by Marie Wathen
“I promise,” she states while stroking a hand up my chest and threading her fingers into my hair. “You can trust me.”
I nod, knowing that I absolutely trust her. “When all of this began, I had a set goal: get Nelson to confess that he was responsible for the deaths of my parents, my Uncle Owen and the Kennedy’s. My reason was simple. I was pissed off because of what that asshole did to my brothers and sisters. He stole my mother away from them and because we lost her, they were separated. Urban and Oakley went to live with my grandparents in Birmingham and Indie moved in with my aunt in Atlanta. It was so damn unfair, and they deserved retribution. However, instead of going all vigilante on his ass–and believe me, I can get awfully damn creative with procuring forced admissions–but this time, I wanted his declaration of guilt the legal way.” I shake my head at my failure, and she remains quiet, earnestly listening. “In the process of earning his trust, my efforts were disastrous, and I am truly disappointed. I became the one thing that I hate more than anything else. I stepped into the shoes of my dead father. My efforts within the cartel increased Nelson’s fortune and drug sales around the world skyrocketed.” My eyes lower to the thrumming pulse in her neck, noticing the rapid increase with my profession.
“Rhys…” She shakes her head, placing a finger over my lips.
“Doll,” I stop her from defending me, “I am shameful, but I need to tell you.” I kiss the pad then lace our hands together, drawing them down to my chest.
Building her strength, she looks right into my soul. “Whatever it is, I will understand.”
I counter, “Probably not. My first test of loyalty with Nelson came via hardcore initiation.” The worry lines form along her forehead, so I press a tender kiss there before continuing. “The old man and my aunt Camille invited me out for a celebratory dinner about two months after I joined Decks’ stash house. After dinner, he received a call and asked me to join him. We drove out toward the old commercial district near Riverview.”
“Those buildings are all abandoned. I noticed the first night Russ took me to Decks’ that the whole area looks like a war zone.”
“It’s a shithole, for sure. So, when we parked at one of the warehouses, I knew something shady was about to go down. Nelson’s Italian leather shoes had never once touched the likes of such filth. Inside, we headed toward a back office where there were noises coming from the brightly lit room. As we approached, I recognized the sound. Someone was getting slapped around.”
She hisses. “Damn, did he expect you to beat up or kill a newbie?”
“Not quite,” I reply, staring into the space ahead, but not seeing the room that we’re in. Instead, I am transported back to that bloody storage room.
The door is standing fully open. Nelson crosses through and I’m directly behind him. It is exactly what you would expect in a rundown old office. There are lots of file cabinets, mostly tipped over and empty, all covered in a thick layer of dust. Some items have been scattered, littering the floor, making the place look like it was pilfered years ago.
“You better start talking, motherfucker,” Ryan growls, his fist landing hard across the right cheek of a man stretched across a large office desk pushed in to the middle of the room. Ryan Stallings is one of Nelson’s vilest assassins. He doesn’t kill his targets from afar. Up close and personal is more his style. The all but lifeless guy’s face is cut, blood oozing from several open wounds. His wrists and ankles are bound by chains, hooked around each desk leg. His chest puffs in and out rapidly, his breathing is a ragged wheeze, echoing off the paneled walls.
Catching us entering the room, Ryan leans away from the guy and gives Nelson a nod. “He’s gone stiff on me, sir. Thought you might want to speak with him before I push the grilling.”
“Yes, Mr. Stallings, calling me was smart. I believe that Mr. Ponder prefers talking with me as opposed to what you have to offer,” Nelson says kindly. If I didn’t know him for the heartless bastard that he is, I would think that he was the poor guy’s rescuer. In the next breath, he dissolves that thought. “David just needs a little motivation.”
Ryan grabs a handful of paper towels, blotting off some of the fresh blood from his knuckles, and leaves the room. Nelson stands over the captive. The man peeks back at him through swollen lids, his eyes glazed over. I don’t recognize him, but from the assault that Ryan has given him, for several hours, his own mother might not know him either. His body trembles from the pain surging through each muscle. The only exposed area on the guy’s body that isn’t bruised or cut is his mouth. Clearly, they are expecting him to confess his transgressions.
“Ethan,” Nelson calls over his shoulder, and I step forward. The man shifts his gaze to me, but he doesn’t say or do anything to give away that he may identify me. “It appears that we trapped a mole.” He arches an eyebrow staring at me, while jerking his head toward the man lying across the desk.
My first responsibility within the cartel is working one of Decks’ drive-thru sells. Since I am still early out from the job, I am familiar with most of the guys in the local police departments and haven’t come in contact with an undercover yet. There are always rumors from informants about infiltrators. I guess he wants me to rat him out.
I ask, “Did you call him David Ponder?” Nelson nods, studying me closely. “I don’t recognize the name and he doesn’t look familiar.” For the first time since entering the room, I notice David’s breathing changes, slowing down and his body is completely still. His guard lowers. Foolish mistake.
“David, I need for you to be honest with me,” Nelson says. “This will all go easier if you answer my questions correctly. Which agency are you working with? The city?” David doesn’t respond. “The county?” No reply. Nelson’s voice shifts to a low growl, “Did the Marshall’s office send you here?” Still nothing.
Behind me, I hear a squeaking noise echoing through the large warehouse. A minute later, Ryan returns, pushing a cart toward the desk. A bag of intravenous fluids and newly opened medical equipment glints brightly off the sparse lighting above. There is a large, hard-shell suitcase on the bottom shelf–David’s final resting place. Ryan squeezes his large hands into a pair of blue surgical gloves, moving around to David’s left side.
“Boy, you better start talking now. Otherwise, Ryan here is going to start burning the flesh off your bones, inch by miserable inch.”
David doesn’t even flinch. But I swallow hard when I read the warning label on the brown bottle in Ryan’s hand. He draws a large syringe full of the flesh eating toxin and then empties it into the IV bag. Sluggishly, David’s eyes study his tormentor’s movements, but he still remains completely quiet. He is too calm for someone facing some very painful minutes ahead. Just to prove his obstinacy, David closes his eyes.
“Fucking pig,” rips from Nelson’s throat like a beastly roar. Then he punches the stubborn man on the side of his head. David’s face jerks away from us, so Nelson grabs his chin, pulling it back around and lifting a lid. He glares right into the nearly unconscious man’s eye and orders, “Begin, Ryan, and start with his eyelids. I want him seeing everything that you do to him. One way or another, Mr. Ponder, you will tell me which agency you are working for and the name of the piece of shit who is your partner.” A glistening in David’s eyes urges Nelson to continue. “Make no mistake; I know that you are protecting someone. That is the only reason you are remaining silent. If you weren’t undercover, you would be screaming your innocence.”
Stepping away, Nelson jams a hand into his hair, blows out a heavy, controlled breath and then releases his grip. Manically smoothing down the wild hairs, he glares at me. My gaze turns back to the man, possible brother in law enforcement, and my stomach drops. Ryan rigs a metal arm that suspends above David’s head, the glass cylinder of clear fluids swings on a single hook at the top. He reaches down, and pulls the motionless man’s left eyelid away from his face by the lashes. With a deliberate move of his calloused thumb, he unloosens the hep-lock on the c
lear catheter tubing–clearly made of something other than plastic–and allows one tiny drop to fall onto the center of David’s lid.
Tears roll from each outside corner of the man’s eyes, but he doesn’t say a word, all while a wisp of smoke lifts from the eroding skin, burning a hole through the soft flesh.
“He isn’t screaming,” I point out, my voice barely above a whisper because I’m fighting against an intense braid, consisting of atypical fear, a wave of nausea and the protector of all, forming in my throat. In the five years of working the deadly streets of Atlanta, I have witnessed the effects of abuse on victims, from drugs, to physical, and even mental. All are terrible and unforgivable. But this cruelty hits home for me. This man could be a police officer, hiding the truth to protect a potential partner. I need to save him from them as well as himself.
“Oh, no, Ponder,” Ryan says, grabbing up a syringe and roughly jabbing it into the man’s arm. “No passing out. I have enough adrenaline here to revive you over and over and over again. We’re doing this all night long, for a week or until your body gives out from the pain. Or, you can give me what the boss wants now and I’ll make your final moments pain free.”
“Do something.” The words fall from my lips, prayerfully, like I’m begging him or Him.
The oxidization removes the skin up to David’s eyebrow. Hearing me, he slowly steers his attention toward me. In a pregnant moment, I see determination set solid in that glare. He will never give up this information. At any and all cost, this man will accept his death, protecting others, one acidic drop at a time. And there isn’t a damn thing that I can do to stop it. Resolving to separate my mind from this scene, I think about my own partner, Jude, his wife, Natalie, and their two children, Dean and Simone. Could I go through this much hell for my partner? Would I break under Nelson’s orders, endangering their lives in such a way?
“You would risk it all for the people that you love, you already have,” Sam says, rising up on top of me to straddle my hips, and pressing her forehead against mine.
“I’ve done things, horribly disgusting things that I am not proud of. That night was just the beginning. Nelson was thrilled that I didn’t get involved by stopping the torture, proving my devotion to him. We left Ryan to do the job, and it turns out that David was undercover. But he never revealed the truth. His alleged partner was never discovered either. The county came forward with a press release when he failed to check in after a month. Hiding the truth killed him, but he may have saved many lives in the process. It’s a fine line that we walk. Most days the lies rip at my soul.” Cupping her face, I brush my lips over hers. “This job was a freaking mess, but what I do know is that even though a lot of shit got screwed up in the process, all of the people that I care about are safe. So, would I do it all over again? Without a doubt. Mainly because it led me to you.”
“Wow,” she gasps and then smiles. “You are literally the man of my dreams.”
“Hear me on this,” I say, looking deeply into her eyes. “I won’t ever risk you, baby. My last breath will be snuffed from my body before I would ever let someone harm you.”
“I know, Rhys,” she assures, covering my mouth with hers in a slow, consuming kiss. My hands stroke through her soft locks, gripping the back of her head, deepening our kiss. This woman is everything, my angel, and very soon, my wife.
“You really accept the vileness that has been my life for almost twenty-eight years?”
“Something that my Gran always says is that love is a powerful thing that can change even the worst of us. You are the most beautifully transformed creature on this planet. I know your heart. To the world, you are the former Ethan “Blues” Sloane, soon-to-be Commander Rhys Bentley, but to me, you are the man that brought my world to life the first time that you looked at me across a crowded nightclub, you enflamed my desires with the hottest fuck I have ever had, and then you treated me like a priceless treasure when you protected me without knowing all of my deep dark secrets either. My love, no matter what you believe about yourself, or who you think you should be, to me, you are and forever will be, my Blues.”
“And, you will always be my Angel.” She nods. “Are you ready for this new adventure?”
“I want Dr. A’s balls,” she affirms with a confident smirk.
I laugh. “Things are about to get crazy. When we get the bastard, I promise you first dibs.” I wink, and then drop the playfulness when I say, “With Tyle as our personal conduit to Dr. A, Nelson’s linkage outside of the prison walls and Juan’s crew wanting retribution, our life together won’t be easy. It quite literal will most likely be pure hell. But with you by my side, I will endure whatever nightmares await us. Truthfully, after being stalled for so long, I’m going stir crazy and can’t wait to dive into a new job. I know that you’re not sure about Kole’s focus, and maybe bringing your kid brother, Marcus, in seems a little odd, because he’s so fresh. But, adding them to our group just might balance out the two of us. They could prove to be the steadfast elements in this unpredictable obstacle course that we must maneuver through to find that sick fucker.”
“I like Kole, but I do have doubts about his focus. I trust you know what you’re doing. Marcus coming into the fold is what blows my mind. He just graduated from the academy, which means he’s trained, but you know as well as I do that life experience in this world is really what’s required to survive it.”
“You weren’t much older than he is now when you started with the police department. How long were you on patrol before the DTF scooped you up?”
“Six weeks.” Wincing, she closes her eyes and then says, “Ugh! All right, you got me there. He’s just…well other than Gran and Kris, Marcus is my best friend. With his twin, Morgan, acting weird for the past year and their issue with some skank bitch, I hope that he can keep his head in the job. I refuse to lose anyone else. Now, I have you to add to that short list. We can’t lose each other.” Our lips meet, sealing the promise that nothing is stronger than us.
Chapter Forty-Five
Gasping, Sam whispers, “Rhys, why are my grandparents here?”
My lips crush against hers, securing her in a loving embrace. She kisses me back, hard, forgetting for a moment that we are standing in public with her grandparents only a few feet away. Brushing my mouth over her bottom lip once more, I press my forehead against hers, and stare deeply into glimmering grey pools. I love her so much.
A smile pulls across my face and I reply, “We need witnesses, Doll.”
Again, she gasps, “Are you telling me what I think you’re telling me?”
“We’re not at the courthouse getting the title for your motorcycle transferred over. That was just a cover.” I wink. Her hands tremble, so I lace mine through them. “We’re getting married right here, right now, because I can’t stand the thought of being apart from you for another moment without you being mine completely. Our life melded together the moment that we met, but today, we become one.” I stare into her glistening grey eyes, “If you’ll have me?”
“But,” she stutters, “How?” Her eyes rake over my serene expression and then she frowns, “When did you meet my grandparents, Rhys?”
“There’s still so much more for me to tell you, doll, and I promise that you will know everything, but do you think that we could do this,” I point toward the top steps of the Willow Island county courthouse stairs, “first?”
She turns to glance over her shoulder, smiles up at her beautiful grandmother, who is wrapped in a sweet hug by her adoring husband, and then she glances back at me. Nodding, she replies, “You are one crazy insane man, Rhys. Bentley.”
Unable to deny that truth, I shrug and laugh, “I’m crazy insane about you, silly woman.”
She shouts, “Hell yes, I will marry you.”
A whoop sounds from the top stair, and Sam’s Grandfather, Mac Walker says, “Kiss that girl and then let’s do this thing, boy.”
Surprisingly, it’s Sam who plants a hot kiss on my mouth before she
spins around and drags us into the courthouse. The justice of the peace ceremony is uneventful and ten minutes later, I am sweeping my wife off her feet and rushing back to the car. She squeals and threatens to beat my ass if I don’t put her down. I swat her sexy behind and then over my shoulder, I call out to Mac, “We’ll meet you back at the house. Thank you both for everything.”
“Yes sir, and remember what I said,” Mac calls. “Take good care of my sugar dumpling or else.” Spinning around seeing him brushing a tear away from Aileen’s cheek, I smile and salute.
Stubborn as her granddaughter, Aileen pushes his hand away, cups her hands around her mouth and shouts, “We love you both!”
I spin around again, reach for the door handle and plop Sam down into the passenger seat. “Where are we going in such a rush?” Sam asks right before I shut the door.
Slipping in behind the steering wheel, I admit, “I have one last confession.”
“This needed to wait until after we were married?” She asks suspiciously, her eyebrows reaching for her hairline. “Ah, hell, it’s bad, isn’t it?”
“Meh,” I reply, with a shrug, hoping to calm her. “Give me twenty minutes and you’ll know everything.”
“Fine,” she growls, staring out the side window.
Smiling at her feistiness, I mock back, “Fine.”
The traffic is light through downtown and we arrive at my home sooner than I estimated. “Whose house is this, Rhys,” she asks, glancing from the gate in front of us to the road behind. “Wait, I thought we were meeting my grandparents for dinner? That’s why I wore this posh dress,” she drones unhappily. “Why are you being so secretive?”