Zero Hour

by Megan Erickson

  “Yeah. You?”

  “I’m fine.”

  Dade exhaled a ring of smoke. “I’m just peachy, too, guys. Thanks for asking.”

  Roarke ignored the snark and gestured to Dade’s eye. “What happened?”

  Dade took a drag and exhaled slowly. His gaze drifted to Erick. “Your mom.”

  Erick pulled back his hoodie and laughed nervously. “Uh, yeah, so…about that…”

  Dade stood up and waved his hand, sending ashes scattering. “Forget it, Lee. Shitty jokes are your hallmark.”

  Erick’s shoulders went back, and Roarke groaned. They did not need another fistfight in this filthy alley. He held out a hand, stopping Erick from advancing on Dade to defend his goddamn jokes. “All right, simmer down.”

  “Wasn’t necessary anyway,” Dade said. “Saw you two the minute you walked in.”

  “You weren’t even in the room when we walked in,” Erick said.

  Dade cocked his head with a curl of his lip. “You sure about that?”

  Cocky motherfucker. Damn, Roarke hated this guy.

  Dade blew out another column of smoke. “So I let you do your thing in there, and now I’m allowing this fucking get-together out here, so I better get something good out of this, yeah?” He winked at Erick. “How’s your sister?”

  This time, Roarke wasn’t holding back his friend because Roarke himself was going for the jugular. Erick was right there with him ready to strangle the guy. Of course Dade, being Dade, was like the smoke drifting from his cigarette, because he easily evaded both of them.

  When Roarke’s angry haze cleared, he found himself staring at a fence, Erick breathing hard next to him. He whirled around to see Dade walking backward down the alley, hands up, laughing like a psycho. “Ah, now I know what buttons to push. So we’re even, huh?”

  Dade’s gaze settled on them as he came to a stop about ten feet away. “Interesting you both have the same reaction to an innocent question about Wren, huh?”

  “Can you shut your fucking mouth?” Roarke said.

  Dade flicked his cigarette on the street and ground the butt with his boot. “How about you talk about why you tracked me down.”

  Right, Flynn. Revenge. Destruction of Arden Saltner. Roarke took a deep breath and focused on what Dade could do. “Flynn’s dead.”

  Dade’s body immediately stiffened. He stared at Roarke with thinned lips and a full minute passed before he spoke again, hoarsely. “What?”

  Erick shifted next to them, his shoulders up around his ears. Flynn and Erick had been best friends. Inseparable. After Roarke, Erick had taken Flynn’s death the hardest. But they weren’t the only ones mourning. Flynn had been well liked by everyone who met him—he had been funny and good-looking and charming.

  “He’s dead. Ruled suicide, but it wasn’t a fucking suicide. He was about to blow the whistle on his boss, but before he could, he was found with a bullet in his head.”

  Dade took a step closer to them, his bruise more livid as he stepped into a small circle of light. “Is there a crew?”

  Roarke nodded.

  Dade blew out a breath. That’d always been the problem with Dade. He didn’t like working with people. He didn’t trust anyone but himself, and he had his own agenda. Finally Dade pointed at Erick. “I don’t like you.” He shifted his gaze to Roarke. “And I actively hate you. But I liked Flynn, and you caught me on some downtime when I’m bored. So fine. I’m in.”

  Wow, Roarke had thought it was going to be much harder than that to convince him. “Is there some catch? Why’re you agreeing so easily?”

  Dade was quiet for a moment, and he took a step closer. Roarke could see there was also a fading bruise on his jaw. “If I do this? You owe me.”

  Ah, there it was. Nothing in life was free. He clenched his teeth. “Owe you? Do I get to declare some boundaries on that?”

  Dade shook his head. “If it’s within your abilities, I expect you to do it.”

  Roarke swallowed. With Dade that could mean…fucking anything. The guy didn’t operate within the bounds of the law or hacker ethics or even decent morality.

  But this was about Flynn, so he manned up. “Deal.”

  Dade grinned. It was an evil grin, but at least Roarke was going to benefit from his brand of evil. He hoped. Dade stuck out his hand. Roarke shook it, and when he pulled his hand back, a business card was in his palm. When he looked up, Dade was walking away. He called over his shoulder. “Text me time and place.”

  “I will,” he said.

  “And get that cheekbone checked. Looks like you might need stitches,” Dade said right before he opened the door to the betting place and disappeared inside. The slam of the door closing made Roarke flinch.

  “I really hate that guy,” he muttered.

  Erick snatched the card out of his hand and flipped it over. “Just a number.”

  “Probably a burner.”

  “Dade Kelly is one shady motherfucker, man.”

  Roarke took the card back. “I know, but I’m not sure we can do this without him.”

  “I know, whatever. Fuck. I hate that we can’t do this ourselves. I’m so antsy to erase Saltner from the earth.”

  Roarke swiped his hat off the ground and tugged it back on. He nudged Erick with his elbow to encourage him to walk down the alley. “Me too.”

  Erick wrinkled his nose. “This place makes me want to shower.”

  “Yeah, those designer jeans of yours probably have puke on them. Or syphilis. Whatever was on the ground of that alley.”

  Erick shuddered. “Fuck you, don’t remind me.”

  Roarke plucked at Erick’s racing jacket. “You got a hole in the arm here now.”

  Erick craned his neck to look at the elbow of his sleeve. “Goddamn it! That bastard ruined my brand-new jacket.”

  Roarke laughed, which only made Erick madder. “Hey,” Erick said. “Remember that you have a hole in your jacket, too. Also courtesy of Dade Fucking Kelly.”

  “I got this jacket in Denmark. I’m not giving it up just because he was pissed and tried to burn me with a cigarette.”

  Erick shook his head as they reached the end of the alley and entered the parking lot. “I hope this isn’t a mistake, asking for his help.”

  That sobered Roarke quickly. His cheekbone hurt like hell, and he wiped his face with the back of his hand. When he checked it, the black-and-white skull tattooed there was now colored red. He and Erick both looked like delinquents, which meant they probably fit in in this part of town.

  Roarke glanced up, trying to get his bearings so they could find the car and get the hell out of there. The small parking lot was deserted, and he thought they were the only two around until he heard footsteps. He went on high alert, scanning their surroundings for an escape route. There was a streetlamp in the far corner, and a figure slowly stepped into the light.

  Roarke stopped walking. He blinked a couple of times because his eyes had to be playing tricks on him. Did Dade drug him and he didn’t notice? Because the woman standing in the parking lot had Wren’s face, for sure, but she couldn’t be Erick’s sister. Her hair—normally a straight, shiny black inherited from their South Korean parents—was dyed a silvery light lavender. She wore thick-soled black boots, fishnet stockings, and a short black skirt. Her leather jacket was pushed up to her elbows, revealing colorful tattoo sleeves and a dozen metal bracelets that jangled when she moved.

  Last time he’d laid eyes on her, she’d been wearing a floral sundress and flip-flops, with a clean face and hair still damp from her shower. Over the years, he’d tracked her the only way he knew how—from behind a monitor. But what he couldn’t know, and hadn’t thought about, was how she’d changed. The innocent smile he’d vowed to protect was now replaced with a defiant smirk that turned him on.

  Her makeup was heavy, her lips a bright red. And she was looking right at him with a glint in her eye that was completely foreign in her gorgeous face.

  “Oh shit,” Erick muttered fr
om beside him.

  Roarke rubbed his eyes and opened them. Nope, she was still there.

  Finally, Wren parted those sinful lips on a grin. “Hey brother dearest. Hey Roarke. Heard you’re starting a crew.”

  That was when he found his voice. “No way in fucking hell.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  He was still a fine, fine man.

  His chest had filled out some since Wren had last seen him, and his posture was more confident. Standing there in a ball cap, torn jeans, bloody shirt, and a scowl, Roarke Brennan was a dream.

  Well, if a girl’s dream was a tattooed tech-head who was now glaring at her like he wanted her to disappear.

  Okay, so the dream needed work.

  Erick had told her Roarke wouldn’t want her involved, but she’d managed to tease it out of her brother that they’d be here tonight. So here she was, ready to convince the man she’d carried a torch for since high school that she could help him in the most important mission of his life.

  Because she had a card to play, and it was the ace Roarke needed. He just didn’t know it yet.

  She wondered if he still saw her as the innocent teenage Wren who loved books and crushed on boys. He might not see her as she was now, a woman ten years older who’d been through hell and back.

  She straightened her spine, wishing now she’d worn heels because Roarke always towered over her petite frame. She clutched the edges of her jacket. “Let’s try this again. I say, ‘Hey Roarke,’ and you say something back like, ‘Hey’ or ‘Hello.’ I’ll even accept a grunt, which is better than a ‘No way in fucking hell.’” She tilted her head. “So. Hey Roarke.”

  If he glared any harder, he was going to pop a blood vessel in his tattooed neck until the inked rose bled. He whipped his head to Erick. “Why is she here? What does she know about a crew?”

  Erick’s face was bright red, and if Roarke didn’t kill her first, Erick would do the job. His eyes bored into hers, promising retribution. Oops. “Dude, she fucking played me.”

  “She played you.” Roarke’s voice was deceptively calm. Since it wasn’t directed at her, she hid a smile behind a cough. “We’ve single-handedly brought down multimillion-dollar businesses, rerouted an oil tanker in Alaska, and exposed that shady prince in Morocco, and you can’t keep a secret from your fucking sister?”

  Erick shifted his weight, alternating his glare between her and his best friend. “I was pissed about Flynn, okay? So I told her.”

  “And how is she here?”

  “Um—”

  “He told me about that, too,” Wren piped up, probably at her own peril. But if Roarke stayed angry at Erick, it took less heat off her. “Because I asked if the crew was complete. He said you were coming here for Kelly.” She pointed at the cut on his cheek. “That from him?”

  Roarke gritted out one word. “Yes.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “Should I make a joke about the other guy, or…”

  “It took some convincing, but he’s in,” Erick said.

  “Great!” She smiled brightly on purpose. “And now you have me, so we’re all good.”

  Roarke was shaking his head before she finished speaking. “You’re not on the crew.”

  She’d told herself on the ride there to keep her cool, knowing Roarke could be cautious. Where Flynn had used charm and positivity to cover his pain growing up, Roarke let it all play out on his face in the form of a near-constant glare. He kept everyone at arm’s length except for his brother and Erick. Every once in a while, that glare would drop, and she could see the depth in those hazel eyes of his. She knew she’d barely seen the tip of the iceberg.

  All she’d ever wanted in high school was to be in that inner circle, for Roarke to treat her like she was more than just Erick’s annoying little sister. Sometimes she swore he’d let his gaze linger on her just a second too long, but then the next day, he’d pretend she didn’t exist. So she’d poured herself into her studies and meeting her parents’ expectations, and that had crashed and burned epically.

  She’d pulled herself out of the ashes, put her energy into doing what she’d always loved, and now she was here, hoping to use those skills to help Roarke and to avenge Flynn. And that other little revenge of her own, but that would be dealt with later. Right now, convincing Roarke was the priority.

  She tossed her hair. “What, you think a girl isn’t capable of being on the team?”

  “Nice try, but we got Marisol. This ain’t about you having a fucking vagina, Wren.”

  Ugh, why was he still hot while sneering at her? “Okay, then what’s it about?”

  His mouth moved with no sound, like he wasn’t sure what to say until he blurted it out. “It’s about the fact that it’s you.”

  His open and honest rejection stung. She reared back, and a flash of regret crossed over Roarke’s face. “The answer is no, and that’s final.” He speared Erick with a glare. “Deal with her. I’m out.”

  He turned on a heel and strode toward his car. She glanced at Erick, hoping he would come through for her, but he was staring after Roarke and biting his lip.

  Fine, fuck it. She’d show her ace. She cracked her knuckles, bracelets jingling, and called to Roarke’s back. “Darren Saltner wants me.”

  Roarke stopped so fast that dust swirled up at his booted feet. He didn’t move, and she stared at his shoulders, waiting to see what would win out—his desire for revenge or his apparent distaste for her.

  He turned slowly, and the brim of his cap shaded the top half of his face so all that was visible were the tense lines of his mouth. Finally, his lips parted, and his voice was eerily calm. “What did you say?”

  Erick straightened slowly, his eyes cutting to Roarke, and she should have listened to the warning bells in her head. Spoiler: she didn’t.

  “Darren Saltner has been trying to tap my ass since he saw me shake it at Alpha.” She didn’t add that it had been her plan all along because she’d wanted to get Darren’s attention. “So if you want information on Arden, what better way to get it than through his son?” She pointed at herself with both thumbs. “I can be your valentine.”

  “Oh motherfucking Christ, Wren.” Erick leaned forward and braced his hands on his knees. He shook his head while moaning, “No, no, no.”

  Roarke moved fast, faster than she thought he was capable. In two strides, he was in front of her, the heat of his body slamming into her. His hat was off, dark hair hanging in sweaty strands across his forehead. She held her ground even though his sudden proximity sent her into vertigo.

  Through gritted teeth, he hissed, “Stay away from Darren Saltner.”

  Oh hell no. How dare he get in her face and tell her what to do? “Excuse me?”

  “Wren”—he exhaled roughly and dragged a hand through his hair, his gaze drifting away before snapping back to her—“this isn’t a game.”

  “I don’t think—”

  “I can’t get into what’s at stake, but trust me when I say that Arden will not hesitate to take out anyone who messes with him.” His voice dropped. “He killed Flynn, and over my dead body will you be next.”

  She wasn’t sure if he cared about her or didn’t want a murdered woman on his conscience. “If anyone else came to you and said they had an in with Saltner, would you take them up on it?”

  He didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

  She counted to ten, not wanting to respond in a way that would put him on the defense. She placed a hand on his solid chest, curling her fingers against the soft cotton of his T-shirt. His light hazel eyes shone brightly in the harsh streetlamp, and as she tilted her head back, his gaze roamed her face. “So what’s wrong with me?”

  A muscle in his jaw clenched, and his chest beneath her palm tensed. He didn’t speak for a long moment, until finally his hand lifted slowly, tattooed fingers curling around her wrist. He lowered his head as he plucked her hand off his chest and rotated her wrist. His thumb rubbed over the pink rose of Sharon inked there, the point of contact spreadi
ng heat up her arm and through her chest. When he dropped her arm back at her side, he sighed. “There’s nothing wrong with you, Wren. That’s my point.”

  A lump rose unbidden in her throat. Oh shit, she hadn’t cried for years. Of course Roarke would be the one to break her literal dry spell. “It’s been ten years, Roarke. I wasn’t perfect then, and I’m not perfect now.”

  He leaned down, so close that she could feel his breath on her face. “Didn’t say you were perfect. Just said nothing was wrong with you.” Before she could respond, he was backing away. “Fly home back to the nest now, little bird.”

  He spun on his heel, and words failed her, the old nickname he’d given her when she was a teenager ringing in her head. His back was to her now, long strides widening the distance between them. She tried to plead with her eyes to Erick, but he was following his friend to the car. The two men slid into an old Mustang, and the harsh sounds of the closing car doors were what finally shocked her out of her stupor.

  She retreated to her Ducati Diavel and shoved her purple-and-silver helmet on her head while Roarke’s words rattled between her ears. She straddled her bike, revved the engine a couple of times, and peeled out of the parking lot.

  At first, she hadn’t known what to feel, but as she sped down the highway back to DC, the fire burning in her chest was clearly anger.

  Anger over Roarke’s dismissal, his apparent need to still treat her like she was fragile. Little bird. Ten years ago, she’d loved the nickname, happy that she ranked anywhere in Roarke’s life to deserve a nickname. And while some residual feelings of affection hung on those words, she couldn’t help but think that they also represented what he still thought of her. That she was the same hapless teenager.

  She’d thought she was over her high school crush, but clearly not. Why why why did she want what she couldn’t have?

  She was only a year younger than Erick, and the first time she met Roarke Brennan, he was a gangly middle-schooler. Even then, he seemed so much older. He had to be a parent to Flynn after their parents were killed, because they lived with an uncle who neither wanted them nor even seemed to like them.