and then twists a lock of my hair around his finger before stroking the back of my neck.

  “I do prefer roses, but you’re more like a wildflower. A bit untamed and unruly, but beautiful not in spite of the wildness but because of it.”

  His words are quiet, meant for me, but I can hear every woman in the room sigh. A few of the older girls, just at that age when boys stop being icky and start being interesting, even gawk openly. I laugh and give him a saucy wink and kiss him on the cheek.

  “Well played, Mr. Angeline.”

  His lips twitch like he’s fighting back a grin himself.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask, surprised to see him. I lead him off to the side of the room, where we can have at least a modicum of privacy, and lower my voice. “Is everything okay? I saw Logan’s car in the lot already, and he’s supposed to be my shadow home today.”

  Dominick looks pleased. I think it’s because I’ve been inordinately agreeable to the whole chaperone thing. It was weird at first, no lie, but I’ve already gotten so used to it that having it in the open seems natural.

  “He was. But I’ve asked him to check out the gym next door. They’re friendly now, apparently, and he’s over there working on jiu-jitsu techniques in his off time.”

  I grin, glad to hear it. “I’m glad Logan made friends with Max and Dalton.”

  His eyes narrow when I say their names, obviously not liking that on my lips, so I correct it immediately but with enough sass to let him know I saw his flash of jealousy.

  “So, Dominick, if Logan’s busy now, who’s escorting me home tonight?”

  I play coy as if I don’t know that’s why he’s here, and at the sound of his name on my lips, he chuckles, rolling his eyes.

  “Me. Get your bag.”

  I offer him a soft smile and consider arguing back just for fun, but he knows as well as I do that I want this. I want him to show up, bring me flowers, take me home . . . or just take me wherever he is.

  So I don’t bother with the façade, instead looking back toward reception, where everyone’s still trying to do their best to pretend they’re not listening. It makes me grin.

  “Hey, Donna. I’m all done with classes and Studio Two is clean. Mind if I knock off a little early today?”

  From behind her, I can hear Eileen snicker, but Donna tosses me a thumbs-up. “Honestly, I don’t know why you’re still here. I’d already be halfway down the interstate if a man like that showed up with flowers for me.”

  I squeak a bit, trying my best not to jump up and down like a teenager. “Good point! Here, hold these, please.” I set the flowers back in Dominick’s hands and still can’t help breaking out into a chasse down the hallway to get my things.

  He must make a move to follow me because I hear Donna clear her throat. “Nuh-uh. You stay right there, Mister. She said she just cleaned Studio Two, and I’m not redoing it because you two made a mess in it. Don’t bother denying it. I can read that you’re a split-second away from doing things I won’t say in front of the teenagers.”

  I laugh, but the fact that she can see that in the tension between us is sweet and sexy. I pull loose sweats on over my shorts, a V-neck T-shirt over my bra, and slipper boots on my feet.

  It’s not a sexy look by any stretch of the imagination. It’s more ragamuffin college girl than anything refined, but it’s standard dance cover-up gear and all I have with me.

  Doesn’t matter, though. When I step back into the lobby, Dominick looks at me like I’m dressed to the nines for a night on the town.

  “Ready, beautiful?”

  I realize it’s probably one of the only times he’s asked me a question, not given me orders or leading statements, and I can’t help but blush again. It feels important, like he’s letting me decide for myself whether I’m ready, not just to go, but to go with him.

  Obviously, this isn’t just a casual ride home. But nothing with Dominick is ever casual, I suspect.

  Still, he’s letting me decide.

  “I’m absolutely ready,” I tell him and hope he hears the deeper meaning in my words too. Judging by the approval I see in his eyes as he hands me back the bouquet, he heard it loud and clear.

  He escorts me to the door on his elbow, oohs and ahhs echoing behind us, but it’s not the usual romantic gesture I’d expect. Instead, when he opens the studio door, he steps outside and scans before he lets me exit. He crosses the lot to his car, but he doesn’t hold my hand and walk beside me, rather staying one step in front of me, his head on a swivel the whole time.

  He does open the car door for me and lets me get comfortably situated before closing it behind me, but never once does he peek down my T-shirt.

  It’s somehow gentlemanly and tactical all at the same time, and I can’t decide how that makes me feel. I’m definitely not used to caring who’s in the parking lot, other than the usual female safety measures, which I’ve been much more cautious about since Mr. Duncan’s little scene.

  But Dominick’s eye is practiced and actively seeking out threats. It’s strange, like I’m suddenly Whitney Houston in The Bodyguard, my lover going all Secret Service on me, and I wonder if there’s a gun underneath Dom’s suit jacket. It’s a reminder that I am just a regular average woman and he’s . . . him.

  I’m not putting myself down. I know I’m the shit, but there’s something more to Dominick. It’s nothing you can put a finger on, just an importance, a weight, a responsibility he bears that I can’t imagine. Not when the most important thing I do is pay my bills on time, and I have a bad habit of leaving a trail of dirty coffee cups in my wake. He’s just . . . extra.

  He comes around, getting in, and I don’t even have to ask what’ll happen to my car. If I need it before tomorrow, it’ll be there, perhaps even washed, waxed, and last week’s Starbucks cups cleaned out of the passenger seat.

  I am surprised when he pulls out of the lot and goes right instead of left as I expect. “Hey, I live that way,” I say, pointing behind us.

  “I know,” he says simply.

  I raise an eyebrow, looking at him, but he doesn’t turn his eyes off the road, handling the Mercedes with the respect it deserves.

  “I thought you said you were taking me home?”

  “I am,” he replies. “To my home.”

  There’s no hint of a smile, no sign he’s joking. His words broach no argument, not that I would, but at the stoplight, he looks to see my reaction. That look tells me more than any words could.

  He’s used to getting his way, people jumping when he says to, and though he likes to order me around, he cares whether I want to do what he’s demanding. He’s domineering, but with good intentions, at least where I’m concerned. He’s a man who may never ask my permission for anything, but I have no doubt that if I said to take me to my apartment, he would.

  But I don’t want to go there. I want to see where Dominick lives, what his space looks like, feels like.

  My answer is a smile, and I place my hand on top of his big right hand until the light changes, and I wiggle back, enjoying the luxury of leather seats and ready to see where this ride takes me.

  His home is beautiful, a huge house on the outskirts of town, with vaguely Italian décor with statues on pedestals and fancy paintings like a museum, poufy leather couches with tufting, and perfectly-placed pillows and throws.

  It feels warm and inviting, but nothing like the man.

  It’s like a decorator version of what a mansion should look like.

  I settle down on the couch, running my hand over the pillow as Dom watches me curiously. “What do you think?”

  I war with whether to be p
olite or honest and decide that he’d see through any falseness anyway, so why not go for broke?

  “It’s pretty, but completely not you. You hired someone to decorate and gave them free reign. It’s them, not you.”

  His lips draw down until they’re nearly invisible, and for a second, I think I overstepped big-time, but then he chuckles, nodding. “You are very observant, Allison. What would you have expected if it was ‘me’?”

  Now that’s a dangerous question, but I stick with honesty as the best policy and jump into the deep end.

  I let the words rush out before I’m even aware of thinking them, “Modern. Sleek lines, nothing extraneous or fluffy. Keep the leather seating, but it’d be a different style. More metal accents, bare-boned but with each item being one of luxury. Something you appreciate, not merely fancy because of the price tag on it. Like . . . your office?”

  He seems surprised, and his smile widens a little more as he comes over and sits next to me. “Good read. And you? What does your space speak about you?”

  I consider the question, thinking about my apartment and what I thought of as I decorated it. “Brightness. Dance. Comfort. Layered. In that order.”

  He nods, taking my chin and turning my face to look into my soul. “I agree. Your home is a good representation of your own vibrancy. It’s light and exotic. It feels like your inner chaos exploded all around you.”

  My burgeoning smile falls, and I’m struck by a sudden bout of insecurity. Dom’s so buttoned up, every I dotted, every T crossed. But me . . .

  “Is that a good thing? You don’t exactly seem like the chaos type, if you know what I mean?”

  I let my eyes drift down his pristine shirt and slacks, his black shoes buffed to a military shine with a fresh wax, and back up to his carefully combed dark hair. Everything about him screams power, control, and dominance. In contrast, I’m wild, sloppy, and weak.

  Dominick lets me scan him, then he leans closer, invading my space but not touching me. I mindlessly arch my back, yearning for contact, wanting more, impossibly aware of the heat of his skin just beyond the borders of mine.