by Marata Eros
The facts are glaring.
Candice screwed me when she was with him. I guess it was all just negotiation, after all.
Whoever says men don't feel never had their hearts dragged from their body cavity and summarily shredded by a woman.
I breathe deeply, taking hold of my emotions with an iron fist. Candice just faced her molester. I'm not going to jump her shit.
Or beat down Puck.
Yet.
Candice tells Puck what I said.
“Mover,” Puck grates. “Knew it.”
I shake my head, picking up on the undercurrent. “Thom isn't involved. He led us to you.”
She frowns up at me. “There's no agent involved named Dagger posing within Chaos.”
Shit.
I take ahold of her shoulders. “Then why was Mover telling us where to find you?”
Puck and she exchange a glance.
“To put us here at the scene,” Candice states in an empty voice.
Storm walks up, casting a look over us all.
“Viper.” He nods then looks to Candice. “What happened here? The perp is claiming police brutality.” He shoots a cool look at Puck.
I openly stare at Storm. He's not the same guy. At all.
Noose rubs a hand over his nape, his expression as incredulous as mine.
Puck's face suffuses with color. “He's Candi's dad.”
Storm's deep red eyebrow shoots up. “Yeah? Well that's an interesting coincidence. And he has a permit to carry concealed. And he doesn't know the other guy that someone took care of.” His light-hazel eyes flick to Candice then away.
Candice just keeps looking more sick as Storm's words flow.
I can predict where this is going, and it's not good.
“He's gonna walk,” Noose comments slowly. “This whole thing was very smooth on their parts.”
“He's dirty,” Candice states.
“Yes, but we still don't have him,” Storm says. “And you're both... well—” Storm rocks back on his heels, looking at Puck like he's a worm. “I can't speak for him, but Arlington”—Storm looks at her—“they're going to nail you to the wall for showing up here, and the handoff didn't happen first before you defended.” His eyes move to me. “You'll be signing non-disclosures up the ass, just in case you're wondering.”
My lips twist at the irony. “Actually, I wasn't.”
He moves his attention back to her. “Then your dad gets beaten up by a cop who just happens to be here horning in on our investigation. How was he right here at the right time?”
Storm and Puck glare at each other. I expect them to whip out their dicks at any moment and compare sizes.
I have this. Puck's fucking Candice, so there's pillow talk, and he shows up here because they're both on the same case, just different law enforcement. Nice. Way to fuck up a career. But since I'm a one percenter, I don't care about all that.
I guess oil and water don't mix after all.
Maybe if Candice wasn't involved with another man and married to the FBI, there might've been something between us.
More than something.
Walking away from her feels like being an old-growth tree torn out of its century-old forest by the roots.
But that's what I need to do.
I back up, never taking my eyes from her. Because if I do, maybe she'll just disappear.
Candice turns away from Storm, sees me leaving.
“Wait, Viper—” she says, dropping the two hands she holds and running after me.
I pivot, showing her my back as Noose and I stride out of there.
“Viper!” she yells.
I half-turn. She grabs me around my neck with a firm hand and draws my face down to hers, practically hanging off me like a monkey.
Kisses me.
Wet. Deep. Long. Every bit of what we did comes back with ferocious clarity.
The scent of her body. The softness. The taste.
Tactile overload unfolds in a kind of slow-motion, erotic pulse that threads between our bodies, and it's the hardest thing I've ever done not to crush that small body against mine and leave here with Candice on the back of my bike and never look back.
Instead, I break the contact, our chests both heaving, and gently put her away from me.
Looking over her shoulder, I see Puck, Storm, and Calem.
That's enough.
Then I walk away with the taste of her on my lips, the scent of her filling my nose, the feel of her body perfectly fitted to mine.
Chapter 23
Candice
I watch him walk away, and it feels like Viper used an ice pick on my heart, taking a chunk he didn't think I needed.
But I do need it.
This man who didn't ask for anything and went to the ends of the earth to find me.
A despised woman. A woman deserving of everything his men had planned on doing.
I need to make this right with Viper. With me.
But first, my father will have to be dealt with. Reluctantly, I turn away from him and walk back to my brother and Calem.
Agent Ren Stanwood—aka Storm— is right. I'll need to face the firing squad, and it won't be pretty.
*
“Administrative leave?” I nearly yell at my supervisor, and his pale-green eyes tighten at the loudness of my voice.
“I've been on this case for three years, Ted. We have the one responsible.”
My fucking father, of course, of all the life ironies—it has to be him. The pinnacle of Murphy's Law, staring us all right in the face.
“Candice,” Ted begins, scraping a tired hand over his face before dumping his chin into his palm. “Listen, Thom is MIA, and Samuel Jerstad, has no criminal record, and is a pillar of the community.”
I grit my teeth. “He was my rapist, Ted.”
Ted hangs his head, eyes downcast. “I know that he is your biological father and...” He looks at me with clear expectation.
“Puck's father.”
“There's so much disregard here, Candi. The fact that you and William were working in tandem, against law enforcement policy for both police and Bureau entities. That Puck ruthlessly beat up a civilian—regardless of blood relation. This guy is our man. But now, with everything that went down, we can't charge him.”
“Jerstad said he would do things to me again. Ted—he held me at gunpoint.”
“I believe you, Candi—God knows. But there are no witnesses who corroborate it. Puck's testimony is negated because he took matters into his own hands. Calem Oscar is too young, and the guy who was your mark for the meet, you beat down because he tried to grope you.”
A scream of frustration lodges in my throat. I've been made as FBI, Mover has flown the coop, and my own perverted father is absofuckinglutely involved in this operation. But because of his clever wording and Puck's fists, he will get bail. Even if he did have a record, Samuel Jerstad has more money than God.
“The statute of limitations on your abuse has run out, Candi. We couldn't nail your father for his crimes against you now even if we wanted to.” His eyes land on me, brimming with compassion. “And man, do I want to.”
It all makes horrible sense to me—that's why the perverted fucker is spearheading the minor trafficking. I knew he had a taste for young flesh because I was his first victim. Or maybe not. That epiphany makes me even sicker.
“I want to.” I breathe my anger out in a flush of heat.
Ted leans forward, resting both hands on his thighs. “Right now, the best I can do is hold him for twenty-four hours. Then he's free.”
Our gazes lock. Ted, who's been my direct supervisor for ten years, is my rock. He's not Puck, but he's a good man, and a great human being to have my back. “I can't help you this time, Candi. You're one of our best agents, but there were too many variables that broke the rules. And now we'll have to wait and see if we can flesh them out again. From a new angle.”
“They're like cockroaches. They've scuttled away to find another dark hol
e to crawl into and hide. Meanwhile, you know they're not going to stop taking children.” My eyes plead. My words beg.
Ted clasps his hands, leaning his butt against the massive wood desk again, and gives a curt nod. “Understood. A helluva lot of manhours were lost on this. We can tag Jerstad with surveillance until we're blue in the face, but you and I both know that the chief doesn't do squat, but he's got plenty of Indians who will.”
I give a sad laugh. “That's not very politically correct, Ted.”
“Just my age showing,” he says, weaving blunt fingers through his short silvering crop of hair. And I realize with a pang that at almost sixty, Ted won't be here much longer. His absence will leave a void.
His grin comes out lopsided. “I still want to say what comes to mind without constantly worrying about fear of offending whatever—whoever.” Ted's weary exhale is the only sound for a handful of seconds.
“Yeah.” My answer is soft, my heart heavy.
“It's a month, Candi. Not the end of the world.”
“Maybe the end of my world.” Because I never built another. There was no other contingency for me not being a fed, except the dream Puck and I have clung to.
“I wasn't going to bring it up before, but... this would be the best time in the world for you to retire.”
I snap my face to Ted, meeting his light grass-green eyes. “You think I can't hack it?” I put my palm on my chest, unable to stop the hurt and insult saturating my voice.
“I know you can.” He pulls his pantleg at the knee and crosses one leg over the other. “You were my most gifted agent.”
The beginnings of a bright headache begin behind my eyes.
“Then what is it?”
“I feel that natural gift has been... exploited, used, and warped. I want you to seriously consider retirement.” He adds, “You were in the early program for trainees?”
I give a numb nod. I was in a special program the Bureau had in the early 90s to entice more women field agents.
I was smitten. I could start my FBI clock ticking. All my training began right out of high school. I attended college while training to be an agent, so technically, I will have my twenty years satisfied in just a few months. Government math doesn't always add up, and I've never taken a sick day.
“Between your unspent sick days, vacation, and leave time—you could retire tomorrow.”
He's right, and his restating of the facts frightens me.
“I'm not ready to stop working, Ted. Even now, I'm wondering what happened to Mover. When Jerstad will be nailed to the wall?” Biting my lip, I don't allow myself to entertain that bastard not paying for his sins against me and Puck—against untold minors.
My mind finally settles on Calem. “And where Calem Oscar will finally land.”
“Somewhere safe,” Ted answers. “I'm just telling you to seriously consider the idea, Candi.”
After a full minute, I answer, “Okay.”
“About Samuel Jerstad.”
My gut tightens when I hear his name.
“You didn't know where he was or hadn't seen him?”
I shake my head. “Puck and I took off as soon as I graduated, and I never looked back.”
“Why didn't you press charges against him then, Candi?”
I don't have a good answer, but I start with the truth. “I was ashamed. I sound like all the other cliché women out there.” My eyes meet his. “But we're not clichés, Ted. The real truth is, we're human beings who desperately want to trust men. And the man I was supposed to believe in and trust the most hurt me in the most despicable way.”
Ted takes my hand. “I hate that fucker.”
I lift my chin. “Not more than Puck and I do.” I look away, staring out all the glass that runs the entire length of his wall in the inconspicuous high-rise building that hides my region's Bureau headquarters. “And that's the other thing. Puck was running interference back then. He'd help me when he could—then our dad would hurt him too. So it was like a double wound to me. I'd be molested, then he'd hurt my brother for interfering with the abuse.”
Ted lets my hand drop and gives a low whistle.
“So you both went into law.”
I turn away from the window and stare at him.
“Doesn't take a psychiatrist to figure out why,” he adds.
I softly shake my head. “No, like a lot of abused people, we wanted to make a difference.”
“Candi, you did.”
I cover my mouth, trying not to weep, because if I let my despair escape, it might never stop.
His eyes run over my face. “Take the thirty days to think about what I said.”
I stand, nodding quickly, holding my eyes wide so the tears don't fall. “Thanks, Ted.”
“Call me if you need anything. To talk, whatever.”
I don't turn around. I keep walking, focused on that door that leads out of his office and out of the Bureau.
I feel lighter without my gun and badge.
But not better.
*
He's not left my head in the week since the failed sting went down.
Viper.
Just thinking about him brings all that wonderful lust and butterflies back to life in the center of my being. The wings of excitement and the potential for happiness flutter against my tender insides.
Not doing what I want has been agonizing. But keeping a low profile was necessary after Puck and I got the same slap on the wrist.
Though I feel like Puck's got broken. They didn't tell him to contemplate retiring—they told him to do it.
Like me, Puck has a lot of unspent time off, and when he added it all up, he had his twenty and a hefty buyout for the remainder. He'll realize his dream of leaving behind the merciless lifestyle of undercover stress and a vast nothingness.
I feel set adrift, though.
It's wonderful to finally claim a normal relationship with my brother. To see him anytime I want. To sleep in for once.
The first few days off, I slept in like I was in a coma.
I didn't sleep, though, on the day they released Samuel Jerstad. Insufficient evidence, the court cited.
Jerstad didn't press charges against Puck.
I would think not; Jerstad wouldn't want anything unsavory coming to light.
And Ted was right. The statute of limitations for the crimes against me is long gone. But not the one for my soul.
That statute has no end.
There was one thing I wanted to do, a loop I needed to close, even if it hurt me to do it. But I've been biding my time.
I back my Scion out of my garage for the last time. My car only has two large duffels and four totes—the last of my life in six pieces. I leave the scene of my own kidnapping, knowing I won’t be back. The busted walls and blood over the carpet will mean losing my deposit.
My lips quirk with black humor. The Bureau can pick up that tab.
I'm staying in the small guest bedroom at Puck's now, and he's been cooking for me—a lighter man now. I've moved my things to his place. He and I have been walking the land around his old farmhouse, picking out potential building sites.
My rib feels better, though it's not even been two weeks. I'm a fast healer, I guess. I keep remembering Viper's perfect place, and sadness overwhelms me until I put it on a mental shelf with the other boxes I never inspect.
I drive from between the shoulder blades of Renton and Kent and travel east.
Toward Viper.
And maybe, absolution.
*
Viper
Doing restoration work is funny. Ninety percent gets done, and that nagging ten percent lingers.
Well, no longer.
Candice Arlington saw to that.
Having her fuck me up was like putting diesel in a gas engine. I needed to work that shit out.
She walked out of my life, and now the void she left is a whirlpool. Slowly sucking me down.
Down.
Didn't matter that Storm came and apol
ogized for how he had to act. “In character,” he said and muttered words like, “deep undercover” and “role playing.” For the better good.
Candice hadn't even known. Talk about the left hand not talking to the right.
I guess Storm wasn't too bad. Maybe he even believed in the MC “role” more than he let on. He told the powers that be he hadn’t seen or heard anything that would lead him to believe we were a criminal biker club. We'd committed crimes, though, and he knew it. Storm, whose real name is Ren Stanwood, was a brother in the end, and maybe not the best pick for a fed.
Like there’s a clean MC? What a joke.
I signed all the non-disclosures he wanted. Second time around on that one. Hell, I feel like I should be on FBI retainer or something.
I'm not fooled, the fedsʼ eyes had to be sharp on our club. We’ve been close to way too much illegal shit in the last few years. Where there's smoke, there's fire.
So I agreed not to talk about any of the proceedings or what I'd witnessed.
Like Candice's father saying he wanted to do those sick things to her again.
Or the look of relief on her face when she realized I'd ridden in like the cavalry. The pleasure was so transparent, so naked, that I knew in that instant no one ever saved her before. Not in that exact way.
I would never tell anyone how good that slut outfit looked on her or how much better I knew she looked naked. That would remain our secret. Our pleasure.
That knowledge all slid through my brain in a heartbeat's pause of time.
Standing, I press my palm into my lower back and groan. Been on my fucking hands and knees all day, getting the finishing touches done upstairs.
Basement's perfect. One hundred percent done. A damn miracle of epic proportions.
Now my floor is up top too.
After dumping my toolbelt on the wide stone hearth of the fireplace, I stomp downstairs and to my bathroom. I crank on my fancy-pants shower and strip my shit before gliding under the hot water.
It's almost worth an orgasm to have this hot goodness after putting myself through the paces of sore knees and swabbing clear lacquer between baseboard and flooring.
Love this old place. I tip my head back, letting the hot spray run over my face, and shake my hair out, flinging water droplets. Resting my palm against the cold tile, I hang my head, letting the water run between my shoulder blades.