Guts & Glory: Walker (In the Shadows Security Book 4)

by Jeanne St. James

  “We need to get a good handle on what the fuck’s going on before we make any plans,” Mercy stepped in, his silver eyes sliding from Walker to Ellie. “That’s gonna take a bit of time. When did the thirty days start?”

  “Three weeks ago.”

  Mercy nodded. “Got over a week left, right? Plenty of time.”

  A week didn’t feel like enough. Not when they had nothing to go on except some pictures of a dead man and an account number.

  “Unless they get impatient,” Steel murmured.

  “They’d be stupid to rush it. They want their money, not bodies. Making bodies costs money. It’s a lose-lose situation for them financially. If they think she can scrounge the cash, they’re gonna give her that time,” Mercy stated.

  “We’ve dealt with some stupid fucks, Mercy,” Brick reminded him.

  “Those pictures and what I assume is an offshore account proves they know what the fuck they’re doing.”

  Unfortunately, that was true.

  “So, what do I do in the meantime? While you guys ‘get a handle’ on it? I’ve got nowhere to go. Only $1500 left. No vehicle. My life’s been reduced to two suitcases.”

  Walker could hear the emotion welling up. He needed to shut that down. “Someone will get you to a motel ‘til we figure this shit all out.”

  He did not miss Brick pursing his lips. He didn’t miss Ryder dropping his head, suddenly finding his boots of interest. He certainly didn’t miss Mercy raising his eyes to the ceiling. Or Hunter’s snort. Or even Diesel’s loud grunt-cough.

  Nope, he didn’t miss any of that.

  And he absolutely couldn’t miss Steel saying, “Got a couple extra rooms in your house, brother. No safer place for her to wait than the compound.”

  “Don’t wanna bring trouble there, but agree with asshole. She don’t got scratch to live for the next week since I’m takin’ that fifteen,” D concluded. “Better than fuckin’ nothin’.”

  “But... I can’t stay with you,” she whispered, panic crossing her face.

  Walker couldn’t agree more, even so... “Got a credit card to charge your room, food, everything else?”

  For fuck’s sake, say yes.

  Her face dropped. “No. Our credit was maxed out.”

  Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

  He’d be so fucked if he let her into his house. He gritted his teeth, then forced out, “Give D your fifteen hundred, Ellie.”

  “Fuck me,” D grunted, shaking his head because once D took the cash, the deal was set, they were taking her case.

  Walker glared at his boss across the room. “You want the fucking money?” he yelled at D.

  D shot him a scowl. “Yeah.”

  “Give it to him,” Walker ordered Ellie.

  With one last look at him, she leaned over, grabbed the purse sitting on the floor by her feet, put it on the table and dug out her wallet.

  Walker noticed the purse and the wallet were some fancy brand name. Probably cost a small fortune.

  He never took her for that type of woman. She’d always been down-to-earth. Happy with the basic necessities in life. Like he had been. Things had certainly changed.

  She pulled fifteen crisp Benjamins out of that brown leather wallet and placed them on the table. She stared at the small, neat pile for a few seconds, then slid it toward where Diesel stood. Steel snagged the money and handed it over his shoulder to their boss.

  “Fuck me,” Diesel grunted again. He grabbed the cash in his fist and lumbered out of the room, not showing any kind of pleased, even though he just took her last dollar.

  That amount of money was nothing to D. Not for what this job would entail. Walker knew he’d be doing most of it pro bono. And so would his brothers since they were willing to help and didn’t mind not getting compensated for their time. But they had their limits.

  They all did.

  Once D was out of the room, Ellie said softly, “Now, I have nothing.”

  Fucking goddamn it.

  Walker sucked in a breath at the worry in her voice. He mentally kicked himself as the words left his mouth, “You’ve got me.”

  Chapter Four

  Ellie’s stomach churned the whole ten-minute ride from the warehouse to Trace’s house.

  Walker.

  Whatever.

  She didn’t know what to think, what to say to his last declaration, “You’ve got me.”

  Instead, she said nothing during the short trip, in which he drove insanely fast. As if he couldn’t wait for it to be over. Like he couldn’t stand being in such close quarters with her.

  When they’d stepped out into the parking lot of the warehouse, her bags were sitting next to a matte black Dodge that looked and sounded “growly.” That was the only way she could describe it. When he opened the trunk and threw her bags in there, she noticed it said Charger SRT on the back. The Pennsylvania license plate was also personalized with “HELLCAT.” Whatever that meant.

  It had black wheels, smoked windows, black trim. It oozed “badass.” Like Trace.

  Shit, Walker.

  He’d been the bad boy in the little town they grew up in outside of Ithaca, New York and every girl panted over him.

  Even though she was younger than him, it was Ellie who got him.

  Then she gave him up.

  Probably the biggest mistake of her life. One she lived with for years. One she still lived with.

  Trace hit a button on the bottom of his rearview mirror and a long metal gate split in two when it opened. The gate had a big emblem in the center. The same emblem she noticed on the back of Diesel’s black leather vest.

  Trace drove through, hit the button again and stopped, waiting for the gate to close behind them. After it did, he jammed his foot on the accelerator again, throwing her back into her seat.

  Whatever “compound” he lived in was surrounded by concrete walls and looked, for the most part, secure. The houses appeared newer and large; the lots even larger. From what she saw of the neighborhood, there was still a lot of space to grow. Some streets had more houses than others.

  He took a few turns and entered a very large cul-de-sac with three sprawling ranchers that took up most of their pie-shaped lots. They were gorgeous with large windows, stone fronts, three car garages, well landscaped and maintained.

  Plenty big enough, unlike the mini-mansion George insisted they buy in Denver, which was way too large for the two of them. It had been too much for her to clean, so he had hired help. And eventually hired more. To clean, to cook, to landscape, to maintain the pool and hot tub. To mow the expansive, unneeded lawn to look like a golf green.

  Money. It all took way too much money. Money she thought they had. She had complained about spending it and George would just kiss her on the forehead and tell her not to worry.

  Well, she should’ve worried.

  She should have complained louder, should have looked at their accounts. She should’ve done something instead of just living life thinking everything was perfect.

  Okay, maybe not perfect. But great.

  Not great. Good.

  No, not good, either. It started out great, slid slowly into good but, by the end, it had sped past okay into “off.”

  As in something was off with George, but she couldn’t pinpoint what and he wouldn’t talk about it with her. He ended up shutting her out of everything. He stopped talking about work, the business, their friends.

  When she expressed concern, he’d wave it away, stating everything was fine.

  It wasn’t.

  Not even close.

  One of the three garage doors went up automatically when Trace pushed another button on his mirror. And then he pulled his badass car inside next to a really cool, just as badass motorcycle.

  It looked old but restored to perfection. The gas tank claimed it was a Harley Davidson. It was a beautiful bike decked out in chrome and painted brown, tan and maroon.

  Again, beautiful but still badass like its owner.

  He shut off
the car and sat staring out of the windshield for way too long. She studied his profile, which showed he was not happy at all. Just like his boss.

  Well, she wasn’t happy to have to rely on others, either. She thought she was breaking free of George and his issues. Until a month ago when shit hit the fan.

  She didn’t ask for any of it, but here she was, sitting in a garage south of Pittsburgh with a pissed off Trace Walker, because even if she didn’t want it, that garbage had been handed to her and she had no choice but to do something about it.

  “We’re gonna set some rules.”

  Rules.

  That sounded fun, just like all the rules George had for her to be the perfect wife. Dress a certain way, talk a certain way, entertain a certain way.

  “Soon as we get your shit sorted, you’re gone. I don’t like the fact you’re here in Shadow Valley. I don’t like the fact you’re here in my fucking house. I don’t like that you’re sitting in my fucking car. And I certainly don’t like that you’re back in my fucking life.”

  The longer he went, the louder he became, but it was the harshness of his words that made Ellie wince. His jaw was set, his fingers gripping the steering wheel like he was strangling it, his eyes still pointed straight ahead.

  “You said I’ve got you.” Had she misheard him? Or was it a slip of the tongue?

  “Yeah. For however long this shit takes.”

  “Honestly, Trace, I just want to disappear. Help me do that and you don’t have to deal with me ever again.”

  He turned his head and his blue eyes pinned her to the seat.

  She used to love his eyes. The blue shade varied depending on what light they were in. Whether in the sun while swimming in the lake, or in the shadows when they made love.

  They also used to hold adoration in them when he looked at her. Now they just held contempt.

  “That was one rule,” she said, wanting this list of rules over with. She’d listen and agree to every one of them just to get this over with.

  “The second one is, you let us do what we need to do without interfering. No exception.”

  “Okay.”

  “Third one is, you respect my privacy. This house is mine. It was built specifically for me. You’ll see things you’ll want to ask questions about. Don’t. If I choose to talk about those things, that’s on me. Not you. You don’t ask me personal questions. I won’t ask you any, either. I’ll only ask you what we need to know to do this job. That’s it. I’m warning you now, you’re going to see things in this house you’re going to want to ask about. It’s none of your fucking business. You gave up the right to know my business a long time ago.”

  Ellie couldn’t breathe. His words were cold, business-like. But she detected something deeper. A hurt he was trying to hide.

  “Okay,” she whispered, wanting to absorb the hurt she caused. “I’ll mind my own business and keep to myself.”

  “The house is big, but it’s not McMaster big. Which means we’ll run into each other and often. Roommates. That’s what we are. Roommates ‘til this is over. Nothing more.”

  “Okay,” she said again.

  “I’d dump your ass at Shadow Valley Motel if Steel wasn’t right. You’re safest here. And if whoever is behind this whole mess calls or texts you, I’ll know right away. Unfortunately, your being here is for the best.”

  “Okay,” she repeated, unsure what else to say. It probably wouldn’t matter if she did have more to say. He most likely wouldn’t want to hear it.

  “Now, get out of my car.”

  She got out of his car.

  He popped the trunk and unloaded her two suitcases. It wouldn’t have surprised her if he left them sitting next to his Dodge and went inside, leaving them for her to deal with. But he didn’t, he rolled them across the garage, and she followed him, not only past the vintage Harley but an older blue and white pickup truck. Normal. Nothing badass about it. Something he would have driven when they were teens.

  He had an old Ford truck back then, too, one his father had handed down to him. Plus, a dirt bike. She rode in that pickup and on the back of that bike more times than she could remember.

  He had actually taken her virginity in the bed of that Ford the night she turned eighteen. They had waited for two long years. And they counted down every minute until that night.

  It was the best birthday—no, best night—of her life. Especially since they spent it under the stars out in a field next to the lake, music playing, crickets chirping, owls hooting and, best of all, she was in Trace’s arms.

  She had given him her virginity, but they were giving each other a future.

  She closed her eyes. A future that didn’t pan out because of their choices.

  “Ellie...”

  She opened her eyes and found she still stood in front of the Ford pickup. Then with shock she realized it was the one he had back then. He still had it. He didn’t get rid of it.

  He. Kept. It.

  It looked better now than it did back then. It was restored, the paint fresh, the chrome shiny, like the Harley. But this vehicle had meaning. The bed of that truck was where they promised to love each other forever.

  They were young and foolish. And, at the time, they didn’t realize life never turned out as planned.

  She learned that the hard way.

  So did Trace.

  “Trace,” she whispered, still staring at the truck. Memories sweeping through her, almost crippling her.

  “Ellie,” he repeated sharply. Her name wasn’t said with any kind of softness. It was hard. Unbending. And held a warning.

  She wasn’t supposed to ask questions. So, she only nodded and followed him inside.

  Walker stood off to the side, just inside the rear French doors. The lights were off in the large kitchen, so he had no problem seeing outside. Ellie sat in one of the deck chairs he’d purchased recently, her legs pulled up, her chin resting on her knees, her arms wrapped around her shins.

  She looked like she had when she was a teen.

  They began dating when she just turned sixteen and he was eighteen. He should’ve walked away from her then. He didn’t. He couldn’t. He knew the minute he noticed her she was his.

  He’d been impatient but he had dug deep and waited. He also promised her mother he wouldn’t fuck up. Mrs. Cooke trusted him and that meant a lot to him. So, he kept that promise.

  They had the rest of their lives to be together, so there was no rush. He could wait. She would be worth the wait.

  That fucking night... he found out how right he was. She was more than worth the wait. They had fooled around for two years, so they knew each other well. He knew how to get her blood pumping. She knew how to do the same to him.

  But they always held back. It was torture, but sweet torture at that. It was then he learned how much he liked the anticipation. The tease without the reward.

  Much later he learned what that denial of pleasure was called.

  He’d take them both to the edge time and time again, but never let them go over. He’d push her toward the cliff, but never let her go. So, when that time finally came, it had been the best night of his fucking life. He waited for two years to make her completely his.

  That moment he took her, that moment she finally was his in all ways, it was the sweetest, most satisfying gift anyone could give him.

  He never experienced anything like that again.

  He dropped his head, ran a hand over his hair, and stared at his boots. It was soon time to reveal something he wouldn’t be able to hide with her staying in his house.

  Something he hid from most people. His brothers knew, Diesel knew. Very few others.

  He kept it that way for a reason.

  He’d lived that way for so long, he didn’t remember how to live it otherwise.

  He inhaled air through his nostrils, filling his lungs to capacity, then slowly released it.

  She was going to ask questions even though he told her not to. And he may have to make an exc
eption and answer them.

  Tonight, his past was slamming him from two directions.

  He lifted his head and stared at her for another long minute. Wondering if he’d be in this house, in Shadow Valley, doing what he did, being who he was, dealing with what he had, if that phone call she made nineteen years ago had turned out differently.

  Either way, it was too late to change any of that now.

  It was getting late and they hadn’t eaten yet. They needed food. But he wasn’t sure he was ready to sit down at a table across from her to do that. He wasn’t ready to look into her green eyes and relive all the memories now hovering below the surface.

  That day so many years ago, after that phone call, he’d done his best to put her out of his mind.

  His best wasn’t good enough. She was back. She was in his house. In his life.

  How the fuck did that happen? And why the fuck did he let it?

  He let it because he had no choice. Last night when she contacted him, he heard in her voice something was wrong and when he was hardly grown, he vowed to himself and to her to only give her “right.”

  “Fuck,” he whispered. The need to make things right for her, whether she deserved it or not, remained deep within him.

  He opened one of the French doors and when he did, her head turned until her cheek pressed against her knees instead of her chin. It was getting dark, so he couldn’t see the green of her eyes. But he knew too well what they looked like.

  “You have a nice place.”

  He ignored that and asked. “You cook?”

  She nodded without lifting her head.

  “Hungry?”

  She shook her head.

  “Need to eat anyway,” he told her. “Need to make us something. Even if it’s just grilled cheese sandwiches with ham and tomatoes slices.” He winced. He had no idea why he suggested that.

  “You always loved when I made those for you.”

  Right. Memories were too fucking close to the surface.

  “It was the only thing I knew how to make back then.”

  “And now?”