“Because I want this to end where it all started. In his study, where he tried to ruin me,” she explained.
I understood her reasons. She needed the closure. I had not been back to the house since the day I packed my shit and left. That happened to be the same day I found Alister and Blake. After I had driven around for hours, I went back later that night and grabbed my stuff. I bounced around from friend’s house to friend’s house until it was time for me to leave for basic. Luckily, I didn’t have that long to wait. I guessed that’s why Alister had put the pressure on Blake. As the weeks went by and my ship date got closer, Alister and my mother were arguing with me more and more about changing my mind and going to college.
“Sounds good. Wheels up in thirty,” I told her.
Four hours later I was standing in the perfectly manicured driveway of my stepfather’s sixteen-thousand square foot mansion. The stone exterior with custom Tuscan-style columns boxing in the large front porch looked exactly like I had remembered. I knew the marble floors, cream wainscot paneling, and hella-expensive custom molding around the twenty-foot ceilings would still be as cold as they were the day I left. There was nothing warm and inviting about this house. It was not a home; it was a shrine to Alister and his over-inflated pompous ego. The eight-bedroom, ten-bathroom house complete with sauna, theater room, and tennis courts were all for show; a grand appearance for a man that was a cold-hearted killer. He might not be the one pulling the trigger, but he certainly was pulling the strings.
There were no cars in the driveway, but there never were. Alister said it looked classless to have vehicles parked on his imported brick drive, even if those vehicles were an Aston Martin, Mercedes, and a Porsche. They were to be parked in one of the five garage bays. One of the biggest fights we’d gotten into was not about the Army; it was over my pickup truck. He hated it, and that was all the more reason for me to keep it. My mother and sister were easily bought off and quickly ditched their used cars, a Honda and Toyota at the time, trading up to the Porsche and Merc. I refused to let my truck go. I bought it with money I had saved. That was the only fight Alister and I had where my mother took my side; on everything else she sided with him.
I hated this house. I hated what it did to my mom and how it destroyed my family. I would like to have said that I knew my mom and sister didn’t know about what Alister was doing, but I couldn’t. I didn’t know either of them anymore. And if my mom could easily turn her back on her child there was no telling what she was capable of. Hell, a few months ago when her mother passed away, I was the only one that would handle the estate. I guess the measly fifty-thousand dollars my grandmother had left wasn’t enough for my mother to be bothered with.
I saw a figure pass by the large front window. With the sheer white drapery, I couldn’t make out if it was female or male. However, someone was home.
“Ready?” I asked.
“Hell, yes.”
I watched as my brave wife marched her ass up the front steps and knocked on the door. I came up behind her and Grayson stood off to the side holding a briefcase with the warrant.
The door came open, and the man himself appeared.
Alister Bench.
Time had not been kind to him; he looked much older than his sixty years. At one time he had been a fit man and a commanding presence. Today, he looked pudgy and weak.
“Oh look, the prodigal son returns home, with his white-trash girlfriend,” Alister sneered.
“Wife,” I corrected.
“Of course you’d marry trash. After all, no matter how hard I tried I couldn’t remove the stain of the ghetto off of you,” he replied.
I wasn’t going to take the bait. It no longer mattered what this vile piece of shit said about Blake or me.
“May we come in?” Blake asked and smiled sweetly at him.
“Your mother isn’t here, she’s at the spa,” Alister told me, guessing I wanted to see my mother.
“I’m here to talk to you.”
Alister stepped aside to let us in and walked toward his study off the foyer. “I’d offer you a drink, but I don’t have any Jack Daniels in the house. I don’t want to waste my Dalmore on an Army private that wouldn’t appreciate a single malt Scottish Whisky.”
“First Sergeant,” I corrected him again.
“Same difference. Army grunt. What do you want?” Coming to a stop in front of his desk, he turned to face Blake and me.
I glanced at Blake; she gave nothing away as she stood by my side, shoulders back, head held high, and a sly smile on her face.
Damn, she looked beautiful. I remained quiet and waited for Blake; this was her show. I was merely a bystander.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Blake
I hoped Alister couldn’t see how badly I was shaking. Not out of fear, I was no longer afraid of this man. I was using all of my control not to strangle the arrogant bastard.
“I have a few questions about Muscat, Oman,” I started.
“It is a filthy shit hole full of uneducated people. But you must know that Miss Porter seeing as you have visited the country many times. You were only in Yemen a few weeks ago, yes?” he asked.
“So, you’ve followed my career?” I smiled.
“If that’s what you want to call it. Two-bit reporting for the Daily Sun. It is a shame really. I saw so much potential in you. I should’ve known better than to try and pluck trash out of the dumpster.”
“You mean when you tried to blackmail me into leaving Levi and pay me off with an internship at one of your papers? I’m surprised that you’d consider dirtying up one of your media outlets with my presence.”
“Yes, well, you can’t blame me for trying. Madeline was beside herself with grief that her son was leaving. What would you like to know about Muscat? I don’t make a habit of giving information to my competitors, but I will be buying up the Sun soon, so I suppose it won’t hurt.”
“I’m afraid you will not be buying anything, Mr. Bench. You see, where you will be going you’ll be more concerned about not dropping the soap than mergers and acquisitions.”
Alister smiled and threw his head back, laughing long and hard. I allowed this to continue for some time. It would make this next part so much more fun.
“I see you’re still as naïve as you were at eighteen when you thought a silly voice recording was going to hurt my reputation. Once I acquire the Sun, your termination will be my first order of business. I refuse to have incompetent people working for me. Your days are numbered. You’ll never get another job as a reporter when I’m done with you,” he threatened.
“That is perfect, actually. You see for the last eight years it has been exhausting carrying out my duties and working the desk at the Daily Sun. I’m more than happy to give the cover up.”
“The cover? What are you rambling on about?”
I pulled the leather identification wallet out of my pocket and opened it up and flashed it in Alister’s direction.
“Alister Bench, you are under arrest,” I announced.
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Alister huffed, leaning in looking at my credentials. “You can’t arrest me, you idiot. That badge says CIA. You have no law enforcement function, nor do you have jurisdiction in the United States. Get out of my house,” he yelled is face turning a nice shade of cranberry.
“You see Mr. Bench, the beauty of being good at my job is, unlike you, a lot of people in really high places like me. The Director of the FBI personally saw to it this afternoon that I was sworn in as a federal agent with all of the proper jurisdiction to arrest your arrogant ass. In about two minutes federal agents are going to swarm your pretty house and tear it apart. Under the Patriot Act, you’re charged with twenty-three acts of funding known terror organizations. We will start there and work our way through more charges. Please turn around Mr. Bench. You have the right to remain…”
“Fuck you.” He cut me off and started to go behind his desk.
“I really wouldn’t
do that, Mr. Bench.” I sighed, pulling my .45 from under my blazer, leveling it in his direction.
“Did you really think I was going to let you take me in?” he asked and opened the top drawer.
“I don’t much care how this ends, Bench. Only that you’re stopped.”
“Even if I make you a widow?” he asked and pointed the gun in Levi’s direction.
The loud crack of gunfire echoed off the wood paneling in the room leaving my ears ringing.
I holstered my weapon and turned to look at Levi.
“Ready to go home?” he asked.
“Yes.”
I heard Grayson chuckling behind us and the sirens as they pulled into the driveway. Not the most appropriate time to be laughing; there was a man dead bleeding on an expensive Persian rug. I didn’t take pleasure in having to kill Alister Bench, but I wasn’t going to lose sleep over it either. The man had been responsible for hundreds of deaths around the world.
I turned my attention away from the growing puddle of blood that pooled around Alister’s body to my husband. Twelve years ago, I’d lost the man I loved standing in this very spot. When the door slammed that day, I thought my life had ended. Today, we would walk out that same door together. And when we closed the door behind us, it would not be the end of our story. Today, we would not be turning the page or ending a chapter of our lives.
Today we were starting a whole new book.
About Riley Edwards
Riley Edwards is a best-selling multi-genre author, wife, and military mom. Riley was born and raised in Los Angeles but now resides on the east coast with her fantastic husband and children. Her two eldest children have flown the coop and are now serving in the US military. Riley also has a teenage daughter that is the source of laughter and wit around her house. Her youngest son is a "bad-ass" in training and is very much a mini version of his Alpha father. Riley writes heart-stopping romance with sexy alpha heroes and even stronger heroines. Riley's favorite genres to write are romantic suspense and military romance. (Those are also her favorites to read.) She's known for her jaw-dropping plot twists. You know the ones? Those pivotal scenes in a story that when executed so flawlessly it leaves you breathless and begging for more? Yeah, those! She's mastered the art of blending suspense, romance, and smoldering sexy times.
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Finally Free (Levi): A Black Ops Romance (The 707 Freedom Series Book 3) Page 12