“I’m so sorry,” I repeated.
“I’m okay,” he answered, his voice hoarse.
He definitely was not ‘okay’. He looked like he was falling apart at the seams carrying the weight of all the trouble surrounding him. Minutes passed by while we held each other, neither one of us speaking. And then one of the seams split open, and he let me inside.
“Fine, I’m not fucking okay. He probably deserved it, given what he did, but he was my father, and while I can’t lie and say that I didn’t want to see him pay for his crimes, I’ve seen people tortured. It’s a brutal way to go. It’s hard to think of him going out like that.”
I understood his point, knew that Matt’s feelings for his father were beyond complicated, and at the same time, if anything, his reaction made me wonder if, for all the darkness he feared was inside of him, he’d actually clung to more of his humanity than I had in the past four years. Because if it were my father …
Maybe I was the one who’d lost all of my soft parts.
“It wasn’t always like this with us. When I was younger, he’d try to make it to some of my soccer games, would occasionally take me out boating or to the movies. You remember what it was like between us—he worked a lot and traveled all over the world—but I looked up to him.” He swallowed. “I wanted to be like him when I was a kid.”
“Matt.”
“There’s more,” Matt continued, his voice rumbling, body tense.
My hold on him tightened, trying to infuse him with whatever strength I had, bracing for the next blow.
“What else?”
“I managed to get into my father’s study.”
“How did you manage that?”
“Let’s just say that it was a case of mistaken identity. Amid all of the confusion, I convinced them I was part of the investigation.” A grim smile took over his face. “I’ve become pretty good at pretending to be someone else.”
“What did you find? I thought you said there wasn’t anything linking your father to what happened in Afghanistan.”
“There wasn’t, but I found a piece of paper with a city in Ecuador written on it. A city that I lived in right before I came to D.C. in July to check on you.”
Dread filled me as Matt gave a voice to one of my greatest fears, to the idea that someone would come after him again, that in coming back for me he’d put himself in even more danger. Maybe he should have stayed dead, should never have made his way to D.C.
“I think my father somehow found out I was alive. And seeing the way he died …” He cleared his throat, and I thought I saw a glimpse of a tear in his eye. “I think we have to assume that whoever killed him knows as much as my father did about me.”
“Do you think my father knows?”
If he did, there was no question in my mind that he’d have Matt killed.
“I don’t know.” His voice broke. “I think he would have given up anything at the end.”
I swallowed, a plethora of gruesome images coming to mind. Another chill spread throughout my body, and despite the August heat it felt like no matter what I did, I couldn’t get warm.
I was going to be sick. My conversation with Mr. Ryan at the Kennedy Center benefit ran through my mind again. Had he known the whole time that Matt was alive? Had he been trying to protect his son by keeping his identity hidden, or had he been biding his time, coming up with a plan to finish the job he’d started? Had he tried to have Matt killed then, too, or had it been an accident, a case of him not realizing that his son’s life was in jeopardy? That it was Matt’s unit in Afghanistan?
Did it matter?
And if he did know that Matt hadn’t died, did he tell anyone? “What are you going to do? What are we going to do?”
“I’m going to take you to the gun range this week after work and then I’m going to give you some tips on how to get into your father’s office. And I’m going to back you up, because there’s no way you’re going by yourself.”
I wasn’t going to argue that point; I was definitely out of my wheelhouse here. But that didn’t mean I wasn’t worried about him, that I wouldn’t have breathed a lot easier if he left town permanently.
Matt reached out, his fingers grazing my skin as he lifted my chin so that our gazes locked. “I promise you—I’m not going to let anything happen to you. I’ll do whatever I have to in order to keep you safe.”
That was what I was worried about. I didn’t want him risking his life for me.
“Are you sure it’s safe for you to stay? If they know you’re alive—”
“I’m not leaving you. Not until we finish this. You were right all along. We can’t get free of this unless we topple your father. When we have proof, when we can use it to hold him responsible for all that he’s done, for the crimes he’s committed, we’ll figure out what comes next. But right now there’s too much unfinished business.”
As far as plans went, ours pretty much terrified me, but I couldn’t see another way out of this other than confronting it head on.
“I’m here for whatever you need.”
He pressed his lips to my forehead. “I know. Thank you.”
“I’m sorry about your dad.”
“I know.”
“I heard that your mother was gone when it happened.”
“Yeah, I saw Capital Confessions. It looks like she was doing her annual spa trip to Switzerland. Apparently, she’s on her way back.”
Matt’s mom hadn’t been around a lot when we were growing up so it wasn’t like they were close, but I figured he still had to be worried about her; she’d lost both her husband and her son.
“Do you think she’ll be okay?”
Or as okay as anyone could be in these circumstances.
“Yeah. It might be hard at first, but you know how distant they were. They’ve been living separate lives for so long that I’m sure she’ll be able to move on.” He was quiet for a moment. “Did you see them? After they received news that I’d died? At the funeral and stuff?”
I nodded, surprised this was something he was ready to talk about.
“How were they? I mean, how did they seem to handle it?”
I felt a pang of sympathy for him, knowing he was really asking if I thought his parents had loved him, mourned him. The hardest part was that I didn’t know what answer I could give; I settled for as close to the truth as possible.
“Your mother cried at the funeral. Your father looked shaken up.” I laid my palm on his face, his beard scratching my skin. “They loved you in their own way. Even if it wasn’t enough and wasn’t what you deserved.”
Love was a funny thing in our world. If it was convenient, if it fit within the specter of power and wealth, then it was accepted, but if it didn’t, there was no question which would win out. I’d experienced enough of my parents’ marriage, seen firsthand my father’s infidelity with Jackie’s mom—who was probably just one in a long line of his mistresses—to know that love wasn’t a given. Those who had it were the lucky ones. Love gave you the kind of power that ruling by fear or amassing a fortune couldn’t touch. Power ebbed and flowed, money trickled through hands like sand, but love—if you kept it safe, guarded it, worked at it, turned yourself inside out for it—no one could take it away from you.
I stroked Matt’s back, my palms running over his powerful shoulders. I pressed my lips against his skin, inhaling his scent, savoring the feel of his warmth against me. With death swirling around us, this moment suddenly felt like everything, the need to simply stand together and breathe, overpowering.
“What can I do?” I whispered against his skin. “What do you need?”
“I don’t know.”
His hands gathered in my hair, pulling me even closer to him. I felt his body relax against mine as some of the tension slowly released, as he gave me the parts of himself that needed to be soothed.
Would we ever have normal? Would things ever just be good or happy? Or would this always be our normal? Did it matter?
I’d rather be
in hell with Matt than heaven with anyone else.
“Tell me how I can make you feel better,” I murmured, holding on tight, knowing he needed me to be strong for him now.
“Just stay here,” he whispered against my hair. “Just be with me.”
I could do that. And more.
I pulled back, my arms drifting from his neck down to his shoulders, resting on his biceps. I pressed a kiss to the curve there, inhaling the musky scent of him, rubbing my cheek against his bare flesh. A sigh escaped his lips. Then another one as I burrowed into that crook between his neck and shoulder, my teeth nipping there before I sucked on the skin, my mouth moving lower, covering him in kisses until I reached the center of his chest. I tugged his shirt off; our gazes connected as arousal flashed in his eyes. I didn’t know exactly what he needed, but judging from the groan that escaped his lips, this was a good start.
My nails scraped down his abs, his muscles contracting beneath my touch, another groan coming from his mouth. I’d learned now that he liked an edge with his sex; that it was a release for him in a way that wasn’t necessarily physical. He struggled with control—over his nightmares, over the parts of himself he was clearly uncomfortable with, over his feelings for me. But this was the one place that was safe for him to lose control, where he trusted me completely.
So I gave it to him, using my body to shroud him in all my love.
I sank down to my knees, removing first one shoe then the other, followed by his socks. He stared down at me, his eyes dark, his Adam’s apple bobbing.
I reached higher, my fingers resting on his belt buckle. I undid his belt, my fingers trembling slightly—emotions bubbling to the surface, raw and unrestrained. The button of his jeans came next, and then I pulled the fabric off of his lean hips. I dragged his boxers down until he stood before me naked and aroused. My breath hitched, my nipples tightening, a steady throb building between my legs.
I circled his cock with one hand, my free hand caressing his balls, and then my tongue darted out, dragging along the underside, tasting him from base to tip.
He groaned again, his hips canting toward me, and a rush of arousal pulsed between my legs.
This, too, felt familiar—the taste of him, shape of him.
I circled my tongue around the head of his cock, each lick sending another shudder through him, his body jerking against my touch. I parted my lips, wanting all of him. He thrust inside, his head falling back, his hands at his sides clenched into fists as I sucked him deep.
He was so beautiful; he had a warrior’s build, all of his scars the sign of a man who had been through hell and survived. He had a different kind of strength, the kind that came from life tossing him about and beating him down. I didn’t care what he’d done or who he’d become to get to this moment. All that mattered was that he was here now.
My hands came up to Matt’s hips, resting on either side as I steadied myself, using my mouth to bring him closer and closer to pleasure. His fingers dug into my scalp, pulling my hair as he tilted my head back with one hand, changing the angle, thrusting deeper.
My jaw ached, mouth swollen, the cheap carpet rubbing my knees, the bite of his fingers adding to the sensations flooding me as he fucked my mouth.
I’d never been more turned on in my life.
I looked up, our gazes locking, the savage expression I found there—like he’d lost a piece of himself somewhere along the way and found it inside of me—shattering me. His free hand clasped mine, pressing our palms together, fingers linked, holding on tight while he came, while the tension drained from his body, and I gave him some semblance of peace.
Chapter Fifteen
More details continue to emerge about the brutal slaying of James Ryan. His death appears to be the work of a home invasion with a deadly end …
—Capital Confessions blog
Matt
I sat on the edge of the bed, cleaning my gun, watching while Kate dressed for dinner with her parents—and for breaking into her father’s office.
In the past few years, there had been plenty of times when I’d been afraid, overcome with the sensation that some bad shit was about to go down, my hard-won survival instincts going into overdrive. I’d never experienced anything like the fear I felt now at the thought of sending her into the lion’s den. After what had happened to my father, I clung to the hope that she was still safe, still alive, because for all of his depravity, her father harbored some affection for her. Too much to actually kill her. It was a lot to hinge everything on, but right now I wasn’t sure I had much of a choice.
Kate came out of the bathroom, her hair in loose curls, wearing a blue and white striped dress that reminded me of something she would have worn when she was younger, trying to please her parents. She definitely had the part of prodigal daughter down, and it hit me that as much as I’d been playing a role over the years, so had she.
“You know, it’s not too late to take a gun. We could figure out a holster for it. They wouldn’t even know that it’s there.”
We’d spent time at the shooting range, but she’d been too uncomfortable to take a gun with her tonight; at least she would have it in her apartment in case she needed it. Considering I didn’t think I’d breathe easy unless she was in a fucking panic room, it wasn’t much of a consolation.
“How do you feel?” I asked.
In the last ten minutes, she’d started pacing back and forth, her short strides little bursts of nervous energy as she muttered to herself under her breath.
“Freaked out. Mentally steeling myself for a draining dinner. I don’t know how I’m going to look him in the face when I know what he’s done. How I’m supposed to pretend everything is normal. I’m afraid he’ll see through it immediately and all of this will blow up in our faces.”
I was afraid she’d push him too far, that if she got too close, threatened his power too much, he wouldn’t be afraid to make her another casualty in a long list of them. I was scared shitless.
“You know they’ll talk about what happened to your father,” Kate added.
“They will.”
Especially if her father was suspicious about her sudden reappearance in their life and wanted to test her loyalty. I took a deep breath, trying to prep her as I would anyone going into a mission, not wanting to let the emotions raging inside me cloud our goals. Fucking impossible.
“Look, the best lies are grounded in truth. He was my father. You were engaged to me. People will understand if you’re shaken up about it, if it dredged up old memories of my death. So if you get uncomfortable, just channel that and sell it. It’ll give you an excuse if you clam up or can’t handle it. Just stick with your instincts and what feels natural.”
She nodded, flattening her palms over her dress, tucking her hands into the pockets on each side. “You’re right. That’s good advice. I can definitely use that.”
“I’m more worried about you getting into his office.”
“Me too.”
“Remember what we talked about—if it feels too dangerous, if you think there’s a chance that you could get caught, don’t risk it. It’s not worth it.”
She nodded, a gesture that was entirely too capitulating to be believable. She was determined to see this through and nothing I could do was going to stop her.
I handed Kate the panic button, wishing I were going with her, the thin line of communication between us not nearly enough.
She slipped it into the pocket on the side of her dress.
I swallowed past the giant lump in my throat, offering a silent prayer that she would be cautious and refrain from taking risks with her life.
“If you need anything when you’re in there, if you get scared at all, you press that and I will come for you.”
I had not given up the use of a gun and had armed the shit out of myself. I had no qualms about taking out her father if it meant keeping her safe.
I reached out and grabbed her hand, pulling her toward me, the same feeling that this woul
d not end well that had been plaguing me for days now bubbling up to the surface.
“Promise me that you won’t take any risks. At the first sign of danger, you’re out of there.”
She nodded.
There were too many pieces moving around, too many contingencies, too many fucking stars that needed to align in order to make this happen. And if her father was so paranoid that he’d had my father killed to cover his tracks, then it made sense that he would have disposed of any incriminating information. But we were running out of opportunities to gather proof, and the security was way too tight to get into the house unless we took advantage of this opportunity.
And still, it felt like a bad fucking idea.
Kate
All it took was me stepping over the threshold, and suddenly the urge to flee nearly overpowered me. I’d forgotten how much I hated this house, how my happy memories here were few and far between. It had never been a home; there had never been anything real here. Everything had been about pretense and image, our entire family clay to be molded for my father’s political career. A house built on the blood and bones of all the people he’d stepped over to get ahead.
My fingers curved around the little button in my pocket, careful to keep from pressing it, but reassured by its presence, by the knowledge that Matt was close by.
I exchanged air kisses with my mother, clung to every shred of self-restraint to keep from shuddering as my father hugged me. My parents’ friends, the Brysons, were nice enough, their son, Michael, the kind of preppy that somehow came across as perpetually smug. It was only Wednesday and it had already been a long week, the prospect of dinner having filled me with dread all day at work.
I started drinking through the cocktail hour, needing the liquid courage to get through my mission and to keep from wanting to scream. I clutched the button a little tighter, clinging to Matt like he was my lifeline, ignoring the repeated looks my mother shot my way, which I knew conveyed her displeasure at my doing something so unladylike as keeping my hand in my pocket.
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